“Miss Blake is not a youthful indiscretion to outgrow, Father. She’s intelligent and brave.”
His father pushed himself to his feet. “A poor choice of words.” He sighed. “You don’t have to marry Lady Willow if you dislike the notion so much. Why didn’t you tell me? What use is barging in here with more rage draped about you than clothes?” He shook his head. “You always were impetuous. I’d hoped you’d settled down a bit.”
“See! That right there. I can’t be who you need me to be. I’ll never be a good duke, and I’m tired of pretending I can be.”
His father sat in an armchair and motioned for Grayson to sit as well.
Grayson shook his head and continued to pace. How the hell was he supposed to sit still at a time like this?
“You don’t have to sit, Grayson, but at least listen.”
Grayson continued pacing.
“I may have put too much pressure on you since your brother’s death,” his father said slowly.
Grayson stopped pacing. Had his father admitted to being wrong? Surely not. He dropped into the armchair nearest his father. He needed to sit. The shock of it all made his knees feel weak.
“But you seemed amenable. I thought you wanted to change. No more duels. No more drinking and gambling. No more breaking your arm falling off garden walls. You even broke off the engagement with Miss Blake. I took it as a sign you had decided to change.”
“I didn’t break it off with her. I thought she—” he shoved his fingers through his hair. “It’s a long, complicated story. I’d rather not rehash it. And I don’t want to climb garden walls drunk anymore or duel strangers or any of that rot I used to do, but I don’t want to always wear black or think of nothing but dinner etiquette. And I don’t want to marry a duke’s daughter simply because I’m going to be a duke one day. Can’t …” He leaned back in the armchair and rubbed his face before dropping his hands to his lap. “Can’t I be a good duke without those things?”
“Yes.”
Grayson blinked. “Can you repeat that?”
“Yes, Grayson, you can be a good duke without any of the items mentioned in your ridiculous list. I enjoy dinner etiquette, myself. And I’ve never found much dignity in any color other than black. But at the end of the day, I suppose, your tenants—those you serve—do not care one way or another what color coat you wear. Unless, perhaps it’s that horrid purple color your friend Mr. Blake wore once.” His father shivered.
Grayson leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Are you saying you don’t care whether or not I marry Lady Willow?”
“Do you prefer Miss Blake?”
“I love her.”
His father nodded thoughtfully. “Her grandfather is an earl. Her family is one of the richest in England, not that we need to marry into money.” He scratched his chin. “There’s no reason for you not to marry her. I remember her being perfectly lovely. I would not have asked you to break the engagement. It’s only, I thought you’d done so yourself.”
He had, in a way. They’d all played their parts, including Tobias Blake, the bastard. But who held the blame hardly mattered. His father supported his choice of bride. Grayson jumped from the chair and wrapped the other man in a bone-crushing hug.
“Grayson!” his father admonished.
Grayson pulled back, laughing at his father’s blushing cheeks. “My apologies.” But he couldn’t help it. His father’s support freed him to be himself. He’d hug him again, no matter how flustered it made the man.
But Grayson’s smile soon faded. Obstacles still remained. “The Duke and Duchess of Valingford are refusing to accept my decision.”
His father snorted, straightening his waistcoat, regaining his dignity Grayson supposed. “Absurd.”
“But true. They’ve threatened Henrietta and her family with ruination should I not marry Lady Willow.”
“Ruination?” His father arched a dukely brow. “Grayson, has Miss Blake been ruined?”
“Absolutely not. We’re going to be married.”
“Ah. So, the duke and duchess’s claims are not rooted in fiction, but in fact.”
Grayson launched to his feet. “She. Is not. Ruined. But while their threats have not scared me, they’ve set Henrietta on edge. She won’t listen to reason.”
His father whistled. “It sounds like she may not be marrying you, son.”
He pointed at his father. “You are unhelpful. But I can fix this myself,” he said, leaving the study behind him.
