Cecily might come by her sensitivity naturally. A good sign.
“Brandy?”
“No, thank you.” He wasn’t on a social call.
It was new to him, this begging the custodial permission. With Carole and Betsy on the marriage mart, he might as well get used to the process—though in their cases he would not be the petitioner. And Lillian . . . an entirely different story. He was determined she would not be left to languish unwedded for whatever innocent—and he was convinced the more he got to know her that it
was
innocent—mistake she’d made with Sebring.
“Don’t thank me yet.” The exalted Duke of Eddington sat back and eyed him with assessment. He was not particularly impressive physically; of medium height, with thinning fair hair going gray and patrician features, but his air of power was there in the aura of the confidence of complete privilege. “You are here about my daughter.”
True enough. “And I’m not the first,” Jonathan said with equanimity, also taking the older man’s measure. In his culture, warriors were weighed not on their background but on what they had earned. “I know Drury wants her.”
The duke raised his brows over how that was phrased, but his gaze sharpened. “An interesting and somewhat barbaric way of putting it, to be sure. Shall I assume what I’ve heard about you is true?”
“That depends on what you’ve heard.” Jonathan kept his voice even. “I doubt much of it is in my favor, but might I point out that very few in society truly know me?”
The Duke of Eddington leaned back a fraction more. Jonathan was attuned to the reactions of his enemies, and in this case he recognized that his adversary had relaxed.
A good sign.
“Go on. Make your case.”
“I wish to marry Lady Cecily.” Jonathan smiled negligently. “I could point out my title, my wealth—which might not be as princely as yours but is certainly substantial—and a family lineage that is traced back to early British kings, but truthfully, I am certain enough you know all that. If you can overlook what some think of as mixed blood, I am in a practical sense a better match than Drury.”
That drew a lifted brow. “How do
you
think of it?”
An interesting question.
“My heritage?” It was going to be only one of several stumbling blocks—he’d known it all along. What was amazing was how it mattered not at all to Cecily. Her confidence in his desirability as a son-in-law to such a prominent man and her lack of personal prejudice were endearing. “With all due respect, keep in mind we are all a whole of two different parts, Your Grace. Almost all the monarchy of the world is bred with other cultures. Isn’t that how dynastic marriages work? For the sake of alliances, a king marries his daughter to the prince of another country. In that sense, there is no such thing as a pure bloodline.”
The duke at least looked amused. “That’s a valid argument, true, but I have no need for an alliance with the Iroquois Nation.”
“Nor could I give you one,” Jonathan said dryly. “In their eyes I am half English. Snobbery is not limited to these shores.”
A glimmer of respect shown in the duke’s eyes. “Point taken.”
“If so, then can we dismiss my father’s first marriage and move on to the other issues between us?”
“At least you acknowledge other issues exist.”
He did, but it still chafed him to have to excuse his relationship to members of his family who had little or nothing to do with the scandal surrounding them. “My sister and my daughter.” Jonathan’s voice took on a certain hard edge that he could not suppress. “Lillian might have made a mistake, but let’s give Lord Sebring full measure of responsibility also, and as I understand it, he is received everywhere. As for Adela, she had absolutely nothing to do with the circumstances of her birth and I refuse to apologize for her existence in any way. She brings light and joy to my life.”
That impassioned declaration made the duke raise his brows. “I see. Yet I understand you refused to wed the child’s mother.”
“That is between her and myself.”
If he had just made a grave error, so be it, Jonathan decided as he sat there, because while his growing passion for the lovely Cecily was alarmingly intense, he could never betray his daughter—or even the prickly Lily—by acting as if either of them embarrassed him.
And they didn’t. Life was imperfect, but as his aunt had told him often during his youth, if the spirits didn’t challenge men and women, it would be a dull existence.
“Fair enough. I respect that, but it hardly makes you a better prospective son-in-law. If you were in my position, what would you do, Lord Augustine?” His Grace reached over, picked up the decanter, and poured himself a measure of gold liquid into a fat-bottomed glass. “As you pointed out, you are not the only man with an interest in my daughter.”
Jonathan regarded the duke evenly. “At the risk of sounding arrogant, I will say Cecily
wishes
to marry me. So since you pose the question, my answer is I would take my daughter’s preference into account. After all, it is her life. She is as intelligent as she is beautiful. Let her choose.”
For a moment they measured each other, equally assessing. Then the duke said, “You are quite certain, Lord Augustine?”
He thought about Cecily’s unorthodox proposal, the carriage’s broken wheel, and then that intoxicating first kiss. He couldn’t wait to introduce her to the other pursuits men and women could enjoy together. Not that he was at all certain she would wish to actually marry him, but it was an educated guess convincing her would be his pleasure. “She has already told me she would accept my proposal.”
“You discussed it with her first?” The duke’s brows elevated fractionally at Jonathan’s assured tone.
“The subject has arisen between us, yes.” He wasn’t about to explain that the engagement was her idea because that would prompt her father to ask questions and he’d already given his word he would not reveal Lady Eleanor’s affection for the viscount.
The real question now, of course, was how interested the duke was in his daughter’s happiness.
And sitting there in her father’s study, he wondered if their children would be dark or have her delicate fair coloring. The vision of her heavy with his babe invaded his mind and took his soul prisoner.
“You and Cecily are very different.” The Duke of Eddington sipped his brandy before continuing. “You were raised in different worlds, in a literal sense. And word has it you have no intention of staying in England. I hope you both have thought this through in a clearminded way. I would miss my daughter and have never heard that she has a desire to immigrate to America.”
It was gratifying to find that he was at least taken at his word about Cecily’s feelings. Jonathan hesitated, and then said quietly, “I promise that we will thoroughly discuss the arrangements of our marriage before the ceremony takes place.” It was a pledge not just to her father but, though she didn’t realize it, to her as well.
He didn’t make promises lightly. When he did make them, they were kept.
“I hope you are sincere, for with Cecily, you had better reconcile that you must follow through.”
There was no stifling his involuntary laugh. “Yes, I’ve met her. She can be a very determined young woman.”
“Neither of my daughters is particularly compromising. They take after their mother.”
This time Jonathan smiled in spite of himself, for the duke’s voice held a certain dry edge. “I believe you, Your Grace. I have three younger sisters and a daughter I am responsible for. It gives one perspective.”
“I suppose it would.” Cecily’s father smiled for the first time. “If you’d like advice on how to handle them, look elsewhere. So far I am personally stymied.” He paused, and his fingers toyed with his glass. “So that you know, I liked your father.”
“So did I.”
“We have that in common then.” The duke eyed him from across the desk, his graying hair neat in the shining late-afternoon illumination, his eyes speculative. “I also like Drury. I know him far better than I know you, and this is my child we are discussing.”
“I will care for her; do not worry.”
The Duke of Eddington looked at him steadily. “Rest assured, should this marriage take place, that is precisely what I expect from you.”
The summons had come as she had expected, right after Jonathan’s departure. Somehow, this afternoon, her father seemed a little less intimidating. Maybe it was that he rarely appeared without his coat, but it now was folded neatly over the back of his chair. The air was redolent with the masculine aroma of brandy and tobacco.
“This is what you wish, then?” he said without preamble when she chose a seat and he sat back down.
There was that question again. Cecily nodded, wondering if all potential brides—not that she actually was one—were so interrogated.
Maybe only if they were marrying the roguish Earl Savage. Or pretending to marry him, anyway. She nodded. “It is precisely what I wish.”
Her father looked at her gravely and then sighed. “I don’t suppose pointing out that Lord Drury is a more conventional choice would do any good, would it? I’ve seen that stubborn tilt to your chin before.”
He could point it out to Eleanor, who might or might not care about his conventionality but was in love with him regardless. Cecily smiled. “Jonathan is actually quite civilized.”
Or is he?
From that audacious kiss they had just shared in the drawing room she had the distinct impression that he could be very uncivilized indeed.
“Your children—”
“Would be beautiful,” she interrupted, because truly, any child of Jonathan’s would no doubt be as perfect physically as he was. She caught herself and corrected her statement. “
Will
be beautiful.”
“What of the one he already has? Can you live with that? From my conversation with him, I think you will be expected to not just tolerate her presence in the household but to accept her.”
As they weren’t actually marrying, the question was just philosophical for her. “I love children, and truly, how can her birth possibly be held against her?”
“Echoes of Augustine’s own words.”
“I’m not surprised. Despite our different upbringings in many ways, we do seem to think in a similar fashion. That is why it will be a good match.”
And we both love our sisters
.
“You sound so sure of my agreement.” Her father reclined behind his desk, every inch the regal duke. “I have not yet given my approval. And let us recall that after my meeting with him, Lord Drury has certain expectations.”
“But you haven’t given
him
your approval either,” she said quickly. “Quite frankly, with or without Jonathan’s suit, I would not consider the viscount.”
“Yes, I get that impression.” He rubbed his forehead, his expression resigned. “Augustine won’t be the easiest choice. What of his desire to return to America?”
She’d thought of how she would answer that question. “His family is here, and quite naturally, his business affairs will require he spend time in England. And you are right about not being the easiest choice. He already has the ability to annoy me, but then again, Grandmama tells me the men you care about always do. I am convinced he can be redeemed, given the right direction.”
He laughed. He didn’t often. . . . She’d never thought about it, but his life must be very serious, for in front of his children at least, laughter was rare.
How odd. What else did she not know about him? A disconcerting thought. It prompted her to ask impulsively, “How did you meet Maman?”
Her father looked surprised at the very personal question. It was not something she’d ever inquired about before, and truly, considering that she was now discussing her own possible engagement, maybe it was time she did. Why was it she’d never known about her parents’ romance? Was there even a romance to discuss? Maybe there had never been one. Cecily wondered. Maybe it had been arranged; much like how he had wanted her to simply accept Lord Drury’s offer and be done with it.
“We were introduced when we were very young.”
She looked at him, so familiar in the setting of masculine paintings of horses and hounds, his brandy glass on his desk, and correspondence piled on the blotter. “Introduced how and when?”
“Our parents were friends. The betrothal was signed before I was ten.” The snifter sat on his desk and he took a sip. “I was a ducal heir. It isn’t unusual to settle such matters early.”
Cecily murmured, “That hardly seems fair.”
“I found her attractive enough.”
“Shouldn’t there be more to it?”
“Are we back to the subject of emotional attachment again?”
“It appears we are, though I am glad you were pleased or I wouldn’t exist.”
He looked disconcerted at such a frank statement. “I don’t know if you are being deliberately provoking just to irritate me, but I’m willing to overlook it so we can continue. This discussion is about
your
engagement. If you wish to marry the Earl of Augustine, I will consider it.”
She recognized that austere tone. Her father rarely argued. He considered it beneath him. If she wanted to know more about the circumstances of her parents’ marriage—and to her surprise she did—she would have to look elsewhere. The importance of the moment was that whatever Jonathan had said to him was obviously convincing and for that she was grateful.
“Yes, I want to marry him.”
One brow raised, her father gazed at her across his desk. “Very well. You seem quite determined. I’ll inform Viscount Drury that other arrangements have been made and talk to Augustine again tomorrow.”
“You have another daughter,” she suggested, arranging her skirts with a careless motion of her hand. “It isn’t like the viscount and Elle haven’t met. Perhaps they would be a more suitable match anyway—and I don’t think she’d be adverse to the suggestion.”