Page 9

“I am quite entertained from here, I assure you.”

She gave him a saucy sort of look, then tried to tug him along. “I am determined you shall be my shield. It is the chivalrous thing to do, my lord.”

“There is nothing I would enjoy more,” he said, gently extracting his arm, “but I fear you will have to manage without me this evening. I have a matter to attend to with the servants. Mr. Fowell would undoubtedly oblige, however.”

Mr. Fowell seemed to have little interest in Blind Man’s Bluff and every interest in Miss Prescott, who did not reciprocate.

“You are cruel, my lord,” Miss Caldwell insisted, though she smiled as she said it. “But I trust you will redeem yourself soon enough.”

Archie smiled, then turned toward the door, ignoring Mother’s attempt to catch his eye. “Disappointment awaits, Miss Caldwell,” he said under his breath.

He stopped one of the footmen in the corridor and instructed that his valet, Raine, be summoned to the Billiard Room.

Archie began a solitary game, toying with the idea of having Raine pack his things for a morning departure. The whinings of conscience that had brought him hither had quietened. Freddie, the knave, had pleaded for him to come but evidently had no further need of his cousin. Archie had wondered if he had been toying with him when he had said he was married, but Mother had confirmed the union—as had the way Freddie had hung about his new wife.

What, then, would Archie do if he remained?

Wrestle Mother for dominance, certainly. Perhaps hang about Miss Prescott to annoy her.

When Raine arrived a few minutes later, Archie did not have him pack his belongings. Instead, he instructed him to have them taken to one of the vacant bedchambers off the Antique Passage.

Raine raised a brow at this but did not otherwise give any sign that he thought the command singular.

Archie finished his game of billiards at his leisure, then retired to his bedchamber, where he slept soundly despite the room being unfit for human accommodation.

The following morning was spent entirely on estate affairs. When his steward, Jeffard, informed him just how much money Mother would be spending on the party, Archie could only laugh.

“Perhaps this is one of her stratagems,” he said. “To spend so much money that I have no choice but to marry an heiress.”

Jeffard coughed away a laugh as he closed up the ledger on the desk between them.

Archie might not have plans to wed, but he had worked hard to ensure the estate was flush in the pocket. It was a battle at times, for Mother seemed intent on draining the coffers at every opportunity.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles and interlacing his fingers behind his head. “Do you think I should marry, Jeffard?”

The steward shot him a quick glance. “I am sure I have no opinion on the matter, my lord.”

Archie regarded him with a half-smile. “Of course you do. Everyone does. Come. Out with it.”

The steward finished buckling his leather satchel, then faced Archie. “My opinion, my lord, is that you deserve happiness, whatever brings it about. I have not observed positive outcomes when a man enters into marriage by anything but his own will and desire.”

“I should ask your opinion more often,” Archie said amiably. “Or was that not the end of your response? Go on.”

“I was only going to say that, as someone who cares a great deal about you and this estate, I would find it a shame if it were to pass out of your direct line.”

Archie could not disagree. His cousin, Thomas Thorne, would inherit, and the man was an utter and complete fool.

Jeffard tucked his satchel under his arm. “But you are young yet. Perhaps the desire to marry will find you. Good day, my lord.”

“Good day, Jeffard.”

When the tall, mahogany door shut behind him, Archie stared at it, a pensive frown on his brow. He was tolerably certain the desire to marry would never find him.

Despite that, he would marry someday. He was not so derelict in his duty as to avoid it forever. When he did wed, he would even choose a wife fit for the title of Countess of Dalmeer.

He had not informed Mother of this intention, perhaps because he had not truly come to accept it himself yet. Or perhaps it was because anything he told Mother was inevitably used against him in an attempt to manage his life.

He rose from his seat and made his way out of the study, taking the long path to his bedchamber. His timing was unfortunate, for he reached the entry hall just as a number of guests arrived at the bottom of the staircase.