He tugged on his collar, loosening it. “I have not slept in two days.”
“Be that as it may, I think this would be to your benefit,” Mr. Henderson said more cautiously. “Think on it. I will be returning in a few days anyway, so you can give me your reply then, once you have rested from your long journey. But… yes, I do think this would be a very fortunate choice for you. Society does not trust a solitary Duke, but a married one—the world would be your oyster, Your Grace.”
Albion sat back and closed his eyes. He had been home but five minutes, and already he was getting a headache.
“I will consider it,” he murmured, barely hearing the eager shuffle of Mr. Henderson leaving the room. No doubt, the solicitor thought that was as good as confirmation.
* * *
“Have I told you this morning how dearly I despise you?” Matilda asked, putting on her most saccharine voice. “My constitution suffers if I forget, and I should hate to not digest my breakfast properly.”
Her cousin, James, glowered over the rim of his teacup. “No, but you said so twice last night, so I assume it carries over.Myconstitution tends to suffer whenever we are in the same room together.”
“Well, you know how you might remedy that, do you not?” Matilda tore into a piece of toast, imagining it was James’s head.
“I am not going anywhere, Matilda. I know you do not like that this manor is now mine, but that is hardly my fault. It is your father’s for not doing the honorable, dutiful thing and remarrying after your mother passed. My mother and father hounded him to do so, but he would not listen,” James replied, knowing just what to say to make Matilda erupt at the breakfast table.
Not today,she told herself.Today, I shall finish my tea without dousing him in it.
“Yours for now,” she corrected instead.
James rolled his eyes. “Your petition to the Royal Court will never work. It is too late. I have already inherited. Indeed, it has been almost a year already! Even if I had not, who do you think you are—the Countess of Grayling? She only won her petition because she is exceptionally beautiful, and all the men were too dazed to realize their foolishness.Youare not even passably beautiful.”
“Of course, herbeautywas the only thing that won her petition.” Matilda rolled her eyes in return. “It has nothing to do with the fact that she is highly intellectual, exceedingly cunning, dangerously powerful, and made a petition so ironclad that none could refuse it.”
James waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever her reason for succeeding, you are not her, will never be her, and the longer you keep insisting upon flaunting this Spinsters’ Club nonsense around thetonbecause you think youarelike her, the more you become a useless drain upon my resources.”
“I am part of your inheritance,” she pointed out savagely, eyeing her full teacup. “There is nothingyoucan do about that.”
James muttered something rude into his own teacup. “Just do everyone a great favor and get married for goodness’ sake!” he snapped. “My mother and I are tired of you. Exhausted, in truth. It is no wonder your father?—”
“Get married?” Matilda interrupted, for his next words might have prompted her to hurl a butter knife at him instead of the usual spray of tea. “I have no reason to. I have never wished to. I could never be anyone’s obedient little wife. I shall repeat this to you until it finally penetrates that thick skull of yours. Your usurping of my father’s lands and titles has not changed that, nor shall it. Iamthe Spinsters’ Club.”
“Then, what is the alternative?” James rasped. “Are you just going to be idle for the rest of your days, surviving off my generosity and the meagre sum your father left for you?”
Matilda sat up straighter, a smile stretching across her face. “I will be a writer, cousin, with a legacy greater than anything you could hope to achieve. No one shall remember you as anything other than the cousin of Matilda Elkins, and I hope you live long enough for it to drive you quite mad.”
“A writer?” James snorted. “Of what? Unsavory novels, like that Radcliffe woman?”
Matilda raised an eyebrow, smothering the sharp stab of hurt under her ribs. “That Radcliffe woman? I have never heard of her, but you seem to know an awful lot. Is she one of your favorites? Is that what you do in your study while you are pretending to tend to estate matters—read unsavory novels?”
James paled, his eyes wide.
A dark chuckle slipped from her throat. “Oh, I know you are not tending to estate matters, for they are all coming through me, just as they did before my father passed.” She sipped her tea. “As for what I shall write, I am already writing it. A book of herbal remedies for those who cannot afford a physician.”
After that, a book on astronomy, then perhaps arithmetic, then one pertaining to engineering—all aimed toward women, not simplifying or patronizing, but making everything she relished as relatable as possible to close the gap between the respective educations of the sexes. But she did not add that bit for fear of James’s head exploding across her father’s finest table linens.
James laughed so hard that tea dribbled out of his nose, and he began to choke, grappling for a napkin to clean up his face. Red-faced and still choking slightly, he managed to wheeze, “If they cannot afford a physician, it is unlikely they are able to read, you dolt!”
“Of course, you would think that. And of course, you would think me ignorant of that—there will be illustrations to accompany the writing, so all may read and use it.”
“Who would care about herbal remedies anyway?” He dabbed at his nose.
“Women, mostly. Just as they will care about my other books: books of science, books of mathematics, books of everything they have ever desired to know but been prevented from learning.”
He began to laugh again, crueler this time. “Women donotcare about things like that.Youare the weird exception. That is why no one wants to marry you. All women care about is finding a good match, getting married, birthing children, fine embroidery, and the latest fashions. They are not intelligent enough to involve themselves in those other things; that is why they are reserved for the realm of gentlemen.”
“Andyouare not intelligent enough to notice that your nose is still dribbling,” she shot back. “Nor do I imagine you would have any notion of what a woman wants or dreams of, for I do not see ladies lining up to wed you either. I fear it is your personality. It has this natural way of repulsing the fairer sex. I could find you an herbal remedy for that if you would care to read my book? Although, perhaps the lady would have to take the herb to become blind to your character and general appearance.”
