“I haven’t seen your father in an age,” Clarinda murmured. “Bring him down, Hetty, when he’s dressed?”
But the marquess wasn’t content to wait. Henrietta heard a deep male voice in the hall when Clarinda stepped out. “Lady Clarinda, you will forgive the intrusion, but I must see my son.”
“Milord Langford. You might have heard that I have the honor to be addressed as Lady Wardley-Hines now. Lord Darien will join us as soon as he is able.”
“I must see him immediately. I have several appointments today, and I’m afraid they cannot wait.”
“I see,” said Clarinda. “How distressing to learn your son was injured in a matter of honor.”
“What, the duel? Not surprised at all he got into a mill. Rather expecting it. No, I am here to stop this marriage!”
“Oh?” A long pause ensued. “Oh. Then by all means, milord.”
A tall, broad man strode into the room. He was built on Darien’s lines but heavier, with a powdered white wig and Darien’s piercing blue eyes. Henrietta froze with her needle in the air. The marquess froze as his eyes followed the line of thread to his son’s bare chest, taking in Darien sitting on the bed clad in nothing but his stockings and breeches. His lordship paled.
“If it isn’t my worthy sire,” Darien drawled. “Come to read me another juniper lecture?”
“Scandal enough you’ve engaged in another duel, puppy,” the marquess barked. “What’s this Rufie says about you getting married?”
“Henrietta, dear,” Clarinda said, reseating herself with her embroidery, “the Marquess of Langford. My lord, this is Henrietta Wardley-Hines, daughter of Sir Jasper Wardley-Hines.”
The marquess glared at Henrietta. “I mean no insult, Clarinda,” he growled, “but my son cannot marry your daughter.”
“Finally!” Henrietta exclaimed. “Someone who can talk some sense into him. I’ve had no success in the matter.”
This gave the marquess pause. His pointed gaze swung to his son. “You’ll want to excuse the ladies while we discuss the matter. This is between us.”
“As you can see, I am presently occupied.” Darien winced as Henrietta threaded the needle through his flesh. “As you intruded upon us, we might as well have it out here, and Henry can bring up any reasons you’ve forgotten. She’s already gone through most of the arguments why I can’t marry her.”
“Listen to your father, Darien,” Henrietta scolded, keeping her eyes on her task. She’d donned her old muslin gown that morning and pinned her hair up in a floppy lace cap. Perhaps her looking like a scullery maid might add weight to his lordship’s argument. His was likely the only voice his son would heed.
“Well, you can’t,” the marquess said. “When I told you to get married, pup, I didn’t mean cast yourself away on anyone. A tradesman’s daughter, of all things!”
“Although you will have heard, I am sure, that Jasper was recently made Knight Bachelor,” Clarinda murmured from her seat. “And Hetty’s brother, Sir Charleton, is the 8thBaronet Wardley. So her family is not exactly low. The Wardleys have been long established in Cheshire.”
“Not as long as the Bales have been in Langford,” the marquess snapped. “A woman may marry below her rank, but not a man, and not my heir.”
“That is precisely what I told him,” Henrietta said, setting another stitch in Darien’s skin. “The Hines are tradesmen and farmers’ sons. I doubt any of your friends would receive me. Go on, sir. Objection one—the class difference is too large, and not at all to his credit. Objection two?”
“Money,” the marquess said instantly. “We’re nowhere near dun territory, but you cannot afford to marry where you wish, pup. You’ll need a bride with a handsome dowry.”
“You heard him,” Darien said to Henrietta, watching her fingers with the needle and thread. “Your paltry interest in your father’s mills at Salford will not do, though Sir Jasper tells me you enjoy a profit of several thousand pounds a year.”
“Three, maybe five thousand at most,” Henrietta said. “And the bulk of it is reinvested or goes to saving for mills of my own. Hold still.”
“Wool?” the marquess asked, momentarily diverted.
“No, cotton, most of which comes from India and Belgium since I object to the way that cotton is raised in the Americas. Jasper is known for his innovations,” Henrietta said with pride. “And I mean to engage your son to engineer a drainage system for my farm. He is a very talented draughtsman, you know.”
“Idle sketches,” the marquess said. “Fine for a lesser gentleman to be a hobbyist, but not the son of a marquess.”
“Did you wed me, you would have my engineering services for free,” Darien said to Henrietta. “Otherwise you will be obliged to pay me substantial fees for my time.”
“Will you please hold still.” Henrietta bit her lip and leaned closer. “I think one or two more stitches will do it.”
“You have forgotten Birch Vale, Hetty,” Clarinda said in her musical voice. “I know it is very little, only what—three thousand acres?”
“Three thousand acres?” the marquess said. “Three thousand pounds a year?”
