was all that was required. Several were mind-numbingly boring, or even worse, outright silly and giddy. A few spoke incessantly, while others sat so still and silent I worried if they were still drawing breath.”
The duke glared at him. “You are exaggerating.”
“Hardly. I am being kind. If the intent of marriage is to continue our illustrious, noble line, then you must allow it is imperative that I marry a woman I can impregnate.”
The duke snorted with disdain. “Don’t be vulgar.”
“I’m being truthful, Father.”
The duke rested his elbows on the top of his desk and covered his face with his hands for a moment. “I understand,” he said quietly, his tone sympathetic. “Far more than you think. I know all too well what it feels like to be obligated to a title, responsible to a birthright, forced to follow the immutable rules of society. If you fight it, you will become an angry, bitter man. If you embrace it, you at least have a hope of finding happiness.”
Carter tried to make allowances. He believed his father did indeed have his best interests at heart. But the duke was too much of an autocrat to completely understand. The need to control everything around him was strong and that included the actions and affairs of his son.
“I have always strived to be honorable, to do justice to our family name,” Carter said grimly. “I do not shirk my duties, sir, yet I want to be allowed to choose the woman with whom I shall spend the rest of my life. Is that so very much to ask?”
The duke stood. He was silent for a long moment and then he smiled charitably at his son. Carter’s intricately tied cravat suddenly felt much too tight.
“You present a compelling argument and I find I must agree. Perhaps I have been a bit too zealous. I’ll own it must be lowering for a man to have his father interfering so obviously.” The duke’s smile widened. “Consult the list. I feel certain there is at least one woman among those delectable females you will be happy to choose as your bride.”
“The thing is, old boy, you’ve never mastered the art of standing firm with the duke,” Viscount Benton said, emphasizing his point with a swift slash of his steel rapier. “’Tis no wonder your father is at odds with your behavior. He wants you to do as he bids and cannot understand why you are refusing him.”
Carter executed a swift parry of Lord Benton’s thrust and lunged forward on his lead foot, questioning his initial opinion that an afternoon of vigorous swordplay with his friends might relieve some of the tension he was feeling. If Benton’s mouth kept pace with his flashing foil, Carter would no doubt leave the fencing club with an even greater headache than when he arrived.
“This is not a simple dilemma,” Carter insisted, his voice raised to be heard above the clang of their steel rapiers. “The duke is hell-bent on finding me a bride. By the end of the Season.”
“This Season?” Benton visibly shuddered at the notion and Carter used the distraction to press his advantage. The viscount leapt back to evade the strong thrust and smiled. “God, that is a problem.”
“Exactly.” Carter’s rapier moved in a shiny flurry, his sword chattering against Benton’s. “He’s made a list of women.”
The viscount’s left brow lifted higher than the right. “How positively medieval.”
“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” Carter replied.
“There is, however, a very easy solution,” the viscount said mildly as he advanced, his left hand curved in an elegant arc behind his head.
“Oh?”
They moved in a tight circle, sweat gleaming on their brows. “Find a bride yourself. One that is not on his infernal list.”
“What?” Carter’s shoulders dropped in shock. How did Benton know? He had deliberately kept this decision to himself. The very last thing he needed was for it to be known in society that he was seeking a bride.
The viscount’s blade flashed up. Carter shouted, realizing Benton had made the comment to break his concentration. He countered the move and the sword suddenly flew from Benton’s hand. It slid, clattering across the floor.
“I say, Benton, ’tis unwise to provoke a man when he’s got a blade in his hand,” Peter Dawson advised. “Especially one as skilled as Atwood.”
Benton flashed an elegant grin, then offered his opponent a salute. “I knew the suggestion of taking a wife would get to him. And I was right.”
“Yes, but I still won,” Carter said as he bent to retrieve the sword.
“That’s only because you did not hear the rest of my plan.”
“It was not necessary. Your plan is as daft as you are, Benton. I have no interest in finding a wife,” Carter lied, shuddering to think of the consequences if the matchmaking females of the ton knew the truth.
“None of us do,” Benton replied. “Well, except for Dawson. I suspect he will marry and have a parcel of brats clinging to his knees before you or I have a serious conversation about marriage.”
“Hell, Benton, with that attitude, you’ll wait so long to find a bride that you could very well end up marrying one of my daughters,” Dawson quipped, then his expression sobered. “Strike that idea. I cannot imagine entrusting a child of mine into your care.”
The viscount slapped him on the back. “I always knew you were an intelligent fellow, Dawson. Now come, you both must hear me out.”
Benton poured them each a generous portion of ale and the three men settled into comfortable leather chairs that were set around the perimeter of the room. Against his better judgment, Carter found himself saying, “All right, out with it, Benton. I know we’ll have no peace until you’ve had your say.”
“My plan is brilliant in its simplicity.” The viscount rubbed his hands together with obvious relish. “You must find a completely unsuitable female and present her to your father as your future duchess.”
“Unsuitable?” Dawson questioned.
“Yes. The greater her unsuitability, the better.”
Carter swallowed the rest of his drink. The ale had an appealing, biting flavor as it slid down his throat. He reached for the pitcher and refilled his glass. “God knows, I shouldn’t encourage you, Benton, but I find myself macabrely interested. What do I do next, after the duke has a fit of apoplexy from meeting this unworthy creature?”
“You present your ultimatum. Tell him you will marry this woman or you will marry no one.” The viscount easily caught the towel Carter tossed at him. He held it up, then with a shrug, used it to wipe his damp brow.
“Are you not listening, Benton? I just said I have no wish to marry anyone, least of all an unsuitable female.”
“Pray, let me finish,” the viscount said indignantly. “When you present this female, a woman not personally selected by the duke to be your bride, a woman not on his exalted list, he will be appalled. Angry.”
“Livid,” Dawson interjected helpfully.
“Yes,” Benton agreed. “Livid. And the duke will tell you that it is better to remain unwed than to tie yourself, and your illustrious family name, to an inappropriate female. You fight him on this, but are eventually brought around to reason and reluctantly agree with him.” Benton leaned forward in his chair. “Now that is key. You must make a great show of being reluctantly brought around to the duke’s point of view. If not, he will not believe you were serious about marrying the chit.”
Dawson nodded his head in agreement. “Your character and convictions are strong, Atwood. It would be more believable if you initially stand firm against your father.”
“In fact, it might even be better if you do not capitulate completely,” Benton said, clearly warming to the plan. “Instead, tell him out of respect