steeled himself. “Whatever you need, you know you can count on me.”
Griffin’s lips faintly curved with something that looked like satisfaction. “That is what I’d hoped you would say.” He turned back to the window. “Though I doubt what I am going to ask will remotely resemble what you might be thinking.”
Rule made no comment.
“Whatever fate holds in store for me, my foremost concern is the welfare of my daughter. I need to know her future will be secure. I need to be certain she will be well cared for and that she’ll have the sort of home a woman wants. In short, I need to find her a husband.”
Rule’s stomach knotted. Surely Howard Griffin wasn’t thinking of him as a candidate for his daughter’s hand in marriage?
“She likes you, Rule. In fact, I believe she even harbors some sort of schoolgirl crush on you.”
“You are not thinking—”
“Actually, I am, but don’t look so horrified. What I am about to propose isn’t quite what you think.”
“I understand your fears, Mr. Griffin, but as you said, your daughter is only sixteen.”
“And yet it is my duty as her father to arrange for her future, to ensure she marries well and is happy and well cared for. If there were more time, of course, I would do things differently. Unfortunately, time isn’t something I have.”
Rule could only imagine how the man must feel. He had a daughter he loved and now he would never see her grow into a woman. “I see your dilemma, sir, but I’m afraid…”
“My choices are limited, Rule. I need to make arrangements for her future, though in some ways she is still a child. Which is the reason I would require her future husband to wait until she has reached her maturity before the marriage is consummated. She would have to be at least eighteen.”
Rule found himself shaking his head. “I’m sorry, sir. As much as I respect you, if you are asking me to marry your daughter, I’m afraid I’ll have to—”
“Before you give me your answer, at least hear me out.”
The man was dying. The least Rule could do was be polite enough to listen. He gave a curt nod of his head. One thing was sure. No matter how much he admired Howard Griffin, he wasn’t about to get married and especially not to a sixteen-year-old girl.
“Why don’t we sit down and I’ll tell you what I am proposing. Perhaps when I am finished, you will no longer look at me as if I have already lost my wits.”
Rule managed a smile. Damn, he bloody well liked this man. He hated the thought of him dying so many years before his time.
It was a shame he would have to refuse him.
Seated on an ornate gold velvet settee in her bedroom, Violet Griffin sat next to her cousin and best friend, Caroline Lockhart. Eyes red rimmed from crying, Violet blew her nose into a lace-trimmed handkerchief and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“I still can’t believe it.”
“It isn’t fair,” Caroline said. “You’ve already lost your mother. You don’t deserve to lose your father, too.”
Violet sniffed, wiped away fresh tears. She had been crying for days, ever since her father had called her into his study and told her the terrible truth—that in less than a year, he would be dead. “Father says life is never fair.”
“I suppose not, but it certainly should be.”
Violet looked up at her friend. “F-Father wants me to marry. He says it’s the only way he can die in peace.”
Caroline’s pale blue eyes widened. Blonde and fair and an inch taller than Violet, she shifted on the sofa, the skirt of her pink taffeta tea gown making a rustling sound as she moved. “Dear Lord, you are only sixteen!”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Caroline bit her lip. “So whom does he want you to marry?”
“The Englishman, Rule Dewar. You remember him. He came here for supper several times and on another day came to luncheon. You met him at luncheon.”
Caroline’s expression turned dreamy. “It isn’t as if I would forget. I have never seen a more beautiful man.”
Violet just nodded. “That is what I thought the first time I saw him. He has the most amazing blue eyes and his hair is so black it looks blue.” She glanced down at her lap then back at her friend. “Do you think I should marry him? Father wants to make sure my future is secure before—before…”
“Your father loves you very much,” Caroline said softly.
“I know he does.” Violet dabbed at a tear escaping down her cheek. “So should I? Papa has always asked so little of me and it would please him so greatly.”
“Do you think…Does Rule want to marry you?”
“I don’t know. Father says he does.”
“It’s an odd name—Rule. Where do you suppose it came from?”
“Father says it was his great-grandfather’s name, inherited from the mother’s side of the family or some such thing. He says the two of them have already come to a financial arrangement that would take care of both of us. He says Rule wouldn’t actually…he wouldn’t actually become my husband until I turned eighteen.”
Caroline nodded. “You mean he won’t demand his husbandly rights before you are old enough.”
“I suppose.” Violet twisted the damp handkerchief in her hands. “Until then, he is going back to London to manage the plant we own there.”
Caroline smoothed her pink taffeta gown. “So do you want to marry him?”
Violet shook her head. “I don’t want to marry anyone. Not yet, at any rate. But if I have to get married…well, then, I guess I would choose Rule.”
Caroline grinned. “Can you imagine? The man is the brother of a duke! If you marry him, you’ll be the envy of every girl at Broadmoor.”
Mrs. Broadmoor’s Academy for Young Ladies, which both girls currently attended, was the most exclusive finishing school in Boston. Violet didn’t particularly like the place. She preferred a different sort of education, the kind her father had already provided: math and history, science and geography, French, Latin and Greek.
But she was determined to be the lady her father always wanted her to be, so she applied herself with equal purpose to her studies at the academy.
Tears welled. Now it wouldn’t matter if she graduated at the top of her class. Her father would never know.
She took a shaky breath. Whether he knew or not didn’t matter. Violet would know, and pleasing him now was more important than ever.
There and then, she made her decision.
“I’m going to do it, Carrie. I’m going to marry Rule Dewar.”
Caroline let out a girlish squeal, slid over and hugged her. “You’re going to be a bride! I can hardly believe it!”
Violet stared down at the handkerchief in her lap and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Neither can I.”
Two weeks passed. It seemed the blink of an eye to Rule. It was Saturday, a warm spring day he tried to see as a positive omen for the monumental decision he had made. Standing in the vast gardens at the rear of the Griffin mansion in front of a flower-covered arch above the altar, Rule stared up the aisle at the future Mrs. Rule Dewar.
She looked exactly like what she was, a naive young girl barely out of the schoolroom. Even in an elaborate wedding gown fashioned of endless rows of white Belgian lace, she was a gangly, boyish young woman. Hardly ready for marriage and certainly not the sort Rule would choose if she were.
In