“On the contrary,” he replied at once, “I take it very seriously—the avoidance of it in particular.”
“Really, Galbraith, you make me so annoyed. You’ll be thirty-two this autumn. How much longer do you intend to circumvent the most important responsibility of your position?”
“Until I’m in the ground. Even longer, if possible.”
“With no consideration of what happens to the title and the estates. Your father expects you to wed, and rightly so. You’ve no brothers, and your uncle Albert, being my late sister’s son, can’t inherit. If you don’t marry and have sons of your own, everything goes to your father’s third cousin once removed.”
As if he didn’t already know all this. Rex repressed a sigh as Auntie went on, “Thomas Galbraith is a man neither of us has ever met in the whole of our lives. He’s older than you and yet he has no heir. In fact, he’s not even married, so—”
“Then perhaps you should have invited him to your ball, eh?”
She ignored that bit of raillery. “He owns a boot-making establishment in Petticoat Lane. Boot-making, I ask you—is that any sort of preparation to be the next earl?”
“A boot maker as the Earl of Leyland?” He pretended horror. “Heavens, what an idea.”
“I’m not referring to his profession. It’s his lack of knowledge and preparation that are of concern. Thomas Galbraith knows nothing of running a great estate like Braebourne.”
“What’s to know? Dane’s a capable steward. And since Papa’s moved to London and leased the house—”
“Only until you marry.”
This time, his sigh would not be suppressed, but when he spoke, he worked to keep his voice as gentle as possible. “That isn’t going to happen, Auntie Pet, as I’ve already said many times. And if we intend to quarrel about it again,” he added before she could reply, “I shall need a drink.”
With a glance down the main corridor to verify that the next guests were still removing their wraps in the foyer, he excused himself and walked into the ballroom. He made for the nearest footman with a tray of silver mugs, keeping his eye on the door as he pretended vast indecision over whether to choose a claret cup or rum punch.
He loved Petunia dearly, and he knew she was equally fond of him, but there was a steely glint in her eyes tonight that told him the evening ahead—and the entire season, for that matter—might be especially trying for both of them.
Any other time, he could have avoided any possibility of a row by going off to mingle, but with his uncle unable to act as host, duty required him to stand by and help his great-aunt greet arriving guests until the dancing began. So, when the newest arrivals started down the corridor toward the ballroom, he plucked a mug of rum punch from the tray and returned to Petunia’s side. Once those guests had moved on, however, his aunt returned to their previous discussion, seeming not to care if a row resulted.
“Both your parents are quite disappointed, I daresay, by the utter disregard for duty that you display.”
He gave a bark of laughter at that declaration and took a hefty swallow of his drink. “Mentioning my parents is hardly likely to spur me to the altar, Auntie Pet.”
“Your parents’ marriage has always been... difficult, I grant you, but at least they fulfilled their primary duty. And,” she added before he could reply, “their situation does not provide you with any excuse to ignore yours. Nor, I might add, is their unhappiness a reasonable basis on which to condemn the entire married state.”
“I’m not sure our general acquaintance would agree with you there.” He turned, gesturing with his glass to the crowd in the ballroom behind them. “Thanks to Mama and Papa’s deep mutual loathing and complete lack of discretion, the gutter press was able to keep all of societyau courantregarding the miserable state of their marriage, from Mama’s first affair, through every scandal and every retaliation, all the way to the final legal separation. Given the misery they managed to inflict upon each other during their fourteen years of cohabitation, I think our friends fully appreciate my contempt for matrimony.”
“That all ended a decade ago when they separated. Everyone’s quite forgotten about it.”
He turned his head, meeting his great-aunt’s exasperated gaze with a hard one of his own. “I haven’t.”
Her expression softened at once. “Oh, my dear,” she said with a compassion in her voice that impelled him to look away and divert the conversation from himself.
“It’s not as if Mama and Papa have forgotten, either,” he said. “They have not, I assure you.”
The moment those words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, for Petunia pounced at once. “And how would you know that?” she asked.
Now embroiled in a volatile discussion he always took great pains to avoid, Rex knew he had to tread with care. “I called upon Papa when he arrived in town, whereupon he immediately began to expound on his favorite topic: my mother’s faithless character. My call, therefore, was brief.”
“I’m surprised you bothered to call upon him at all. He’s none too fond of you these days, you know, and in no mind to reinstate your income from the estate until you marry.”
“And yet I remain a dutiful son,” Rex countered lightly.
The irony of that wasn’t lost on Petunia. “Only in some ways,” she said, her voice dry. “Your father desires you to marry as much as I do.”
“Ah, but there’s a difference. Your greatest care is my happiness. Papa’s is the succession.”
“Either way, I wasn’t curious about your father’s opinion,” Auntie replied, wisely not bothering to assure him of his father’s questionable affections. “It’s your mother I’m thinking of. How do you know her present feelings on the subject?”
