“Look,” Philip interjected, not liking where this was going. He couldn’t change what his father had done, the dark stain he had left on their family’s name with his many affairs, and worse. “I am not considering Alicia for a wife, so do not consider it either. Tell me only how you would handle the situation—what you would do.”
“What? What would I do if I were an absurdly affluent duke—a colonel to boot—with the eyes of society’s women on me, as they await with bated breath for the day I reach down through the clouds, into their ranks, and pluck one of them up for marriage?” She puffed out her cheeks, leaving Philip shaking his head at her theatrics. “The possibilities are endless…”
“So, you do not want to help.”
She reached over and pinched his hand playfully. “The war has made you surly, and I’m not quite sure I like it. What do you expect me to say? I couldn’t imagine being in that position, and even if I could, you and I want very different things. I resigned myself long ago to the fact that I will not have a sister-in-law whom you truly love, much as I might have teased you about it in the past.”
Philip raised an eyebrow. She knew more about him than she had let on. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard for Elinor to accept his eternal bachelorhood.
“The truth as I see it, is that you have no notion of love, do you? Like so many other men.” Elinor sighed. “Do not take that as an accusation. If this is how you truly are, then you shouldn’t change just to please me. Whether Father loved Mother or not was irrelevant in the end, because he did not respect her.”
Philip leaned back in his seat, watching his sister carefully. She still believed he was looking to marry. The thought made him feel guilty for lying to her. But Elinor would not easily accept his reasons for not wanting to marry. She may have seen their father for the monster he was, but she had no concept of what that had bred in Philip. A dark, poisonous charge. Forwarding the legacy of a man who was better off dead and forgotten.
“In your shoes, that is what I would seek. I would consider Alicia Walford seriously—because why not? I would try to determine whether her level of intelligence matches my own, and whether our senses of humor match, so we do not bore each other.
“And beauty, while it should not factor, would have to be taken into account somewhat. Any wife you select would have to bear your children,” she said plainly, making his skin crawl at her candor, “and if not an effort of love, the act of making them should at least not be unpleasant for either of you.”
Philip was grateful when she stopped there, leaving him with her list of requirements. She had given good advice, but it was still just empty talk. He licked his lips in discomfort, knowing that he should put her out of her misery then and there so that she stopped hoping for a sister-in-law who would come in and save them both from their lonely misery.
“Elinor, you misunderstand.” His tone was grave, and he could feel the energy shift between them. “I was not asking you how to choose a wife, for I do not?—”
Suddenly, another knock sounded at the door. Philip shot out of his seat at the sight of their butler, Mr. St. Maur, leaving Elinor waiting for the second half of his confession.
“What?” he growled.
“There are callers for you, Your Grace,” St. Maur replied, startled by his tone. “Shall I… inform them that you are not available at present?”
Philip looked down at his sister. She was leaving it up to him.
“Who has come?” he asked.
St. Maur paused for a moment, his dark mustache twitching as he recalled the names.
Names Philip knew all too well.
“A Lord Walford and his cousin, for you.”
Philip felt his spirit leave his body. Just as he had been trying to convince his sister he was not interested in Alicia, she had come to visit.
He saw Elinor perk up out of the corner of his eye.
“I would not be against hosting them. We get so few visitors, after all,” she said, rising from her seat. “We could take tea with them until Mr. Hill arrives for your meeting. Come, let us not keep our guests waiting.” She sidled up to him and lowered her voice. “Seeing the woman in the flesh will help me determine her suitability.”
She was out of the door before Philip could stop her.
* * *
Anna looked around the entrance hall of Charleton Manor, starry-eyed. Great marble columns rose to the ceiling that arced overhead, displaying a fresco of angels that needed a touch-up. She had lived in the lap of luxury her entire life, but she had never seen a house quite like this.
“Dukes really are a different species, aren’t they?” she murmured, looking toward George. He was admiring a piece of artwork by the stairs, having wandered away from her while they waited for the butler to return. “This makes our house on Grosvenor Square look like a shack by comparison.”
“Wells is an extremely old title,” George replied, squinting at the signature on the painting. “God’s wounds, a Raphael…” He drew in a quick breath, stepping back. “There is royalty in their line somewhere—descendants of Henry II or some such thing.”
“Hmm.”
Anna supposed that made sense. She didn’t know much about the Walford history, but she was almost certain none of them were connected to royalty. Though her father certainly acted like they were.
“If that’s true, it’s hard to believe that you have become such good friends with His Grace. He must think we are beggars, indeed.”
