Page 31 of This Marquess of Mine

“Take that back this instant,” Emmy said, setting her fork down with a sharp scrape of silver on porcelain.

He smiled. “No.”

Her lips pursed and she glared at him. “You are such a nuisance. It is no wonder you’re not married yet. No woman would have you.”

Chuckling softly, Griffin sipped his coffee. He enjoyed bickering with his sister, nearly as much as he enjoyed goading her into bickering with him. The two had always been close, at least as close as brothers and sisters could be, although, truth be told, they didn’t often discuss weighty topics. Their relationship was a good one, despite their bickering, and if asked, he would say he knew his sister well.

If pressed, however, he would have to admit there were things he didn’t know, questions he’d never asked. Questions like what she wanted for her future, what she desired out of life.

Was it odd that he didn’t know the answers?

“Em,” he said quietly, “why haven’t you married yet?”

Her eyes met his and he could see his question had surprised her. She shrugged. “I suppose it is because I haven’t found anyone I wish to marry.”

He nodded then tipped his head to one side. “Are you looking for someone to marry?”

Her gaze fell to her plate, and she pressed her lips together, considering her answer. “I am not averse to the idea of marriage,” she said slowly, “but I am in no rush to take a husband, either. I am happy as I am now. I like living in the city. There is always something to do here, and my friends are here…” She trailed off with another shrug.

“And you’re worried that marriage would change all of that?”

“A little,” she said, pushing her eggs around with her fork. “And I’ve never met a man I liked well enough to risk my future on. I’m not sure I ever will.”

Griff nodded again. He could understand her reluctance. Marriage was permanent, final, and husbands held virtually all the power. The idea that his sister might find herself trapped in an unhappy marriage did not sit well with him.

“What about you?” she asked, her gaze meeting his. “Why have you not married?”

He looked at his plate and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Emmy waited a beat and then huffed out a sigh. “You don’t know? Come now, Griff, tit for tat. I’ve just bared my soul to you. It is your turn now.”

But the truth would not paint him in a flattering light. It sounded so selfish, a man like him, a marquess, putting off marriage to keep his freedom. It would certainly sound selfish to a woman.

He knew how fortunate he was, how many privileges his wealth and status—his sex—afforded him. For a woman, marriage meant her life was inexorably altered. But it was different for men. If a man wished to carry on as he had before he wed, it was well within his rights to do so. And most men of his acquaintance did.

But that wasn’t the kind of marriage Griffin wanted. He wanted a real marriage, a true one, with a wife who loved him as he loved her. As soon as he was ready for it.

“I suppose it’s the same for me as it is for you,” he said, setting his empty cup on the saucer. “I haven’t met anyone I wish to welcome into my life. When I do, I’ll marry her.”

Emmy’s gaze turned thoughtful, quizzical, as if there was a question she wanted to ask but wasn’t sure she should. A beat later, her gaze fell to her plate, the moment gone.

Griff leaned his elbows on the table, curious to know what it was she’d wanted to ask him, but he held his tongue. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“You don’t seem to be searching very hard for a bride,” she said when she’d finished a bite of kippers. “I think Mother would appreciate at least the appearance of trying.”

He raised a brow. “And what of you? Younger sisters are meant to marry before their brothers, you know.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But I haven’t the fate of a marquessate on my shoulders.”

She shot him an arch look then returned to her kippers with relish while Griffin picked at his with his fork, her words echoing through his mind.

She was right. He did have the marquessate to think of. He kept telling himself there was plenty of time to marry and bear an heir, but how could he be sure?

His father was thirty-four when he died, only four years older than Griffin was now. And if his death had taught him anything, it was how temporary life could be.

He might have reservations about getting married now, but was his personal comfort more important than the family line? Would his father be ashamed of him if he were here to see him dragging his feet?

“Well, now that I’ve eaten,” Emmy said, “I have some letters to write.” She set her napkin on the table and rose from her chair. “I will see you later, yes? Remember, we have the Henleys’ costume ball this evening.”

Griffin blew out a long-suffering breath. “How could I possibly forget?”

“Come now,” Emmy said, humor sparking her eyes. “You might actually enjoy yourself.”

Unamused, he fixed her with a dubious stare.

Her lips twitched. “Then again, you might not.”

Griff watched his sister leave and then trudged over to the sideboard for another cup of coffee, his mood considerably dampened. Bloody costume ball.

He wished like hell he could get out of it, but it would do no good to dwell on improbabilities. He knew there was no hope. His mother’s ankle would never heal by tonight, not without a miracle, and even he wasn’t selfish enough to use a prayer for that.