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As she stood before him, fuming, growing redder about the face, no doubt, unable to think of disarming witticisms or cutting insults alike, she reminded herself to tread carefully.
She must keep her temper even and her words diplomatic. “I’ve no wish to insult you, Your Grace, though, if I had, I’d think of something lateat night, something very inventive and original and I’d say it then.”
“A shame I wouldn’t be in your bedchamber to hear you deliver the set-down, Miss Beaton.”
Was he flirting with her?
He flirted with everyone, she reminded herself. He flirted with life; he conquered it with a wink and a sultry glance. Nothing was able to withstand the onslaught of him.
“Let me simply say this, Your Grace,” she said in a rush, before he made good on his threat to throw her over his shoulder. “The social Season isn’t only about finding a mate. It’s the only time a young lady is able to experience life before she becomes a wife and a mother.”
“I disagree. The Season is nothing more nor less than a mating ritual. Let them marry and then experience life afterward. The suitors I’ve gathered are all good men, and I’m sure their lives will be tranquil.”
“But they will lack passion.”
“Is it freedom, love, or passion you are advocating for?”
“They are of equal importance.”
“And you’re the expert on passion?” Said with a smoldering stare that actually made her take a shaky step backward.
“Of course not. I’m a wallflower on the brink of spinsterhood. I spent my childhood touring with my father in Europe and he never had the means for a proper debut for me. So, no, I’m not the expert on love or passion. But I do have many female friends who have made love matches andthey would speak as I do. A marriage without love is a sad, empty fate.”
“I think I’ve heard your opinion on the subject. Dry toast with no butter, and such. I disagree. Love is no prerequisite for a harmonious union. Love is too often blind, and too often one-sided. Love fades. It provokes people to desperate acts. It is withheld. It sets you up for failure. It’s an unattainable ideal.”
“You’re wrong, Your Grace. Love transforms, it heals, and it transports. I’ve seen my friends blossom and thrive under its influence. Love takes your breath away and at the same time it gives you all the room in the world to grow.”
“You’ve lost me, I’m afraid,” the duke drawled.
I never had you.“Your sisters deserve a chance to find love.”
“My sisters will be better off making sensible matches with honorable, unobjectionable men.”
“And what of Miss Chandler? Is she to gain an honorable groom?”
“Have a care, Miss Beaton. My personal choices are none of your affair. I’m trying to do something right for once in my life.”
“But you’re going about it all wrong!”
“I’ll make the decisions I feel are in the best interests of this family. I’ve made too many mistakes, and my bad reputation has harmed my sisters and I plan to turn it all around. The Season is no longer required. I will marry. Blanche and Bernadette will marry, and there’s an end to it.”
“Your sisters must have their balls and their musicale, Your Grace.” She must take a stand. Shecouldn’t allow him to disappoint those bright, trusting, hopeful young ladies.
“Must they? Because the last time I heard them play the pianoforte or attempt to sing an artful air, they weren’t exactly soloist material. I’m sparing them, and the audience, an evening of misery.”
“Of all the horrible things...” Viola sputtered. “If you ever took the time to come and listen to your sisters practicing then you would know they’ve worked very hard and have improved considerably and will be a credit to you.”
“There will be no musicale. Which means your services are no longer required.”
Viola’s jaw clenched so tight she was in danger of cracking a tooth. The duke couldn’t possibly dismiss her after she’d devoted so much time and attention to his sisters and hadn’t even been paid for her time.
Anger and frustration boiled over in her mind. He was lucky she wasn’t holding anything heavy or sharp.
“You can’t sack me, Your Grace,” she ground out. “Because I quit!”
Chapter Five
Viola trudged through a drizzling gray spring rain on the walk from Westbury’s stately mansion to the modest lodgings she and her father occupied. As she walked, a tempest raged in her breast. A great seething maelstrom of emotions.
