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“We cannot live forever in the shadows out of fear.”
“That is not what we are doing,” the Marquess said insistently. “We are merely being more careful. There will be no travels. Now, curb the conversation about art for one day. Go join Walter and talk about the estate for a while instead. That’s what you need to focus on right now.” The Marquess turned his shoulder and steered him toward Walter and a few of the tenants.
Marcus walked over, surprised to find that his father didn’t leave his side. As they joined the conversation, the Marquess appeared to be forcing Marcus even more into the conversation than before. After a minute, once the tenants had walked off to take part in their own conversation, it appeared the Marquess had a new goal for Marcus and Walter.
“Come, I have some people I want the two of you to meet.” The Marquess beckoned for them both to follow him across the room.
“Wait, do you mean the Misses Jeffersons?” Walter asked.
“What?” Marcus looked up and followed with his gaze where Walter was pointing across the room.
“Indeed, I do,” the Marquess said hurriedly. “Now, come.”
“Father! This is a wake,” Marcus said quietly, blocking off his father’s path before he could go any further. “Do you not think it a little inappropriate to be meeting new ladies at a wake?”
“Nonsense. We have to move forward with our plans, Marcus,” the Marquess said, shaking his head. “The only way you could stop this is if you tell me that you already have a young lady in mind.”
“Well, he certainly seemed to like the young lady he met yesterday,” Walter said with a teasing smile as he lifted his wine glass to his lips to take a sip.
“Walter, not now,” Marcus said, begging his brother would not tease him at this moment. Walter didn’t seem to understand the words his problems could cause though, he could only see the fun in the situation.
“This is excellent news,” the Marquess said, looking thoroughly delighted at the idea. “Who is the young lady?”
“It does not matter.” Marcus tried to close down the conversation but failed.
“Her name is Lady Violette Blay, Lord Brunlow’s daughter,” Walter said before turning innocent eyes on Marcus. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Has the wine made your tongue loose, or are you messing with matters on purpose?” Marcus asked with narrowed eyes.
“I am not messing,” Walter said, then laughed and looked down at the wine. “Actually, maybe I have had a little too much.”
“Lady Violette?” the Marquess said, turning back to the matter at hand. “Well, Lord Brunlow has a fine reputation, but I do not know much of the daughter. I believe the son has just begun his travels on the continent.”
“She is rather original, Father,” Walter said.
“Have you not taken the hint to be quiet yet?” Marcus asked to which Walter put his nose back in his wine glass.
“Original? In what way?” the Marquess asked, looking between them in curiosity. Seeing he could not get out of it now, Marcus knew he had to say something.
“Lady Violette seems a little different to other ladies,” Marcus said, feeling a small smile creep through. “She is perhaps not what you’d call…” he paused, looking for the right word.
“Accomplished,” Walter offered, earning another dark glare from Marcus.
“But I would not object to knowing the lady better,” Marcus said. “Perhaps we should leave the matter at that.”
“No, no, we cannot leave it there.” The Marquess’ sharp voice startled both Marcus and Walter, who looked up from his wine glass a little dazed. “Marcus, you are to be a Marquess someday. You must pick the finest lady you can find, refined and excessively accomplished! No less will do.”
“No less?” Marcus scoffed, half laughing at the idea, praying his father was in jest. “Surely you expect me to marry someone I care for? Not someone who can simply adopt the title of Marchioness well enough.”
“Marcus, have you still not understood that from now on, this position goes ahead of what you feel?” The words were sudden, harsh, making Marcus hang his head a little. “Now, let me introduce you to the Misses Jeffersons, before they take their leave.” Marcus didn’t follow his father right away, though he felt Walter comfortingly pat him on the arm.
“Are you all right?” Walter asked quietly.
“Why do I feel like I am suddenly buried in sand?” Marcus asked in annoyance.
“You’re walking like you are, too,” Walter said as he shoved him forward, pushing him across the room toward the Jefferson sisters.
