who will be able to admirably fill the role of future duchess. Certainly there must be at least one among them that will strike your fancy.”
A list.
“Is there a particular reason why you feel it necessary to play the matchmaker for me, sir? Do you think me incapable of finding a woman on my own?”
“I am very aware that you have no difficulty finding women. All sorts of women. All sorts of improper women.” His father’s eyes narrowed. “I have left the task of finding a bride to you for several years and you are no closer to matrimony than you were when you first reached your maturity. You will be thirty years old in a few months. ’Tis time, Carter. Past time.”
The marquess squirmed in his chair. It bothered him greatly to disappoint the duke. Far more than he would have liked to admit. Far more than his father would likely believe. He was tempted to reveal that he had reached the same conclusion and would indeed marry by the end of the Season, but that would be a grave tactical error and encourage even more of the duke’s unwanted interference.
“These sorts of things cannot be rushed, sir. Surely you agree this is a most important decision?”
The duke sighed. “I am not a heartless monster. I understand your reluctance. Truly. But I would be a poor father indeed and an even worse aristocrat if I allowed you to become an idle, thoughtless man, one who will never do anything meaningful or important with his life.”
The comment rankled. He wasn’t all that bad. A bit of idleness, perhaps. A bit of gambling, a bit of drinking, a bit of whoring now and then. There were others, many others, far worse. “Forgive me, sir, but I fail to see how a wife will change anything.”
“A proper wife, a family, will give you purpose, stability,” the duke said.
Carter’s brow lifted. He saw no logic in that argument. Some of the wildest, most hedonistic noblemen he knew were married men.
“Yes, yes, I know,” the duke bristled, as though he read his son’s mind. “There are far too many in society who marry for pedigree or fortune and then dally with others. But that is not our way. The Hansborough dukes are honorable men, faithful to their duty, their country, and their wives.”
Carter leaned forward. “Precisely. Which is why I cannot rush the choice of a bride. I need to somehow discover a woman who values me for more than my title or fortune.”
“Then you must seek her out! She isn’t going to just fall into your lap like a ripe plum, my boy,” the duke insisted.
A ripe plum, indeed. More like a rotten apple. Carter sighed. “With all due respect, sir, I have made an effort with the women you have thrust so unceremoniously at me for the last few years. It has all been for naught.”
“Bah, you barely paid them any attention.”
Carter’s lungs strained for air as he struggled to hide his exasperation. “For most of these women, a limited acquaintance was all that was required. Several were mind-numbingly boring, or even worse, outright silly and giddy. A few spoke incessantly, while others sat so still and silent I worried if they were still drawing breath.”
The duke glared at him. “You are exaggerating.”
“Hardly. I am being kind. If the intent of marriage is to continue our illustrious, noble line, then you must allow it is imperative that I marry a woman I can impregnate.”
The duke snorted with disdain. “Don’t be vulgar.”
“I’m being truthful, Father.”
The duke rested his elbows on the top of his desk and covered his face with his hands for a moment. “I understand,” he said quietly, his tone sympathetic. “Far more than you think. I know all too well what it feels like to be obligated to a title, responsible to a birthright, forced to follow the immutable rules of society. If you fight it, you will become an angry, bitter man. If you embrace it, you at least have a hope of finding happiness.”
Carter tried to make allowances. He believed his father did indeed have his best interests at heart. But the duke was too much of an autocrat to completely understand. The need to control everything around him was strong and that included the actions and affairs of his son.
“I have always strived to be honorable, to do justice to our family name,” Carter said grimly. “I do not shirk my duties, sir, yet I want to be allowed to choose the woman with whom I shall spend the rest of my life. Is that so very much to ask?”
The duke stood. He was silent for a long moment and then he smiled charitably at his son. Carter’s intricately tied cravat suddenly felt much too tight.
“You present a compelling argument and I find I must agree. Perhaps I have been a bit too zealous. I’ll own it must be lowering for a man to have his father interfering so obviously.” The duke’s smile widened. “Consult the list. I feel certain there is at least one woman among those delectable females you will be happy to
“The thing is, old boy, you’ve never mastered the art of standing firm with the duke,” Viscount Benton said, emphasizing his point with a swift slash of his steel rapier. “’Tis no wonder your father is at odds with your behavior. He wants you to do as he bids and cannot understand why you are refusing him.”
Carter executed a swift parry of Lord Benton’s thrust and lunged forward on his lead foot, questioning his initial opinion that an afternoon of vigorous swordplay with his friends might relieve some of the tension he was feeling. If Benton’s mouth kept pace with his flashing foil, Carter would no doubt leave the fencing club with an even greater headache than when he arrived.
“This is not a simple dilemma,” Carter insisted, his voice raised to be heard above the clang of their steel rapiers. “The duke is hell-bent on finding me a bride. By the end of the Season.”
“Exactly.” Carter’s rapier moved in a shiny flurry, his sword chattering against Benton’s. “He’s made a list of women.”
The viscount’s left brow lifted higher than the right. “How positively medieval.”
“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” Carter replied.
“There is, however, a very easy solution,” the viscount said mildly as he advanced, his left hand curved in an elegant arc behind his head.
“Oh?”
They moved in a tight circle, sweat gleaming on their brows. “Find a bride yourself. One that is not on his infernal list.”
“What?” Carter’s shoulders dropped in shock. How did Benton know? He had deliberately kept this decision to himself. The very last thing he needed was for it to be known in society that he was seeking a bride.
The viscount’s blade flashed up. Carter shouted, realizing Benton had made the comment to break his concentration. He countered the move and the sword suddenly flew from Benton’s hand. It slid, clattering across the floor.
“I say, Benton, ’tis unwise to provoke a man when he’s got a blade in his hand,” Peter Dawson advised. “Especially one as skilled as Atwood.”
Benton flashed an elegant grin, then offered his opponent a salute. “I knew the suggestion of taking a wife would get to him. And I was right.”
“Yes, but I still won,” Carter said as he bent to retrieve the sword.
“That’s only because you did not hear the rest of my plan.”
“It was not necessary. Your plan is as daft as you are, Benton. I have no interest in finding a wife,” Carter lied, shuddering to think of the consequences if the matchmaking females of the
“None of us do,” Benton replied. “Well, except for Dawson. I suspect he will marry and have a parcel of brats clinging to his knees before you or I have a serious conversation about marriage.”
“Hell, Benton, with that attitude, you’ll wait so long to find a bride that you could very well end up marrying one of my daughters,” Dawson quipped, then his expression sobered. “Strike that idea. I cannot imagine entrusting a child of mine into your care.”
