William’s gaze snapped to her. His face hardened, disgust flickering openly before he mastered it. She smiled too brightly, dabbing at the stain with her napkin, her cheeks burning beneath the thick layer of powder.
Lord Stratton, oblivious or pretending to be, boomed on. “Ravensby? Yes, yes, a wild one. But such men have their uses. He gave good horses for the Regent’s races, and a hand like his on the gaming table—ha! He could strip a man to his shirt in an evening.”
“Or leave him in worse condition still,” Charlotte murmured.
Henrietta blinked, perplexed, her eyes darting between them all. “But surely… if he is an earl…”
William set down his glass. “Titles do not make men. Some choose virtue and duty; others fall to vice and weakness. Each proves himself—or fails—by his deeds.”
His father cleared his throat smoothly, guiding the conversation toward safer ground. But the damage had been done. The Duchess’s laughter never quite recovered, and William did not lift his gaze from his plate again until the servants brought in the sweets.
* * *
The gentlemen lingered over their port long enough for Lord Stratton to exhaust every possible virtue of roast beef and game, claret and port. At last, they joined the ladies in the drawing room.
The fire glowed. The chandeliers glittered. The air hummed with the expectation of entertainment.
Lady Henrietta spoke first. Her gaze flickered to William, then slipped away again. “I should dearly love to sing,” she announced, her voice trembling with eagerness. “Lady Charlotte, will you not accompany me at the pianoforte?”
Charlotte, standing at the hearth, arched a brow. “I am no true performer, my lady. You must ask our governess another evening—Miss Ansley plays far better than I. But I know a song or two well enough to stumble through.”
She took her seat at the keys and struck the opening chords. Lady Henrietta began with great solemnity, her tone high and nasal, striving for grandeur. Lady Stratton looked on with rapt pride, as though listening to an angel’s hymn, but the effect was closer to a goose in distress. The Duchess nodded graciously in time with the music; whether impressed by Lady Henrietta’s talent—or her lack thereof—was anyone’s guess.
Charlotte kept her hands steady, though her lips curved and her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. The longer Lady Henrietta drew out her notes, the harder it became to disguise her mirth.
William, leaning against the mantel, felt as though he were sinking into quicksand. To think his father meant to bind him for life to such a creature—awkward, graceless, pompous—was almost beyond bearing.
When at last the Strattons withdrew for the night, Charlotte exhaled a soft laugh behind her kerchief, unable to hold it any longer.
* * *
The port decanter still stood on the sideboard in the drawing room, its ruby glow catching the firelight. The Duke poured with calm precision. He and William were the only ones left.
“You cannot truly mean me to marry her,” William said, his voice taut.
The Duke looked up, composed as ever. “I do. She is Stratton’s only daughter. That is all that matters.”
“She is a simpering fool. And uncomely besides.”
The Duke’s mouth thinned. “You do not have to like her. You have only to beget an heir or two. That is your duty.”
A harsh laugh broke from William. “You forget how men beget heirs. I do not think it will be physically possible for me. Not with her.”
His father’s eyes sharpened, but William did not wait. He turned and strode out, the door slamming behind him.
* * *
The corridors of Westford Castle stretched vast and echoing in the winter night. William wandered without aim—through long galleries lined with portraits, past the tall windows, the frost glittering on the lawns outside. His fury gave him no peace.
At last, his steps brought him to a familiar door. He knocked once, then opened it. Jane sat by the fire, needles in hand, a skein of wool across her lap. The flames lit her face in profile, calm, composed, intent on her work.
He stopped short. “You… knit?”
Jane glanced up, her gaze cool. “On occasion.”
“I have never seen you at it before.”
“No,” she said, laying the half-finished piece aside. “You have not.”
