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Any defense would be foolish, so he held his tongue.

“Unsurprisingly, I haven’t read Tartuffe. But I’ll tell you what I enjoyed about the performance,” Torie said, her eyes mocking him. “I liked the young fellow playing Damis, especially the scene after he was disinherited, when his shirt ripped in two. I considered that an excellent directorial choice. My friend Clara sat through the play three times merely to watch Mylchreest prance across the stage half-naked.”

“Mylchreest? Who’s that?”

“The actor playing Damis.”

“I see,” Dominic said. If he recalled that scene correctly, Mylchreest’s physique had more in common with his own than that of the Duke of Queensberry, who was on the weedy side. His Grace wore narrow-cut coats with embroidered trim and considered his rapier an embellishment rather than a weapon.

No one would buy tickets to see the duke half-naked.

“I’m sure my sister offered intellectual commentary,” Torie prompted.

“Miss Sutton thought the translator should have retained Molière’s twelve-syllable line,” Dominic confirmed. “She found the performance unconscionably lewd.”

“Whereas I enjoyed the half-naked actor. The difference between myself and my sister in a nutshell.” Torie stood and went to pick up her pinafore before hanging it on a hook next to the window. “I think we’ve been unchaperoned for long enough. I should probably locate my father and make sure he eats something before his morning brandy.”

Dominic didn’t like her dry tone. Or the fact her father was a drunk. Or . . . or anything about her circumstances.

“What of you?” he asked. “What are you looking for in a husband?”

She turned around, mischief sparking in her eyes. “Could I choose the actor? Just think of the fascinating questions we could have over breakfast about the intricacies of French medieval drama! I can scarcely imagine the pleasure.”

“I was a fool,” Dominic conceded.

“Yes, you were. Still, you knew what you wanted: a sweet, gentle maiden who was your intellectual equal. I couldn’t read Tartuffe, so I know nothing about its syllables. I didn’t agree with Leonora’s stance that the plot was immoral. I thought the half-naked man strutting across the stage was delightful. In short, I don’t fit any of your parameters.”

He opened his mouth, but Torie held up her hand. “Don’t lower your standards, Lord Kelbourne. The difference between you and my other suitor is that the Duke of Queensberry has only one. He cheerfully informed me last night that what he wants from his marriage is a bedfellow able to take a joke.”

Rage consumed Dominic like a bonfire. “‘Able to take a joke’ about your illiteracy, you mean?” His hand went naturally to the handle of his rapier before he stopped himself. He could deal with Queensberry later.

“No. The duke is a kind man. He will never mock me. He merely recognizes that marriage is more successful if both people have a sense of humor.”

The implicit reproach spoke for itself. Dominic had no way to defend himself. He didn’t grow up in a household that prized cheerfulness. His father’s taunts about his dimples had eradicated any impulses Dominic might have had to smile, let alone laugh.

Torie bit her lip. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you think that my refusal is a matter of not loving Florence and Valentine enough. I am attracted to you, but I too have ideas about my spouse.”

“You want him to be able to jest,” Dominic said flatly.

“And have fun, simply put.”

Dominic repressed an impulse to inform her that he could ensure she had fun in the bedchamber. “My work is serious, not the bibble-babble you labeled it. What do you mean by fun?”

“A picnic, for example.”

“Eating on the ground, sharing food with insects? Picnics are nursery fare. Though not the nursery I grew up in,” he added.

“Nor the nursery run by Nanny Bracknell,” Torie pointed out. “That woman is as cold as a gravestone, which may explain why Florence is so obsessed by ghosts.”

“My niece is obsessed by graveyards because her parents are dead,” Dominic said, giving a bite to his voice.

“Florence scarcely knew them. Thus her easy ability to consider you her father. She has no understanding of the word father.”

“I don’t want to marry to ‘have fun,’” he said. “I’d like a partner with dignity enough to prefer not to sprawl on the grass and share meals with ants.”

Her eyes narrowed at his tone. “You prove my point. Sprawling on the grass is one of my favorite activities. Moreover, I would like to marry someone who isn’t cold, self-absorbed, and serious. Need I continue?”

Silence fell as Dominic weighed various rejoinders. Usually he aligned his facts and formulated a plan of attack long before he entered a debate, but Torie’s arguments constantly shifted ground. Her latest accusation was a facer.