“I apologize, Father. Please, do tell me your news.”
“The Duke of Edmonton has three daughters, all of whom are of marriageable age. His only son, as you may remember, died last winter, falling from his horse while out on the fox hunt. As it stands, with no son and no immediate nephews to inherit, not only will the Duke’s fortunes fall to his daughter’s husband, but it’s quite likely that his title and holdings will as well.”
“How is that possible?” Peter asked, wide-eyed. “Is there not some order of succession that must be approved first?”
“It’s some small matter that the Duke himself has already begun work on.” The Earl waved his hand as though the mere formality was inconsequential. “I spent half the night in counsel with the Duke, and we mutually agree that you would be the ideal man to take up that responsibility.”
“Really? That’s rather astounding!” Peter answered, his mind swirling with the news. “I am most grateful that my future was at the forefront of your discussions last evening.”
“Think nothing of it,” his father said, waving off the compliment. “After all, any auspicious match that you make is a feather in my own cap as well. And think of it, two Grain men of noble titles voting side by side in Parliament. It would only magnify my power and our family’s good fortunes!”
Peter was silent, remembering his conversation with his good friend Callum. Was it only yesterday that they’d laughed so frivolously about cattle being hauled to market? And now, he faced not only the prospect of marriage—to a stranger, no less—but the responsibility of a dukedom in the bargain.
“What is it, boy?” the Earl asked, frowning. “I’ve announced that you’re all but sealed up to become the next Duke of Edmonton, and you’re sitting there as though you cannot remember your lessons?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Forgive me, Father,” Peter replied absentmindedly, still concentrating on this turn of events. “Which daughter is it?”
“What?”
“I said, which daughter am I to marry?” he explained.
His father’s frown only deepened. “What does that matter? Pay attention, boy! There are grave matters at hand, such as how to endear yourself fully to the Duke!”
“But what if she’s a horse-faced, somber know-nothing? What if she has palsy? Or was badly scarred in a house fire as a child?”
“Good Lord, what are you prattling on about?” his father shouted, slamming a meaty fist on the table. “What does it matter what your wife looks like? Your only part with her is attending the requisite social events and fathering an adequate but reserved number of children!”
“Well, what does she think of it?” Peter asked, still thinking through his father’s words.
“Who isshe?” the Earl roared.
“The Duke’s daughter, whichever one it may fall to for marriage. What does she think of it?”
“What does it matter? No one gives a damn what she thinks of it!Yourfuture is the one I’m concerned about!” His father pushed back from the table with no small amount of effort and stalked over to the window, turning his back on his son. He stared out in silent thought as he fought to keep his temper down.
“I still think it’s only polite that someone should at least mention it to her,” Peter said quietly.
“Get out!” his father stormed, chasing him from the table where he sat. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
Peter hurried out into the hall and flinched when he heard the heavy door slam behind him. His mother, passing by the rooms, approached him with great concern.
“Good heavens! What is all that about?” she asked, clinging to her son’s arm.
“I don’t really know,” he replied absently. “But I think I’m getting married.”
“To whom?” she demanded, her brows knitting. It was not like her to not be first to know these things, especially where her own son was concerned.
“I don’t know, some girl. One of the spare daughters, I presume, but it could be the eldest.” Peter still wore a faraway look and as such, his mother’s concern grew deeper.
“Peter, what are you talking about?” she demanded.
“I don’t know,” he said again before wandering off aimlessly down the hall, still in quite a state of shock.
* * *
Callum hurried back to his study and closed the door, falling into his chair and dropping his head to his hands. What was wrong with him? There was an alleged thief in his midst, in his very house, and he was speaking coyly with her as though she was a lady batting her eyes from behind her fan at some summer luncheon?
Though he wouldn’t have described his guest as the rarest sort of beauty, Callum still found her undeniably bewitching. Her green eyes set against the faintest hint of bronze in her skin gave her an otherworldly appearance. Her face, framed by her mane of wild brown curls, was not easily forgotten.
