“You’ve known her for years. Even with her injury,” Steven saidwith careful control, “she works longer hours than anyone at her publishing house. She hasn’t taken a sick day since her recovery. You’ve seen her capability firsthand.”
“The stakes here go beyond marriage,” Lancaster cut in, leaning forward intently. “This railway could revolutionize everything, how we pass messages, how we protect Madame Tansley’s women. This is larger than any of our personal legacies, Hereford.”
Hereford ran a hand over his face, exhaustion warring with growing unease. “Surely there must be a more suitable bachelor, one your sister doesn’t actively despise.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Steven said dryly. “She’s merely irritated by you. A state I imagine many share.”
“What of her literary circles?” Hereford pressed. “Surely she has admirers there.”
“None of noble birth,” Steven replied. “And no current suitors of note.”
Hereford shook his head, trying to ignore how that last detail pleased him. “Miss Thornton has made her opinion of me abundantly clear. And she’s been on the shelf for years. I couldn’t be certain of her ability to provide an heir.”
“Pity. We rather thought you’d be preferable to Norwich,” Carlisle said casually.
“Norwich?” Hereford’s head snapped toward the viscount, who wasn’t quite managing to hide his smile. “You’d consider him for your sister, Thornton? The man’s a snake.”
“Watch yourself!” Norwich surged to his feet, his face coloring.
“Settle down, both of you,” Lancaster thundered, his voice cutting through the tension. He turned to Hereford, his expression severe. “It’s not your decision to make unless you agree to marry Miss Thornton. Norwich has already expressed his willingness, and right now, Thornton considers him our next best option.”
“Indeed,” Norwich said, smoothing his waistcoat as he retook hisseat. A smile played at his lips that made Hereford’s fists clench. “As his lordship is declining the match, we needn’t waste more of his time. I shall obtain a special license within days. Miss Thornton and I have spent considerable time together this past week, and we’ve found ourselves quite compatible.”
Hereford’s vision blurred at the edges as an unfamiliar rage swept through him. The thought of Amelia—when had she become Amelia in his mind?—with Norwich made his blood run cold, then hot. He could picture it all too clearly. Norwich’s charm, his careful cultivation of her trust, those calculating eyes watching her every move. The same eyes that had watched his own wife waste away years ago, if the rumors were true.
The brandy glass creaked ominously in his grip as he imagined Norwich’s hands on her, that serpentine smile as he led her through Society’s machinations. The sudden, visceral need to prevent this match startled him with its intensity. It was one thing to decline the marriage himself, quite another to hand her over to a man who treated wives like sacrificial lambs.
He found himself standing without conscious decision, his body thrumming with an emotion he wasn’t ready to name.
“I’ll do it.” The words burst from Hereford before he could stop them, rough with an urgency he didn’t want to examine too closely.
“You will?” Thornton’s voice balanced precariously between hope and doubt. “You’ll actually marry my sister?”
“Consider carefully, Thornton,” Norwich cut in, his cultured voice taking on an edge of desperation. “Would you truly condemn your sister to a life of endless scandals? We all know Hereford’s reputation with women of questionable virtue. Miss Thornton deserves better than spending her nights wondering which widow’s bed her husband warms.”
“As if your own reputation sparkles like diamonds,” Thornton said coldly. “At least Hereford’s indiscretions are honest ones.”
“I’ve been as chaste as morning dew since my wife’s passing,” Norwich bristled.
All four men scoffed simultaneously. “Only in appearances because you dally with the innocents who dare not speak out. Your maids, for instance,” Hereford said with disgust.
“And your suspicious business practice,” Thornton said icily. “If you have nothing to hide, then tell me the names of your factories and other holdings.” Several seconds ticked by painfully slowly while Norwich avoided Thornton’s stare.
“Yes, I will marry her,” Hereford broke the silence, his voice carrying a finality that eased the tension. Norwich whirled away with a muttered curse while the others smiled and congratulated him on his betrothal.
He tried to ignore how satisfying it felt to thwart Norwich’s obvious designs on Amelia. This was about protecting her from a snake, nothing more, even if she detested him. It had nothing to do with how his blood boiled at the thought of her in another man’s arms.
Nothing at all.
Despite himself, Hereford’s mind flooded with unbidden images of Amelia at the last garden party, sunlight setting her hair ablaze with copper highlights, that maddening combination of competence and fire that simultaneously drew and unsettled him. The way her eyes sparked emerald when she was truly angry. The thought of watching that fire slowly die, of seeing her wilt under the weight of a loveless marriage… He couldn’t bear it. Better to give her freedom after the railway venture established itself than watch her spirit break.
“She’ll never agree,” he said quietly, more to himself than the others.
“Leave Amelia to me,” Thornton replied. “Do we have an agreement?”
Hereford stared into the amber depths of his brandy, seeing another future crystallize. “One year.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
