Valingford nodded and sank back into the chair, gesturing to the armchair beside it.
Rigsby sat, looked all about the room, and scratched behind his ear. When his gaze finally settled on Valingford, it held a hint of apprehension. Fear? Interesting.
Valingford held his tongue, waiting for the young man to find his courage.
Lord Rigsby made an exasperated huff and hung his head in his hands before popping to his feet and striding back and forth in front of the fireplace. “I need to speak with you regarding our current agreement.”
The marriage. “You needn’t ask my permission, boy. You already have it.” He should not address a future duke as “boy”, but if Lord Rigsby insisted on acting so puerile, he’d have to suffer the consequences.
Lord Rigsby stuttered to a stop, startled. “I’m not.” He continued pacing. “Asking permission, that is. In fact, I’m come to tell you I do not think I can go through with it.” He dropped back into the seat, distraught eyes telling Valingford without words how difficult he found making the decision.
Poppycock. Valingford leaned back in his chair and considered the boy over steepled fingers. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll not repeat myself. And you’ll not back out of our agreement.”
“We do not have an official contract. Only spoken words.”
Valingford had not until now realized he’d need a written contract, but perhaps he should have anticipated youth’s fickleness, especially in this day and age. “Words are law, boy.” Valingford rose to his full height, looking down his nose at Rigsby. “You gave your word, and you will keep it.”
“My father gave my word for me.”
“And he assured me you are an obedient son.”
The boy cursed, then shot to his feet, standing at least two inches taller than Valingford. “You would marry your daughter to a man who does not wish to marry her?” The question rang sincere, as if the concept truly baffled him.
“My daughter will marry whomever I tell her to marry, and I have told her to marry you. Affection is immaterial. Unnecessary.” The young lord’s deep pockets were the only necessity in the arrangement, and he brought those with or without his heart.
“You may be able to control her, but you can’t control me so easily.”
The boy had a point there. But everyone had a weakness, a means of control. He simply had to find Lord Rigsby’s. “Lord Rigsby,” Valingford said in the same soothing voice he used to calm his whores after a night of rough play, “you are young and passionate and see before you a lifetime shackled to a single woman. I understand your hesitancy.”
“You do not.”
“And because I was once young and passionate myself, I’ll grant you this concession.” Valingford never compromised but pretending to often proved quite advantageous. “Continue to court my daughter. Spend time with her, get to know her. If you still cannot bring yourself to propose by the end of the house party”—he shrugged—“consider yourself a free man.”
Lord Rigsby stopped pacing, considering the proposition. “I’m telling you I will not change my mind.”
Valingford’s next words would win or lose this argument. He let silence stretch between them as he considered carefully. Was Lord Rigsby an obedient boy as his father insisted or merely a considerate one? He did as his father asked, but he’d also found company for Willow before leaving her alone on the lawn. Perhaps he obeyed his father not out of submissive loyalty but out of consideration for the older man’s wishes and concerns? The possibility held distinct opportunities.
“You would be helping Lady Willow if you did so,” Valingford said. “She is quite alone in society because of her status and does not mingle easily with others. You would help make her more comfortable if you continued to spend time with her. And think of how uncomfortable her stay here would be if you told her now you will not be proposing marriage? Everyone around her expects one thing, yet she would know the embarrassing truth. I dare say she would find it insupportable.”
Lord Rigsby’s head lifted, and his gaze shot toward the window and the green lawn beyond it.
Ah, he’d guessed right, then. The boy was considerate above all else. How stupid. Yet, how convenient.
Lord Rigsby refocused his attention on Valingford. “I don’t wish to cause Lady Willow pain. I won’t speak with her about this, and I’ll continue to spend time with her. But as a friend. I could not do this if you didn’t understand my true intentions.”
“You mean your lack of intentions.”
Lord Rigsby blushed. The fool.
Valingford waved him away. “I understand.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I cannot—”
Valingford waved his words away with an impatient flutter of his hand. “Go now.”
