“Still, you cannot marry her.” He shuddered. “I met her last night, out with your mother. She’s glittery, I give you, but hard underneath.”
“I have more than just myself to consider,” he said irritably. “But perhaps Lady Hope will come up with a suitable candidate.”
“That’s just it. I think you should consider Lady Hope.”
Tensford closed his eyes.
“It’s why I invited you here tonight. I wanted to tell you more about my uncle.”
“What about him?”
“He was never meant to marry my aunt, you know. The family had picked out his bride.”
“Who?”
“My mother.”
“Your mother?” Tensford said, shocked. “No offense meant, Sterne, but your mother is nothing like your aunt. She’s so . . . formal.”
“And cold. You can say it. And I’ll add dull to the stack. But she had the money the family wished to use to ease Uncle John’s fate as a second son.”
“What happened?”
“They were not suited. She was happier with my father, as heir to the title and as a man closer to her in disposition. Uncle John loved another. And my aunt loved him. The family wasn’t happy, but they married in spite of the objections. Their road has not always been easy. They don’t have the funds my parents do, but they’ve done well for themselves.”
“Yes,” he agreed, looking around.
“They’ve created a home. A place of warmth and caring.”
“And I know they’ve been generous in sharing it with you, my friend.”
“Thank God, they have. It wins hands down over the sterile atmosphere of my own home, as you know. So you see, their marriage affected more than just their own lives. They’ve touched so many. Created a community,” he said, gesturing around.
Understanding began to dawn as Sterne continued.
“In my mind, your Greystone has been like my parent’s house. Grand, but cold. No heart to the place. Empty of joy and warmth and welcome and the things that truly make a home. And I know you want a home, Tensford, not just a restored house. God knows, you deserve to finally have one.”
He shook his head.
“It’s one thing if you marry Miss McNamara knowing that she does not care for you. But remember, too, that when you choose a bride, you must bring her home to Greystone. She will be in charge of the house and your servants and in constant contact with the people on your land. She will raise your children.” Sterne frowned at him. “Will she have a care for any of that?”
Tensford stared.
“One more thing. I think you need to remember that your people care for you, just as you care for them. Do you think they would ask you to make this sacrifice? To resign yourself to a lifetime of misery married to the wrong woman, for their sake?”
He didn’t know the answer.
“Dinner is ready,” the butler intoned at the doorway.
Woodenly, Tensford followed the party to the dining room. He took his seat—and proceeded to act as history’s worst dinner guest.
He ate nothing. He spoke to neither of the ladies on either side of him. He merely stared into his wine and contemplated the largest decision of his life.
Was his heart agreeing with Barrett because it was what he wished to hear? Because he did want Lady Hope Brightley with a passion bordering on madness. He wanted her wit and her charm and her kisses. Her wanted her mornings and her nights and every hour from here to eternity. He went a little mad every time he thought of her choosing, marrying, someone else.
His heart kept whispering that Barrett was right, so he let his brain do as it wished and compare the choices that lay before him.
A union made for money. Greystone Park with a new roof, restored outbuildings, a set future, but no soul. A loveless marriage at the center of it. This would be their fate if he took Miss McNamara as his bride, or even some yet-to-be-met candidate that Lady Hope brought to him.
But Lady Hope. His head couldn’t keep up with the images he finally allowed himself to conjure. Her laughter ringing through the house. Her compassion a balm to his people. It would be a life of hard work, but she would be there by his side. It was so easy to imagine his servants loving her as he did, to picture her listening to their woes, carrying baskets to the sick, attending the fairs, becoming a part of their community.
Laughter at Greystone. Hope. Hard work.
Love.
Abruptly, he stood. What time was it? He didn’t care. He had to find her and tell her. Ask her to share his life. “Please excuse me,” he said to the staring tableful of guests. “I suddenly realized . . . recalled . . . something extremely urgent.”
Mrs. Sterne’s eyes softened. “Of course, dear boy.”
“Go on, then.” Mr. Sterne shooed him.
Tensford raced out. He waited impatiently for his cloak, trying to recall where the nearest hack stand would be. He raced down the front steps—and skidded to a halt when a boy stepped out of the shadows into his path.
Lady X’s messenger boy.
“My mistress says she’ll meet you—if you promise not to unmask her to the world.”
Tensford shook his head.
The boy looked upset. “She says as she feels like she owes it to you to talk, but if you won’t promise, then I cannot tell you where to meet her.”
“No, that isn’t it.” Lord, he was a lovesick fool, but he couldn’t summon any further desire for revenge or confrontation. “Tell your employer . . .” He thought of Lady Hope’s defense of him, her desire to repay him for reviving
