As he stepped into the square room dominated by woodwork, he saw his father sitting at the desk, hunched over ledgers.
“Mother mentioned you wished to see me,” Martin said as he closed the door.
Ralph, Lord Darby, glanced up. “You have done an impressive job with the ledgers,” he commented.
“Thank you.” Martin was pleased by the rare praise.
“I appreciate you handling all of our properties and investments so I can focus on politics,” his father said, leaning back in the chair.
“Isn’t that how it has been done in our family for generations?”
“It has,” his father confirmed. “I was worried you wouldn’t be up to the task, but I am pleasantly surprised to be wrong.”
Martin frowned at that statement, which could only loosely be classified as a compliment. “Is that what you wished to speak to me about?”
His father maintained his gaze for a moment before saying, “No, I’m afraid I have something much more serious to discuss with you.”
“Which is?”
“It is time for you to do your duty and marry.”
Martin’s brow shot up. “I beg your pardon?” He had not expected that.
“You are twenty-eight years old and an earl,” his father continued. “I was in the same position when my father arranged a marriage for me.”
“I am well aware, but our situations are different.”
“I disagree.”
“Regardless, I have no desire to marry at this time,” Martin pressed.
His father rose from his chair and walked over to the window. “I have taken the liberty of speaking to Lord Whittingham about arranging a marriage between you and his daughter, Lady Isabella,” he said. “She would be a fine wife for you.”
“Father—” Martin started.
His father raised his hand, stilling his words. “She would come with a dowry of fifteen thousand pounds and is quite accomplished, from what I have been told.”
Martin pressed his lips together. “I would prefer to find my own bride.”
“But you have made no effort to do so,” his father countered.
“That may be true, but—”
His father cut him off. “This union would work quite nicely for both of our families,” he shared. “I shall draw up the contracts, and you will marry after the banns are posted.”
Martin steadfastly held his father’s gaze. “No,” he said firmly.
His father looked at him curiously. “Did you just tell me ‘no’?”
“I did,” Martin replied. “I have no desire to marry Lady Isabella.”
“Then, pray tell, who do you intend to marry?” his father asked, not bothering to dilute the mocking tone in his voice.
“I know not.”
“You can’t keep wasting your life,” the marquess argued. “You need to secure an heir, and quickly. That is your duty.”
Martin walked over to the drink cart and picked up the decanter. “I will make an effort to secure a bride this Season,” he said as he poured himself a drink.
His father crossed his arms over his chest. “I will give you a month.”
“One month?” Martin repeated back in disbelief.
His father nodded. “You have one month to secure a bride, or else I will pursue a marriage between you and Lady Isabella.”
“I daresay that is not enough time,” Martin asserted as he picked up his glass.
His father huffed. “It is more than enough time,” he declared. “It is not as if you are to marry for love.”
Martin stiffened. “Perhaps I do want to marry for love.”
His father barked a laugh. “Love is not a prerequisite for marriage,” he stated. “It is merely what poets spout to sell their nonsense.”
“That is not true.”
“In our circles, mutual toleration is the best we can hope for.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t enough for me.”
His father shook his head. “Your head has been filled with nonsense,” he declared. “Given the right circumstances, love can be achieved, but it takes many years to obtain.”
“I disagree with that,” Martin said.
“Then go prove me wrong,” his father stated with a wave of his hand, “but I am only giving you one month to do so.”
“Why are you so adamant that I marry Lady Isabella?”
His father uncrossed his arms and dropped them to his sides. “Lord Whittingham and I would like to unite our families through marriage. I assure you that it is quite a strategic match and would benefit both parties.”
“How does Lady Isabella feel about marrying me?”
His father furrowed his brows. “Why would she take issue with it?” he asked. “You are an earl and will one day be a marquess.” He glanced over at the long clock in the corner. “I’m afraid I need to depart for the House of Lords.”
Martin took a sip of his drink. “I wish you luck.”
His father walked over to the door and opened it. “You have one month, son,” he warned. “I should remind you that I am not a patient man, so you should consider yourself lucky that I have agreed to this madness.”
As his father walked out of the room, Martin gulped down the rest of his drink and put the glass down on the cart. What was he going to do? He had no desire to marry Lady Isabella, but no young lady had caught his eye this Season. He refused to go along with his father’s whims.
Perhaps it was time to seek out someone who could help him with this problem. A matchmaker. Fortunately, he was friends with the best matchmakers in Town.
Hannah smoothed down her ivory ballgown with its square neckline as she sat across from her sister and brother-in-law in the coach. She had to admit that she was rather excited for the ball this evening. She enjoyed dancing and never did lack for partners. She was well aware that she was highly sought after for her dowry and familial connections. She was flattered to receive so much attention from the gentlemen, but she only sought approval from one man.
Lord Egleton.
She had fallen in love with him the moment he had carried her to her country estate after she slipped and fell on some ruins. Even though she was young, she knew that Martin was the man of her dreams. He
