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Leaning forward, she lowered her voice to a confidential murmur. “I think she’s built Morgan up in her mind as someone larger than life—a dashing legend whom no other man can live up to. As Shakespeare puts it, ‘Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear.’ She pines after him, even while despising him. At one moment he’s a hero for having saved her in the end, and in the next a monster for having kidnapped her in the first place. She vacillates between one opinion or the other.”
“Funny, but she wasn’t vacillating yesterday. She disliked my brother decidedly.”
“You haven’t seen her in the other mood. Sometimes she sits for hours doing her needlework in deep—”
“Contemplation. Yes, I know. Lady Rosalind, if you could get to the point.”
“Sorry. It occurs to me that your presence during this time of enforced proximity could help Juliet. You look like your brother, but you differ from him in character.”
Blast it, she was as bad as her sister. “How can you be so sure of my character? You just met me.” If she so much as mentioned the words respectable or proper, he’d throw her out of his study.
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I know a gentleman of good character when I see one. My husband was masquerading as a man of affairs when I met him, and I saw right through his disguise.”
That wasn’t how Juliet had told it two years ago, but he doubted that correcting Lady Rosalind would be to his advantage. Besides, at least she had the good sense to see responsibility and duty as assets, not the trappings of a dullard. “Very well. You’ve established that I’m a man of good character. How does this help your sister?”
“If she could spend time with you—see that the face she remembers is merely the face of a man like any other—it might soften her reactions to that period of her life and make her capable of getting it out of her mind once and for all.”
It was the strangest piece of logic he’d ever heard. And from the sly glance Lady Rosalind sent him, he’d guess it wasn’t even her true motive. But why on earth would she want him spending time with her sister?
Unless…
A slow smile spread over his face. Well, well, so Lady Rosalind had decided upon him as a suitor for her sister. That was the only explanation that made sense. Apparently, though she objected to Morgan Pryce, she had no objection to his brother Sebastian, a baron and sole owner of Charnwood.
If it weren’t so ridiculous, he’d find it amusing. She wanted Juliet to marry him, Knighton wanted the opposite, and Juliet wanted his head—Morgan’s head—mounted on a platter. What a devilish situation they’d put him in.
No, that wasn’t fair. He’d put himself in it. His uncle would say he deserved all the trouble falling on him now.
“An intriguing idea.” He contemplated how to respond. “But when your husband visited my study earlier, he claimed she’d be better off as far away from me as possible.”
Her long sigh exuded exasperation. “Please ignore him. He has no idea what’s best for my sister. I know her much better, I assure you.”
He began to wonder if any of her family knew Juliet. He wasn’t so sure that he did, either. “But he may have been right in one respect. She may not even want my presence.”
“Balderdash, why shouldn’t she? You’re a nice gentleman, well educated and polite.” She smiled broadly at him. “And you’re handsome besides. What woman wouldn’t enjoy your company?”
“What woman indeed,” said a voice from the doorway as Knighton entered. “My darling, if I’d even dreamed you were assessing handsome men for their suitability as companions, I would have come looking for you sooner.” Though he said the words lightly, the way he looked daggers at Sebastian belied his easy tone.
Lady Rosalind laughed as she rose. “Don’t be silly. And where on earth have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Not hard enough, it seems.” Still glaring at Sebastian, he held out his arm, and she took it. “Excuse me, Templemore, but my wife and I have some matters to discuss.”
“Of course,” Sebastian murmured. Wonderful. Now Knighton had even more reason to want his neck in a noose.
They started out the door, and then Lady Rosalind paused. Glancing back at him, she said, “So are we in agreement?”
“I’ll consider it.” He’d say almost anything to get her and her jealous husband out of his study.
They left. As their footsteps sounded along the hallway, he could hear Knighton asking her, “What was that all about?” but her reply was lost to him.
He sat staring at the rows of books marching all around his study like centurions of knowledge. A pity none of them contained advice for this battle he’d landed in.
You could marry her—that would solve everything. The idea rose again, a lingering effect of Lady Rosalind’s machinations. Yet he didn’t immediately dismiss it.
He had no aversion to matrimony. Certainly he’d always intended to marry one day. Someone had to produce an heir, and he was that someone.
So why not marry Juliet? How better to make up for how he’d ruined her life than to ensure her future? No one would deny she’d make a suitable wife. She liked taking care of people—she’d been her father’s nurse when he met her. From what Lady Rosalind said and what he remembered of their time together, she had a domestic bent.
And there’d be no trouble in the bedchamber, to be sure.
