only say that I hope your doctor is wrong to think your condition is serious. There—now we shall move on to other things. If we’re to remain at the castle for a while, Isabel and I should make calls upon your neighbors. Do you happen to know whether Sir George and Lady Fletcher are in residence at Mallowan?”
“Haven’t heard any different,” the duke said.
The Earl of Chiswick had quietly followed his daughter into the drawing room. He filled glasses for himself, Emily, and the duke. “They are indeed at home. I encountered Sir George this afternoon on my ride.”
“That would be the best place to start, I suppose,” Emily said. “I am certain Lady Fletcher will know exactly who else is at home in the neighborhood.”
Isabel and Lord Maxwell came in. Isabel looked pale, Lucien thought, and she quickly took her hand off her husband’s arm and went to join Emily.
Lucien blinked in surprise. She had been touching Maxwell? No; he must have been seeing things.
Emily plowed on, sounding determined. “Their daughter is just a few years younger than I—surely she has made her come-out by now. Isabel, have you encountered her in London? Isabel, are you listening? Do you recall Miss Fletcher?”
Isabel seemed to shake herself. “She’s called Chloe, I believe. I’m certain I heard her name associated with…I don’t quite recall who. Mr. Lancaster, I think.”
“What a coincidence.” Emily looked at the Earl of Chiswick over the rim of her glass. “Didn’t you refer to him in your last letter to me, Father? Or was that a different Mr. Lancaster?”
“No, it was the same one,” Chiswick admitted smoothly. “Though I have reason to know Sir George is not seriously considering him for Miss Fletcher’s hand.”
Lucien couldn’t help himself. “And how would you know that, Father?”
“Because Father is considering Mr. Lancaster for me,” Emily said, “despite the fact that I’m not interested in marrying.”
Lucien had to sympathize. He wasn’t interested in being married any more than Emily was, but that hadn’t stopped the earl from suggesting matches for him, either, so he understood how annoyed she was. Their situations were different, however—Emily was getting perilously close to being on the shelf, but for Lucien there was plenty of time. He didn’t plan to set up his nursery before he was thirty, at least—no matter how set his father was on there being a spare, as well as an heir, for his title.
“No, Emily,” the Earl of Chiswick said, “that is not the reason. You see, I know who Sir George is seriously considering as a match for his daughter.”
Lucien felt a sudden urge to look up at the ceiling, fairly sure he’d see a sword there, dangling by a thread and about to fall on him.
The earl let the silence draw out as he moved across the room to refill his glass. “In a word—me.”
Chapter 4
T he silence in the drawing room was so profound that Emily’s ears ached. She waited for someone—the Earl of Chiswick himself, perhaps—to burst out laughing at his jest, for surely he must be joking. At his age, to think of taking a new wife—
“My goodness,” Chiswick said gently. “One would think you are all startled by my announcement.”
“Startled?” Lucien said. “Smacked in the gob, more like.”
“But my son, surely you of all people should have anticipated this. When you refused to consider the sixth young lady I suggested as a potential bride, I was forced to conclude that you are not…inclined toward females. It thus falls back on me to make certain our noble house does not end with you.”
“Not inclined ?” Lucien was sputtering. “I’ll have you know I am entirely —”
“Ladies present,” Gavin murmured. “Well, one lady at least.” The way his gaze slid over Emily as if she didn’t exist, then came to rest approvingly on Isabel, made his meaning quite clear to Emily.
How dare he simply dismiss her when he was the one who had behaved
“Haven’t heard any different,” the duke said.
The Earl of Chiswick had quietly followed his daughter into the drawing room. He filled glasses for himself, Emily, and the duke. “They are indeed at home. I encountered Sir George this afternoon on my ride.”
“That would be the best place to start, I suppose,” Emily said. “I am certain Lady Fletcher will know exactly who else is at home in the neighborhood.”
Isabel and Lord Maxwell came in. Isabel looked pale, Lucien thought, and she quickly took her hand off her husband’s arm and went to join Emily.
Lucien blinked in surprise. She had been touching Maxwell? No; he must have been seeing things.
Emily plowed on, sounding determined. “Their daughter is just a few years younger than I—surely she has made her come-out by now. Isabel, have you encountered her in London? Isabel, are you listening? Do you recall Miss Fletcher?”
Isabel seemed to shake herself. “She’s called Chloe, I believe. I’m certain I heard her name associated with…I don’t quite recall who. Mr. Lancaster, I think.”
“What a coincidence.” Emily looked at the Earl of Chiswick over the rim of her glass. “Didn’t you refer to him in your last letter to me, Father? Or was that a different Mr. Lancaster?”
“No, it was the same one,” Chiswick admitted smoothly. “Though I have reason to know Sir George is not seriously considering him for Miss Fletcher’s hand.”
Lucien couldn’t help himself. “And how would you know that, Father?”
“Because Father is considering Mr. Lancaster for me,” Emily said, “despite the fact that I’m not interested in marrying.”
Lucien had to sympathize. He wasn’t interested in being married any more than Emily was, but that hadn’t stopped the earl from suggesting matches for him, either, so he understood how annoyed she was. Their situations were different, however—Emily was getting perilously close to being on the shelf, but for Lucien there was plenty of time. He didn’t plan to set up his nursery before he was thirty, at least—no matter how set his father was on there being a spare, as well as an heir, for his title.
“No, Emily,” the Earl of Chiswick said, “that is not the reason. You see, I know who Sir George is seriously considering as a match for his daughter.”
Lucien felt a sudden urge to look up at the ceiling, fairly sure he’d see a sword there, dangling by a thread and about to fall on him.
The earl let the silence draw out as he moved across the room to refill his glass. “In a word—me.”
Chapter 4
T he silence in the drawing room was so profound that Emily’s ears ached. She waited for someone—the Earl of Chiswick himself, perhaps—to burst out laughing at his jest, for surely he must be joking. At his age, to think of taking a new wife—
“My goodness,” Chiswick said gently. “One would think you are all startled by my announcement.”
“Startled?” Lucien said. “Smacked in the gob, more like.”
“But my son, surely you of all people should have anticipated this. When you refused to consider the sixth young lady I suggested as a potential bride, I was forced to conclude that you are not…inclined toward females. It thus falls back on me to make certain our noble house does not end with you.”
“Not inclined ?” Lucien was sputtering. “I’ll have you know I am entirely —”
“Ladies present,” Gavin murmured. “Well, one lady at least.” The way his gaze slid over Emily as if she didn’t exist, then came to rest approvingly on Isabel, made his meaning quite clear to Emily.
How dare he simply dismiss her when he was the one who had behaved
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