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HARRY STARED AT THE flickering firelight as he sipped a small glass of brandy. He couldn’t get the image out of his head of Charlotte sitting next to Louisa at tea today. His daughter had been somewhat disruptive since they arrived in town. More demanding than usual and getting angry at every little thing. But the minute she was in Louisa’s company, his daughter behaved like a proper little girl.
She needs a mother. Louisa’s words haunted him. You need an heir.
Why was th
at damned woman always right? As much as he didn’t want a woman in his life, after everything that happened, Charlotte did need a mother. And Louisa was correct that his cousin would be a completely unsuitable duke. It was up to him to do the right thing for his daughter and the family name.
Perhaps getting Louisa settled with a husband and him with a wife would help absolve him of the guilt that plagued him these past two years. She would have a good man and children. Hopefully, she would fall in love with the man because he knew, as much as she might deny it, that she wanted to love her husband. She’d always tried to hide her romantic tendencies, but he’d seen them in a few of the books she occasionally read.
He forced the heart-crushing sensations away from his mind as he sipped the brandy. Doing the right thing was what his father had taught him. No matter how much it might hurt.
“Your Grace,” Jenkins said from the threshold. “Mr. Kingsley is here.”
Simon strolled in and helped himself to a brandy. “About time you returned to town.”
“I was in mourning.”
“You were hiding,” he said, taking the seat next to him. “I’m just not sure from what...or whom.”
While he’d known about his brother for over ten years, he and Simon had never been close. But Harry wanted that to change. Simon couldn’t help being born on the wrong side of the blanket, any more than Charlotte could help to be half-Indian. “So, why are you here?”
“I came to have a brandy with my brother. I figured now that you have returned it would be a little easier to get to know you better. That was your request when you returned from India.”
Harry chuckled as he glanced over at his brother who looked so different from him. With the dark looks of his Italian opera singer mother and the strong features of his English forbearers, he was an odd combination.
His sister and Simon were the only two who had known about Charlotte when he arrived from India. As a mother, Daphne instinctually knew to protect his daughter like her own children. She also agreed that their father shouldn’t learn of Charlotte until he accepted Sabita. As for Simon, the duke hadn’t formally recognized his bastard son at that time so there was no need to worry that a conversation about Charlotte might occur. Harry had wanted someone in his family to meet her in case anything happened to him.
“So, Hell a little slow with the mourning?” Harry asked with a smile. He’d only been to Simon’s gaming hell once, but he’d been impressed by every part of it.
Simon nodded. “Horribly so.”
“Gambling should pick up in another fortnight. Half-mourning will begin in early March.”
“Let’s hope so, or I’ll be coming to you for assistance,” he replied with a laugh. “Now then, what has you so down in the mouth?”
Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had a friend to talk to, except for Louisa. Maybe Simon could be that person who was missing from his life. His sister tended to lecture. “I’m considering marriage.”
Simon held up his glass in salute. “Congratulations. Who is the lucky lady?”
“I haven’t chosen one yet.”
Simon sipped his brandy and then chuckled as he placed the snifter on the table. “I suppose as duke, you walk into a ballroom and point to an unmarried lady. She then falls prostrate at your feet in gratitude that you chose her as your duchess.”
“Not quite.” And there was one woman who would never fall prostrate at his feet. Nor would he want her to. “Besides, there are many things to consider before marrying.”
“Such as?”
“She must come from a good family, for one.”
“I suppose she must have good eyes and teeth,” Simon added with a low chuckle.
Harry frowned at his brother. “This is serious business, Simon. The choice of a wife determines the connections your children will have and their selection of a wife or husband.”
Simon tilted his head and arched a black brow at him. “Shouldn’t marriage be about love?”
Harry’s head fell back against the chair as he laughed. “Not in Society, dear boy. It’s all about connections, or if the peer needs money, who has the largest dowry.”
“Thank God I’m a bastard then.”
