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God, he was in a morbid mood this morning. He hadn’t seen Sophie in almost a week and it was driving him mad. He’d tried calling on her several times, only to be told she was not at home. An excuse he scarcely believed. He wondered if he should attempt to propose to her. While the thought of marriage normally filled him with gloom, the idea of Sophie as his wife lightened his heart. But he doubted she would agree. She’d clearly stated there would be no talk of marriage or love.
He approached the study and stopped at the doorway. His father had not heard his footsteps so his head was still bent down as he worked on papers. Nicholas took the moment to really look at his father. He hadn’t seen him in months. His father’s hair had gone completely white now, but that wasn’t so unusual for a man nearing seventy years. Nonetheless, he appeared older and a bit frailer than the last time Nicholas had seen him.
Nicholas cleared his throat. Piercing blue eyes glared over at him.
“About damned time you arrived,” his father grumbled.
“Ten is awfully early to make calls.”
“Not when your father makes the request. Now sit,” he said, pointing to the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
“What is this about? Have I made another blunder you wish to rail at me for?”
His father shuffled through papers and then put his quill away. “No, for once you have not. At least not that I am aware of yet. How was your trip?”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes. His father would never request his presence to have a tête-à-tête about his travels. Could he have heard about his affair with Sophie? “My trip was wonderful, Venice in particular.”
His father curled up his lip. “I went to Venice once. It was nothing but stinking canals and lascivious parties. Dreadful place.”
“What did you call me here for?”
“Very well, we shall dispense with the pleasantries. My doctor says I may have a year to live at most. Therefore, I have decided that you will marry this Season.”
“Indeed? A year, you say?” Nicholas felt only a spark of regret that his father’s life would be shortened. His father had never shown him anything but discipline. He had even berated Nicholas for bringing Emma into Nicholas’s house and had never met his only grandchild.
“Yes. That should please you since you will then inherit. However, knowing your taste in women, I have decided that your marriage must take place before I . . .”
“I see,” Nicholas said, gripping the arms of his chair. He would never let his father choose a woman for him. His father would pick a woman based on her social standing, just as he had picked his wives. Two had been spiteful women who only wanted him for his title and money. He had no idea about his own mother, as she died giving birth to Simon.
His father lifted a paper from the table and handed it to him. “Here is a list of young ladies I deem acceptable.”
“And why would I agree to this? If, as you say, you only have a year, then I shall inherit and be able to make the decision myself.”
“You shall inherit the title and the entailed lands. But the fortune I have generated will go to charities if I do not approve of the woman before I pass.”
Nicholas tightened his jaw as he stared at the list of names. He had no intention of marrying any of them but for the moment he would humor his father. “Does the woman have to be on this list?”
“No. These are ladies I already approved of, thus making your decision easier. Should you decide on another, then you will inform me and I shall investigate her background.”
“Would the daughter of an earl do?”
“I would be most pleased to have the daughter of an earl become the next duchess. Assuming she has no scandals attached to her name. She would already understand her duties.” His father’s white brows furrowed. “Are you currently courting such a woman? I have not been made aware of this change from your usual course of women.”
Nicholas smiled. “Possibly courting. I have not officially started the process.” But he knew just the woman.
“Lord Ancroft is here to see you, ma’am,” Hendricks said from the doorway to her study.
Sophie glanced up from her reading and frowned. “Tell him I am not at home, Hendricks.”
“Oh, but that would be such a dreadful lie,” a deep voice replied from the hall.
Damn him! “Let the cur in, Hendricks.”
Hendricks moved out of the doorway only to be quickly replaced by Nicholas. He leaned his tall form against the doorframe in a manner that appeared totally relaxed, but she sensed the tension running through his veins. And for once, it didn’t seem to be tension of a sexual manner.
“You wound me, my lady,” he said, placing his hand over his heart. “A cur? You called me a cur?”
“Yes, well now you know so you may leave,” she said, waving her hand at him in dismissal.
