falls to you to consider the succession.”
Helena was correct. He did not want to have this conversation—now or ever.
“We should have spoken of this years ago, perhaps,” Veronica said, dabbing her eyes, “when we realized it was unlikely either of us would give our h-husbands a son.”
“But what would have been the point?” Helena blew her nose. “You were married to that horrible woman. Albert lived in terror that she would conceive during one of her drunken orgies. Can you imagine? Some bounder’s son would one day become the Duke of Benton.”
Of course he could imagine it. He had imagined it. He’d eventually concluded that Hortense was either barren or had learned how to prevent pregnancy.
“But now you are free,” Veronica said, “to marry again.”
“Ah.” He felt as if a noose had just dropped over his head.
“Oh, not immediately,” Helena quickly assured him. “Though given the seriousness of the situation, I believe everyone will understand if you don’t wait a year to remarry.”
“Or even six months.” Veronica shrugged. “You are almost forty.”
“You will want a young girl.”
“Though not too young.”
“No, indeed. Not a debutante. A girl in her second or third Season. Someone with a bit of Town bronze, but young enough to give you many children.” Helena swallowed and exchanged a pained look with Veronica. “Give you many sons.”
Then they looked at him.
He looked back at them and tugged at his cravat.
“We’ve started a list,” Veronica said, determination clear in her tone. “In a few months we’ll begin to invite some matrimonial candidates down to Benton for you to look over.”
He knew they meant well. And he understood why they’d brought up the topic. He should feel some responsibility for the succession. But . . .
But I want to marry Belle.
Belle was thirty-seven, almost of an age with Helena and Veronica. It was very unlikely she would give him sons. Impossible if what she’d said was true, that she couldn’t have children.
But he’d endured one loveless marriage. Could he stomach another?
He could ask Belle to be his mistress—
No. She’d already refused that position. If he married, he would lose her.
And he didn’t want Belle to be his mistress. He wanted her to be his wife. He wanted to be able to acknowledge her, to have her at his side, especially at times like these.
“These are the names we’ve come up with.” Helena took a sheet of paper out of her pocket, opened it, and pushed it across the desk toward him. “Look it over, William.”
“And add any names you’d like us to consider,” Veronica said.
Helena nodded. “And with God’s grace, by this time next year we’ll have an heir to carry on the title.”
He left the paper on the desk and stood. His sisters-in-law stood, too.
“Helena. Veronica. I appreciate your efforts. I just—”
Helena frowned at him. “We sometimes have to do difficult things, William, to further a greater good.”
“Yes.” These two women were very brave, far braver than he. “I do comprehend that. However, I find I need some time to think.”
“That’s understandable,” Veronica said. “But don’t think too long.”
“Life is unpredictable.” Helena pressed her lips together, and then her face began to crumple. “It can en-end at the most unexpected m-moment.”
Oh, damnation. These women had suffered so much. William came over to put an arm around each of them. He held them as they sobbed into their handkerchiefs. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”
Life was unpredictable. He had to go to Loves Bridge. He had to see Belle. He could not wait a moment longer.
“I must leave Benton for a few days.” He felt better just saying that, as if he was finally taking back control of his life.
“Leave?” Helena looked at Veronica.
Veronica gaped at him. “Where are you going?”
“To see a friend. I left some business unfinished when I rushed
Helena was correct. He did not want to have this conversation—now or ever.
“We should have spoken of this years ago, perhaps,” Veronica said, dabbing her eyes, “when we realized it was unlikely either of us would give our h-husbands a son.”
“But what would have been the point?” Helena blew her nose. “You were married to that horrible woman. Albert lived in terror that she would conceive during one of her drunken orgies. Can you imagine? Some bounder’s son would one day become the Duke of Benton.”
Of course he could imagine it. He had imagined it. He’d eventually concluded that Hortense was either barren or had learned how to prevent pregnancy.
“But now you are free,” Veronica said, “to marry again.”
“Ah.” He felt as if a noose had just dropped over his head.
“Oh, not immediately,” Helena quickly assured him. “Though given the seriousness of the situation, I believe everyone will understand if you don’t wait a year to remarry.”
“Or even six months.” Veronica shrugged. “You are almost forty.”
“You will want a young girl.”
“Though not too young.”
“No, indeed. Not a debutante. A girl in her second or third Season. Someone with a bit of Town bronze, but young enough to give you many children.” Helena swallowed and exchanged a pained look with Veronica. “Give you many sons.”
Then they looked at him.
He looked back at them and tugged at his cravat.
“We’ve started a list,” Veronica said, determination clear in her tone. “In a few months we’ll begin to invite some matrimonial candidates down to Benton for you to look over.”
He knew they meant well. And he understood why they’d brought up the topic. He should feel some responsibility for the succession. But . . .
But I want to marry Belle.
Belle was thirty-seven, almost of an age with Helena and Veronica. It was very unlikely she would give him sons. Impossible if what she’d said was true, that she couldn’t have children.
But he’d endured one loveless marriage. Could he stomach another?
He could ask Belle to be his mistress—
No. She’d already refused that position. If he married, he would lose her.
And he didn’t want Belle to be his mistress. He wanted her to be his wife. He wanted to be able to acknowledge her, to have her at his side, especially at times like these.
“These are the names we’ve come up with.” Helena took a sheet of paper out of her pocket, opened it, and pushed it across the desk toward him. “Look it over, William.”
“And add any names you’d like us to consider,” Veronica said.
Helena nodded. “And with God’s grace, by this time next year we’ll have an heir to carry on the title.”
He left the paper on the desk and stood. His sisters-in-law stood, too.
“Helena. Veronica. I appreciate your efforts. I just—”
Helena frowned at him. “We sometimes have to do difficult things, William, to further a greater good.”
“Yes.” These two women were very brave, far braver than he. “I do comprehend that. However, I find I need some time to think.”
“That’s understandable,” Veronica said. “But don’t think too long.”
“Life is unpredictable.” Helena pressed her lips together, and then her face began to crumple. “It can en-end at the most unexpected m-moment.”
Oh, damnation. These women had suffered so much. William came over to put an arm around each of them. He held them as they sobbed into their handkerchiefs. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”
Life was unpredictable. He had to go to Loves Bridge. He had to see Belle. He could not wait a moment longer.
“I must leave Benton for a few days.” He felt better just saying that, as if he was finally taking back control of his life.
“Leave?” Helena looked at Veronica.
Veronica gaped at him. “Where are you going?”
“To see a friend. I left some business unfinished when I rushed
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