“Then why?” Viola cried. “Why, when you are in a position to choose from among hundreds of young ladies, would you pick someone as shallow and calculating as Lady Sarah Monforth? She could never make you happy.”
“God, Viola, I am not getting married expecting to be made happy by it. It is the sensible course. I would prefer not to marry at all, but I must secure an heir, and I cannot afford to postpone the inevitable any longer. I am choosing the young lady who is most suited to the role of duchess, a young lady who will make no demands upon me beyond my support.”
“I see what you really mean,” Viola said slowly. “You have chosen a woman who will not care that you have no respect or affection for her, and who will not be hurt that you do not love her, as long as you supply her with a generous allowance and she supplies you with a son.”
“Exactly so.”
“Oh, Anthony, really!” Viola cried in dismay and jumped to her feet. He watched as she began to pace back and forth, and neither of them spoke. She seemed lost in thought, and he hoped she was accustoming herself to his decision.
Finally, she stopped pacing and looked at him. “Have you proposed to Lady Sarah yet?”
“No,” he answered. “She is in Paris with her mother. They are to spend the autumn there.”
“Good, then I have time to change your mind.”
She gave him that beguiling smile that ever since their childhood could get nearly anything out of him she wanted, but this time Anthony was unmoved. “I have no intention of changing my mind. If your expression is anything to go by,” he added, noting how quickly her smile faded, “the end of the world is at hand. You seem quite upset about this.”
“Of course I am upset,” she answered, and resumed pacing. “You are about to make an irrevocable choice that will ensure nothing but misery for you. I should die if you were unhappy.”
“Viola, you are being far too dramatic, as usual. I am quite content as I am, with the life I lead, and I see nothing about marrying Lady Sarah that would mar my current contentment.”
“Giving up Marguerite for Lady Sarah would mar any man’s contentment,” she answered with such wry humor that he couldn’t help a smile.
Marguerite was no secret, but discussing one’s mistresses with one’s sister was not quite the thing. On this occasion, however, Anthony felt he must make Viola understand his intentions. “I am not giving up Marguerite.”
Viola stopped pacing once again and stared at him, shocked. “You cannot possibly be thinking to keep her after you marry?”
He met the rebuke in her eyes with a direct stare. “Why not?”
“Oh, Anthony, I loathe Lady Sarah, I confess it, but such a course is so unbelievably cruel, and I cannot believe you would do such a thing.”
He stiffened at the rebuke. “You forget yourself, Viola. My choice of bride is not your concern, and neither are my mistresses.”
“Oh, do not attempt all that ducal hauteur with me, Anthony,” she shot back. “I am your sister, and every single day of my life, I endure the pain of marriage to a man who has nothing but contempt for me. How can you justify this when you know how I have suffered?”
Viola always did tend to express her emotions with a great deal of drama. “I know that,” he answered calmly, “and it wounds me deeply. For the pain he has caused you, I would throttle Hammond with my bare hands if I could, but your situation and mine are very different.”
“How?”
“Sarah will not give a tinker’s damn if I keep a dozen mistresses as long as I keep her in funds. She has no affection for me, nor I for her. You, on the other hand, still have some tender regard for Hammond, and that is why his behavior causes you pain. Although why you still harbor any affection for him is one of life’s inexplicable mysteries, since he is a blackguard whose treatment of you is deplorable.”
“And it is my own bitter experience that impels me to abhor your selection of Monforth’s daughter. I want you to be happy with your wife, happy enough that you do not need the companionship of women such as Marguerite Lyon, happy enough that you need not schedule your life to be wherever your spouse is not. I cannot help but believe that it is possible to be happy in marriage, despite my own poor choice.”
Something in the soft romanticism of her words irritated him, for they brought memories to the surface, memories he thought both he and Viola had buried for good. He ruthlessly shoved those memories back down deep and concealed his irritation with an air of indifference. “How you can remain such a romantic, Viola, never ceases to astonish me.”
“Perhaps because I believe our parents were blessed to have loved each other so passionately, while you believe they were cursed.”
Anthony felt his fingers curl around the delicate crystal glass in his hand so tightly, he was surprised it did not shatter. He set the glass down with care. “Love is all very well,” he said lightly, leaning back in his chair, “but it has little to do with marriage. Look among our acquaintance. All of them are in love. Just not with their spouses.”
Anthony’s careless tone brought his sister back to his side. She sat down again and took his hands in hers. “Do be serious. Will you not at least try to find someone you could love?”
Anthony studied her face for a moment, and he did not know what to say. Viola had married Hammond for love. Despite Anthony’s misgivings about the match, he had not been able to deny Viola her heart’s desire, and the resulting union had been a disaster. He had no intention of making his sister’s mistake and marrying for love only to be made miserable by the union.
“I beg you to at least consider my opinion,” she went on. “You deserve better than Lady Sarah. You deserve a wife with a kind and generous nature, a woman filled to her fingertips with passion for you, a woman who cares for you more than your rank or your fortune.”
All this high-blown sentimentality was bordering on the ridiculous. He jerked his hands free of hers. “God, Viola,” he said with some impatience, “I do not require passion of a wife.”
“Well, you should. Besides, Lady Sarah doesn’t love you. I doubt she is capable of the emotion.”
