“That he certainly is. He is a couple of years younger than Matt and very high in the instep.”
“I detest people who cannot be pleased.” Charlotte glanced back over to Worthington House.
“I am in complete agreement. What are you wearing to-morrow evening?” Louisa asked.
“I think I shall wear my green muslin with the butterflies. Would you like to see it?”
“Since we will probably spend much of the evening together, let us coordinate our gowns.”
Charlotte rose and signaled to her footman. “It will be more productive than anything else we could do at the moment.”
“Agreed.” Louisa stood, linking her arm with Charlotte’s.
“If Grace and Matt do not start speaking to each other soon, I think Walter should scale the garden wall.”
“While we keep Matt’s butler busy at the front door.”
“That should do the trick.”
* * *
“I do not recall,” Matt said, glowering at his butler, Thorton, “that a visit from the Marquis of Merton qualifies as the house burning down.”
“No, my lord, but he was rather insistent.”
“He always is.” Matt resisted running his fingers through his hair. It was enough that Grace was still cool toward him, and now he had to deal with his cousin. “One would think a butler of your stature could be relied upon to keep upstarts from entering my study.”
Thorton’s teeth clenched together, as he bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Your lips are twitching. I can see them.” Damn, no reaction at all.
“My lord.” He shut the door behind him.
The Marquis of Merton disposed himself gracefully in a chair.
Matt frowned. “Well, Dom, what do you want?”
“Is that any way to treat the head of the family?” Merton said in an aggrieved tone.
“You’re not on about that again?” Matt, whose feet had been on his desk, moved them to the floor. He placed his elbows on his desk, leaned forward. “Since you seem to have forgot again, let me remind you.Youare not the head ofmyfamily. The titles are separate. They always have been. I’ll take leave to remind you that my title is older than yours. In addition, if you are going to take that tone with me, you may take your leave forthwith.”
Merton flicked open his snuffbox with one hand and drawled, “What has you in such a foul mood?”
“If you must know”—Matt rose, made his way to the sideboard, poured two glasses of brandy, handed one to Merton, then resumed his seat—“it has to do with a lady.”
His cousin raised a delicate brow. Worthington wouldn’t be surprised if his valet plucked them. “My dear cousin, ladies are never worth the trouble.”
He was going to wring Merton’s neck. Actually, it would be the highlight of Matt’s day. And probably do England a favor as well. “I’ll thank you to keep your nasty tongue to yourself. I’m going to marry the lady in question.”
Merton jerked up, almost sloshing his brandy. “What?”
Matt gave his cousin a wicked smile. If he couldn’t see Grace, he might as well have some fun. “That got you off your high horse.”
“With good reason.” Merton tried and failed to resume a languid pose. “When did this come about?”
Rubbing his forehead, Matt glanced at his cousin. Why the devil did Merton have to show up now? “I should have married her years ago.”
“Do I know her?” Merton took out his snuffbox, flicked it open again with one finger as if he was practicing, and took a pinch.
