“Her salons have become popular among the intellectual set…especially among young men,” the widow pointed out. “Do you begrudge the dowager marchioness the attention that comes her way?”
He frowned. “No.”
Who knew better than he how grateful she must be to be free after over a decade of managing his mean-spirited father?
The dowager deserved some happiness. His father’s second wife might be slightly younger than himself, but, while his father still lived, she’d kept the old man occupied and away from him. And for that, as well as for her loving care of his younger sister, who was not even her child, she would forever have his gratitude.
“Why should I begrudge the marchioness anything?” he asked.
“The two of you…” She spoke carefully. “Well, if you and she have developed…” She shook her head and then sighed. “Forgive me for being blunt, but an attraction between the two of you would be understandable, if, of course, impossible—”
“Good god. Caroline?” He shuddered. “And I? Even at my worst, I would never cross such a line. What she does, apart from the rearing of Emily, is none of my concern.”
The widow exhaled as if deeply relieved. “You cannot blame me for wondering. You have been…” She stopped to revise her words. “You haven’t been quite yourself for some time.”
“What do you mean?” He feigned ignorance.
“Two years you’ve held the title. Two years since you returned form the war. You’ve maintained the fortune, attended the responsibilities of a man of property.”
“Sounds like I’m a model—”
“But,” she cut him off, “you know you haven’t made any true attempt to ingratiate yourself to theton—to prove to them the Redver title, in your hands, will not become again synonymous with scandal.”
He scowled again, mostly because she wasn’t wrong.
“You’re of marriageable age,” she continued. “If you presented yourself properly, you could easily become the prime target of every match making mama and have your pick of the Season.”
He shuddered visibly.
“Instead, you’ve been spending more and more time here…or haunting exclusively male spaces with Harbury. I understand, of the few calls you’ve made, most have been to the dowager—”
“ForEmily’ssake. Are you having me watched?”
“No. We have mutual acquaintances that keep me informed.”
He hadn’t realized he’d started scratching his thigh until she rounded her desk and crossed the room, looping her fingers around his wrist.
“If you’re as concerned for your sister as you suggest, why continue to restrict your interactions with the world? Miss D’Acre will need to be presented in the coming year.”
“I am well aware,” he snapped.
“If you married, you could ease her way. I promised your mother—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted warningly. He would not open that Pandora’s box. Not tonight. “Caroline is planning all the necessary arrangements for Emily.”
“Emily needs you. She’s been patient. We all have—”
“I know my duty,” he cut in yet again. “By the time Emily is presented, I will have overcome my…difficulties.” Some alchemy, he willed, would make the lie true.
Now, his skin was truly crawling. Twitching and moving just as if he were covered in spiders. God, he needed relief.
And he needed to stop talking about his family.
“Much as I enjoy your company,” he said more harshly than he intended, “the Skylark, I believe, is waiting for me upstairs.”
The heels of shoes clicked on the floor as he pivoted to open the door.
“Adrian, stop. The Skylark is not here.” She hesitated. “Nor will she be returning.”
