“You are being entirely unfair to Lady Emma,” he said firmly. “She is innocent, and her reputation is above reproach.”
“That may be true, but I’m afraid you have little choice but to marry Lady Isabella.”
“And why is that?”
His father reached for his glass and took a long sip. “I’m afraid I owe some money to Lady Whittingham, and Lord Whittingham has agreed to wipe the debt clean if you marry his daughter.”
“How much do you owe?”
His father paused. “Ten thousand pounds.”
Martin sucked in a breath. “How did you come to owe Lady Whittingham this money?”
“She is famous for her gambling parties, and I’m afraid I just kept accruing the debt over time,” he explained. “I thought I could earn the money back, but I just kept going deeper into the hole.”
“That is generally what happens in gambling.”
“Regardless, if you don’t marry Lady Isabella, then you ruin your own future.”
“How so?”
His father walked over to the desk and placed his glass down. “We both know that our estates are profitable, but we don’t have the funds to pay back the debt.”
“No, we don’t,” Martin admitted reluctantly.
“Which is why you must marry Lady Isabella,” his father pressed.
Martin shoved back his chair and rose. “I am not going to marry Lady Isabella!” he declared as he walked over to the window.
“You must!”
“There must be another way.”
His father shook his head. “There is no other way,” he said. “You are incredibly naïve to believe there is.”
“Do you have no remorse about gambling away my future?” Martin asked.
His father scoffed. “You should be thanking me.”
“I should?” he questioned, lifting his brow. “And why is that, exactly?”
“You could do much worse than Lady Isabella.”
Martin crossed his arms over his chest. “You are unbelievable, Father.”
His father picked up his glass and tossed back the rest of his drink. He slammed the glass onto the desk. “Now you are just being unreasonable!”
“I don’t think I am.”
“You marry Lady Isabella, and you sire a son,” his father said. “After that, you can have a mistress or two. It hardly matters to me.”
“It matters to me!” Martin exclaimed. “I take vows of matrimony very seriously.”
His father pointed at him. “Do you know what your problem is?”
“What?”
“You care too much about what other people think,” his father said. “Lady Isabella won’t take issue with you having a mistress. In fact, she will encourage you to seek out enjoyment from other women.”
“I don’t believe that to be the case.”
“Genteel women don’t enjoy being intimate,” his father argued. “They only do so to produce an heir and do their duty.”
“I don’t know that to be true, but it doesn’t change my opinion on the matter.”
His father waved his hand in front of him. “You can judge me all you want, but I made your bed, and now you have to lie in it.”
“We could always sell one of our estates off to pay back your gambling debts.”
His father’s eyes grew wide. “Those estates have been in our family for generations!” he shouted. “You wouldn’t dare destroy our family’s legacy by doing something so stupid!”
“I am not sure what I am going to do yet.”
His father stumbled over to the settee and dropped down. “We both know you will marry Lady Isabella, because you will soon recognize it is the only way to move forward.”
Martin stared at his father in disbelief. How dare he try to force him in such a high-handed manner, as if his future was of little concern to him?
“I will not be bartered in your scheme,” Martin said sternly, uncrossing his arms.
“It is hardly a scheme,” his father replied curtly. “You need a bride, with a dowry, and Lady Isabella fits the bill.”
“I want to marry a woman I love.”
His father huffed. “And Lady Emma is your choice?”
“I haven’t made up my mind.”
“You are fooling yourself, son,” his father said. “Love is fleeting. It is a brief spark that will wither out and die.”
Martin frowned. “I disagree.”
“Your mother and I had love once.” A pained look came to his face. “Love isn’t worth the trouble of pursuing.”
Walking closer to his father, Martin stopped and placed his hands on the back of an upholstered armchair. “You and I will never agree on this subject, because I believe that love is always worth it in the end.”
“Fine,” his father declared. “Take Lady Isabella as a wife, but retain Lady Emma as your mistress.”
“You believe me to be as cold and unfeeling as that?”
His father leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Frankly, I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“Why is that?”
“To love is to put your heart at risk, and I have been burned too many times.” Tears came into his father’s eyes, but he blinked them back. “It is better not to form attachments.”
“That’s a sad way to live.”
“It’s safer.”
Martin pushed off the back of the chair. “I will meet with our man of business tomorrow, but there must be a way out of our current situation without having to sacrifice my future.”
Rising, his father walked over to the drink cart and picked up the decanter again, filled his glass with a generous helping of brandy, and put the decanter back down. “You will thank me one day,” he said as he picked up his drink.
“I don’t believe I will.”
His father brought the glass to his lips, then stated, “Being alone is the only way to truly protect oneself.”
“You are not alone, Father,” he attempted.
With a disbelieving huff, his father left the study with his glass in his hand, not bothering to spare him a parting glance.
Martin stared at his retreating figure, feeling a mixture of contempt and pity for his father. He knew there was a decent man hidden below the gruff surface, but he was struggling to see if that side would ever reveal itself.
He shifted his gaze towards the ledgers on the desk and sighed. His father’s gambling debts could ruin them.
