Giles couldn’t help smiling. ‘Some gentlemen consider it the only way to make this particular decision, David.’
‘Possibly, but I am not one of them. I can think of nothing worse than leg-shackling myself to a vapid young woman whose head is filled with silly romantic nonsense and little else.’
‘I see. Then what kind of wife do you seek?’
‘I seek a competent hostess and a loyal companion,’ David replied, without hesitation. ‘A woman who will be a good mother to my children, and who will discharge her role as Marchioness of Blackwood with dignity and style, as my mother did. And I believe Lady Nicola to be precisely that type of female.’
‘She also happens to be a remarkably beautiful young woman,’ Sir Giles remarked idly. ‘Or had you taken time to notice that during your rather clinical assessment of her many other fine attributes?’
‘I have most certainly taken note of the fact that Lady Nicola is an exceedingly lovely young woman, but more important to me than her beauty is the fact that she has been raised in a nobleman’s house—an upbringing which will have equipped her with the knowledge and refinement necessary to take her place in mine.’
‘Knowledge and refinement. Dear me.’ Sir Giles regarded the only child of his much loved younger sister, Jane—who, sadly, had succumbed to a virulent lung infection eight years ago—with an expression akin to pity. ‘Is that all you can say about the woman you intend to marry?’
‘Is that not enough?’
‘Have you spoken to the young lady?’
‘Of course. I accompanied her on the pianoforte at Lady Rutherford’s musicale last month, and we danced twice at Lady Dunbarton’s ball just a few weeks ago.’
‘And you feel that to be a sufficient foundation upon which to make a decision that will affect the rest of your life?’
David’s brows drew together in a dark line. ‘I take it you do not.’
Sir Giles shrugged eloquently. ‘Doesn’t matter what I think, David; I’m not marrying the girl. I simply thought you might have…well, taken time to get to know her before offering for her hand.’ Then, seeing the look which appeared on his nephew’s face, Sir Giles chuckled. ‘Forgive me. I thought love and marriage went hand in hand.’
‘Only in penny romances,’ David retorted dryly. ‘I am not looking to fall head over heels like some moonstruck young cub, Uncle, or to cast away duty and obligation in the name of undying love, as my father did.’
‘Your father did nothing of the sort,’ Sir Giles replied mildly, having had this conversation with his nephew before. ‘Richard was as respectful of the title as you are, and he was well aware of the obligation he owed to the family. But when he met Stephanie de Charbier nothing else mattered to him except that they be together.’
David stiffened as he always did at the mention of his father’s second wife. ‘I do not care to discuss her.’
‘I know, but I will not have you accusing my brother-in-law of shunning his responsibilities. Your father was a lonely man, David. Jane had been dead for over four years, and not once in all that time did Richard so much as look at another woman. Until he met Stephanie—’
‘I said, I don’t want to hear—’
‘But you will hear it, sir,’ Sir Giles said, with more firmness than he usually employed when in conversation with his favourite nephew. ‘Stephanie brought happiness and joy back into your father’s life. The family didn’t approve of her and neither did you, but she stood by him regardless. Even you can’t deny how much her love changed him.’
‘No, I can’t deny it,’ David agreed, the bitterness evident in his voice. ‘Because it was that same love that turned his life upside down and eventually killed him.’
Sir Giles shook his head sadly. ‘Love didn’t kill your father, David. Grief did. Surely you understand that now? He never recovered from the shock of losing her.’
‘What I understand is that he locked himself away in a room refusing to eat or drink, until there was nothing left of him,’ David said woodenly. ‘And all in the name of love. Well, if that is what passion does to a man, you can keep it. I have neither the time nor the inclination for such foolishness.’
‘Then why bother to marry at all?’ Sir Giles asked quietly. ‘You say you are content as a bachelor. And as your cousin Arabella is happy enough to act the part of your hostess when you do trouble yourself to entertain, why spoil such an amicable arrangement by bringing in a wife?’
‘Because there is the matter of progeny,’ David said, his brief spurt of anger deserting him as the melancholy he had never quite been able to overcome moved in to take its place. ‘It is my duty to marry and produce the requisite heir, and I can’t very well do that with Arabella, even if I were of a mind to.’
‘No, I dare say there would be those who would take exception. First cousin?’
‘Second, but it is of no consequence. Belle’s always been like a sister to me.’
Pity she’s never thought of you as a brother, Sir Giles was tempted to say, but then thought better of it. If David wasn’t aware of his beautiful cousin’s affection, perhaps it was just as well.
‘Well, then, all things considered, I suppose there is nothing for it but to marry,’ Sir Giles said at length. ‘So, when does the courtship begin?’
‘There isn’t going to be a formal courtship,’ David informed him. ‘I am expected at Wyndham Hall tomorrow afternoon, at which time I shall set forth my offer of marriage. I have already secured the Earl’s blessing.’
‘Yes, and why would you not?’ Sir Giles said fondly. ‘You are considered a splendid catch, my boy, and I wager there will be many a broken-hearted young lady moping about Town when news of your betrothal appears in The Times.’
‘Perhaps, but, as there are an equal number of gallant young gentlemen to console them, I doubt anyone is in fear of losing sleep over it. Besides,’ David said, lifting his impeccably clad shoulders in an eloquent shrug, ‘it may be the Lady Nicola for whom you should be reserving your sympathies. I am not as dashing as some of the young bucks parading around Town, and I have never been known for my gay outlook on life.’
‘No, but what you lack in spontaneity is more than made up for by your cutting wit and rapier-sharp mind.’
One corner of David’s mouth lifted in a smile that could almost have been called wistful. ‘I hardly think wit and intelligence will endear me to a lady unless she happens to be something of a scholar herself. And I don’t know that I am predisposed to spending the rest of my life with a bluestocking.’
‘Rest assured, Lady Nicola has a fine mind and a lively sense of humour, but she is no bluestocking,’ Sir Giles assured his nephew. ‘In fact, I believe the only reason she is still unwed is as a result of her having been in mourning for so long.’
‘Yes, what a tragic set of circumstances,’ David observed soberly. ‘First her maternal aunt and uncle killed in that freak carriage accident, and, then less than a year later, her mother in a riding mishap. And then her paternal uncle, most unexpectedly.’
‘Tragic indeed,’ Sir Giles agreed. ‘Especially considering how close Lady Nicola was to her mother. But she has come through it all, and now Lord Wyndham is anxious that she marry and start a family of her own. And, given her devotion to him, I dare say she would marry you just to please him.’
‘Not the most flattering of reasons for accepting a man’s offer of marriage—’
‘But acceptable enough under the circumstances,’ Sir Giles pointed out sagely. ‘After all, you were the one who said that love was not a consideration in the asking, David, so why should the lack of it be a consideration in the acceptance?’
‘Why indeed?’