"Have you enjoyed the dancing this evening?" she asked him.
"Am I supposed to?" he responded dryly. "I thought marriage was the object, not enjoyment."
"Grandchildren are the object," Aurelia put in. "And grandnephews and grandnieces."
He'd thought as much. But he couldn't imagine marrying any of the women he'd danced with tonight, let alone siring offspring with any of them. Try as he might—and he was trying, for his mother's sake if not his own—he feared he couldn't imagine marrying again at all.
The problem was, he'd had love and marriage once. So now one without the other—marriage without the love—just seemed plain…impossible. But a loveless marriage was all he could ever have, because loving a woman besides Anne was unthinkable. Even considering it felt disrespectful, as though he would be desecrating Anne's memory.
Not that she'd have objected, mind you. Anne had been generous and giving. She wouldn't have wanted him to be unhappy or lonely all his life. If he'd asked her permission—which he hadn't, of course—she would certainly have said he could fall in love with someone else after she was gone.
But that wasn't going to happen. Whenever he'd danced with a lady tonight, Anne's serious, loyal face had seemed to shimmer before his eyes.
"I only want you to be happy," his mother said.
"I know." He knew, too, that she understood how he felt. Or at least she should. She'd also loved and lost a spouse. "Why aren't you dancing, Mother?"
"Me?"
Perhaps if he turned the tables, she might realize she was pushing too hard. That he wasn't yet ready. "Yes, you. "
Aurelia and Bedelia tittered. Maybe it was the champagne, but he thought not.
"What?" he said, turning to confront them. "Father has been gone longer than Anne. And your husbands have been gone even longer. All three of you should be dancing."
The sisters exchanged startled glances. "We're too old," Aurelia said for all of them.
"Nonsense." Aurelia and Bedelia were well into their sixties, but his mother was only fifty-six. He put down his champagne, then took their three glasses and set them down, too. "You're not going to find new husbands while standing around the refreshment table. Come along."
Grabbing his mother's hand, he drew her toward the ballroom, trusting her sisters to follow. After all, the three of them stuck together as tightly as a bandage to a wound.
His profession required prescribing medicine…perhaps it was time they got a taste of their own.
TEN
WHILE AMANDA was off dancing with her fourth or fifth potential suitor, and Juliana was inviting—well, perhaps begging—Rachael's two sisters to attend her little sewing party tomorrow, Griffin brought a strange man to meet her.
Not that he was actually strange, mind you. But he was definitely a stranger. Which Juliana found intriguing, because, honestly, she'd thought she'd already met every eligible man who'd bothered to come to town this season.
"My sister," Griffin said by way of introduction. "Lady Juliana."
The man was handsome, fair-haired, and not too tall. Juliana smiled and curtsied.
"Juliana, I'd be pleased for you to meet the Duke of Castleton."
A duke! Handsome, fair-haired, not too tall, and wealthy and well connected. Juliana's heart fluttered with excitement as the duke bowed over her hand. "Would you honor me with a dance, Lady Juliana?"
"It would be my pleasure," she said and let him lead her onto the floor.
The duke's dress and bearing were both impeccable, and he proved to be a fine dancer. "Where have you been all season?" she asked.
"Abroad, seeing to some of my interests now that the war with France has come to an end."
"Ah." Though he wasn't holding her very closely, she could smell his costly eau de cologne. "All your many interests keep you busy, then?"
"Not usually." He had calm, pale blue eyes. "It's been years since I've been overseas. I much prefer to stay here in town and fill my life with amusements."
No profession, nothing to keep him from spending lots of time with her. His blond hair was neatly groomed—unlike tousled Lord Stafford, he obviously had time to tend to it. He was sounding better and better. Perfect, as a matter of fact.
"I adore being amused," she told him and gave him the look.
Unfortunately, he didn't fall at her feet. In fact, he appeared rather discomfited. "It was cold on the Continent," he said, as though she hadn't just tried to attract him.
So he was proper and reserved. She supposed she could deal with that. "As cold as it's been here?"
"Not quite. And certainly not as rainy."
"It snowed this month. In June!"
"Amazing, isn't it?"
"Yes, amazing."
Not exactly scintillating conversation, but then, they didn't know each other yet. There would be plenty of time later to speak of deeper things, Juliana told herself.
When the dance ended, the duke quite properly delivered her back to her brother.
"Well?" Griffin asked after the man had bowed and walked away. "I suppose you want me to keep looking?"
"To the contrary," she said. "I expect it's likely no more introductions will be necessary. How old is the duke? Do you know?" He didn't look terribly ancient, but most of the dukes she knew were in their dotage.
"You're not dismissing him out of hand?" Griffin looked vastly surprised—and pleased, not to mention relieved. "I believe he's thirty-two."
While she'd prefer a man in his twenties—she was searching for love, not early widowhood—thirty-two wasn't so very old. "You didn't mention his given name."
"It's David. And his family name is Harcourt."
Harcourt—a nice, simple surname for her children. And his title, Castleton, sounded rather romantic, didn't it? And he was a duke.
The man seemed more ideal by the moment.
A deep voice interrupted her musings. "Good evening, Lady Juliana."
She glanced over to see Lord Stafford. "Good evening," she returned.
"Cainewood," he said, addressing Griffin, "you wouldn't happen to know
