We need to discuss your recent actions.
—Dorchester
Blast it!They were caught! But how? He returned Jasmine home undetected—he was sure of it. But what if he forgot something at the mansion the night before?
Like my mind!
“Recent actions?” Seth read over his shoulder. He pursed his lips for a second, then smiled. “Perhaps he’s going to give you permission to propose?”
Matthew frowned. “Doubtfully.”
“Why not? You’ve done everything right.” Seth clapped him on the shoulder. “Come now. You’re allowed to show some optimism.”
“We’ll see.” Matthew shrugged off Seth’s hand, then sighed. “No use in putting it off. I’m heading out. The factory is yours today.”
As Matthew turned to leave, Seth snapped his fingers. “Wait, before you go…”
He moved to Matthew’s desk and opened the top drawer. He reached inside, and tossed Matthew something small. Catching it mid-air, his fist closed around a familiar leather box. Though slight, it was the heaviest item he owned. Hands shaking, he opened the lid to reveal a rose-cut emerald on a gold band.
The ring that used to grace his mother’s left hand.
Seth grinned at him.
“It’s time to start carrying that.”
Not trusting his shaking hands to grip the reins on his phaeton, Matthew took the family coach to the Sinclair Mansion. Haze-grey fogpermeated the air, chilling him and dampening his clothes. All through the ride, questions rose in his mind. He hated going into debates blind, especially with the man who taught him how to shield his emotions. Considering the timing of the letter, there was only one forgone conclusion.
But what if Seth was right?
What if today’s the day I propose?
Every step closer to Lord Dorchester’s study felt like a walk to the gallows. A mousy-haired footman opened the door as he approached.
“He’s been expecting you, my lord.”
Matthew took a steadying breath and stepped into the study. The door closed behind him with a dull snap.
Like a sentinel in the center of the room, Lord Dorchester sat behind his desk in a grey suit. His eyes lifted, but gave nothing away. A neat stack of papers sat on one side of his desk, and a half-empty glass of amber liquid on the other. Brandy. Matthew had never known the man to indulge during the day.
He was half tempted to ask for a glass of his own.
Lord Dorchester pointed to the chair across from him.
“Sit down.”
Matthew sank into the chair. He held onto the wooden armrests and waited for the other man to speak.
Lord Dorchester clasped his hands together on his desk.
“I wish to start by commending you in your courtship. Jasmine is clearly smitten, and you’ve managed to impress my wife—neither of those are easy feats. Last night, Valentine asked me to allow you to propose early. And I agreed.” Matthew allowed himself to hope—and then Lord Dorchester’s voice lowered. “But I cannot allow that until you’ve forgiven Lord Rothwell’s debts and released his estates.”
Matthew blinked. His mouth fell open and his mind struggled to comprehend the ultimatum. Once he did, a flare of fury burst in his chest.
“I’ll happily release his estates for the price I paid for them—withinterest,” he gritted out. “He has a week until I foreclose, and then they’ll bemyestates.”
“Set aside your pride,” Lord Dorchester said. “Do you think you have done right by Jasmine? Unfavorable comments are circulating. Once again, you have placed us in a difficult situation. Now, do the honorable thing—”
“Honorable?! That man attacked Jasmine inyourhallway! He’s fortunate I left him alive. Have you seen your daughter’s wrist?”
