Despite the cuts and bruises, he was as far from a mess as it was possible to be.
She ignored his comment and his frankly blinding presence. “Your invention is good. Do not worry. My mother must study every inch of it before she makes a pronouncement, but she will pronounce it—”
“Good,” her mother said, the single word holding weight like a raincloud over the room. “It’s quite good. Interesting, too. I’d never have thought to improve coffee. How novel.” She slapped the notebook on the table. “To what do we owe your presence this morning, Lord Devon?”
Devon cleared his throat and took a step away from her. “I had hoped to have a conversation with Miss Clarke. Privately. Then I must speak with you, Mr. Clarke.”
Lillian knew what about, and she did not like being put on the outside the conversation. “Papa,” she said, throwing caution to the wind, “we do not wish to wait months to marry.”
Her father scowled. “Oh? Is there reason to marry sooner rather than later?” Each word that dropped from his lips was more like a growl than the one before it.
“No!” Devon exclaimed. “There is no need. To marry soon, that is.” His gaze flicked toward Lillian and away again. He was hiding something. “A long engagement is preferable, if that is your wish, Mr. Clarke.”
“You want to wait?” Lillian asked, her heart sinking to her toes. “I thought…” She searched his face for answers, but he would not look at her. The cut on his cheekbone glowed an angry red, and the skin around his eye was, impossibly, an even brighter purple.
“I was not thinking correctly last night,” Devon said, staring straight ahead. “Neither of us were.”
Papa scratched his chin and looked at Devon, then at Lillian, then at his wife. He gazed at her the longest, and she gazed back, holding an entire conversation without words.
Papa’s attention snapped back to Devon. “I think a short engagement is best. My earlier sentiments were born from anger. If my newest work continues to move forward successfully, we’ll be ready to present it by the end of the season. It would be nice to have a son-in-law in the back pocket by then. For, ah, moral support.”
Her father actually meant it would be beneficial to have a duke’s son for a son-in-law by the time the Regent’s gaze swept their way once more. Her Papa—and Mama too, likely—would think it made them appear more regal. They rubbed elbows so closely with the titled, why not bestow one on them? That was certainly what her parents hoped the Regent would think.
Devon shifted from foot to foot, his usually full lips a hard line. “It’s just that, sir, I may not be ready to provide for a wife by the month’s end. It’s what I was hoping to speak with you about.”
Papa’s eyes cut toward Mama once more. “You said…”
Mama shrugged. “I’m not wrong.”
Devon took a step forward, the movement adding urgency to his tone. “I wish to be able to provide well for your daughter when we finally wed. I have things I must accomplish before then that may impede that desire.”
Lillian fell hard into a chair that should have been soft and comfortable but instead felt full of nails. Did he think her a burden? “I have a decent dowry,” she said, though why she did not know because now she had no desire to marry the man in one month, two, orever.
“I realize you do, but that is not the issue.”
What was the issue then? “I can provide for myself quite well. My parents have seen to that.”
Her parents stepped together and backward toward the door.
“That’s all well and fine,” Devon said, finally turning to face her, his eyes azure embers, “Provide for yourself. But there are things your dowry cannot do. That it will not be used for.”
Undoubtedly, he meant Frederick’s. She dropped her head against the back of her chair with a groan. “God save me from stubborn men.”
“We’d better let the children figure this out on their own,” Mama said.
Lillian shot her eyes toward them to see Mama putting her hand on Papa’s arm and drawing him toward the door.
He let her, but he wagged his finger at Devon. “If Lillian wishes to wed as soon as the banns are read, she shall!”
Mama closed the door, muffling his final words.
Lillian’s hands flew to her face. “Bother. I’m sospoiled.” Her palms muffled her words.
“Good thing you know it,” Devon said, apparently still able to hear her.
She removed her hands and sat up straight. They needed an honest chat, and she had not had any sustenance this morning, so it would be difficult, but she’d done more difficult things. She wiggled her shoulders and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Where was that damn ribbon?
Devon strolled to the window, turned, and leaned against the frame. The late morning sun shone through the glass, turning his hair to molten gold and outlining the magnificence of his form she now knew so well.
