She huffed. “Don’t be such a child. The next Duchess of Gloucester can’t be a suffragette who thinks we need to open our castle to tourists. Helen is the perfect wife for you.”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “I love you, Grandmama, and I always respect your opinion. But I want Isabella. Or no one.”
She pressed two fingers to her temples. “You present me with afait accompli.”
“We usually agree on every strategy. Not this time. I mean to court Isabella, and if she agrees, I’ll marry her.”
They stared at each other. The moment reminded him of a boxing session against an adversary, and Grandmama was an extraordinary adversary.
He was tempted to argue further, but it would be a mistake. With Grandmama, short, decisive speeches were more effective.
“I hope you won’t regret your choice,” she said, conceding the victory to him.
“You won’t regret it, either.”
