but, in a way she is almost family.”
Gideon cocked a skeptical eyebrow at that description, but refrained from saying anything.
“I have not been nursing an unrequited love for her all these years,” the duke went on firmly. “We could never go back to what we were, what we felt. It has been fifteen years, after all. We both lost those feelings long ago. I’m not angry because I hoped the two of us might—No, it’s just Francesca’s absolute gall in deciding to take over my life. Everyone lets her managethings. She is terribly good at it, maneuvering and arranging.”
A smile lifted the other man’s lips. “I have had experience.”
“But that she should decide to do it for me! ” Rochford’s dark eyes snapped. “That she thinks she is better able to choose a wife than I am. That I need her help in getting a woman to marry me!” A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth.
Rochford poured himself a fourth drink and took a healthy slug of it. “Then she has the nerve to preach duty to me. To me! As if I were some young fool who flits about indulging my whims, with no concern for my name or family. As if I had not devoted my life to the title and the estate since I was eighteen years old. To top it off, she implies that I am getting past the age of marrying. As if I must seize some silly girl and father children as fast as I can before I am no longer capable of reproducing!”
Gideon smothered a smile. “I feel sure she did not mean to imply that.”
The duke made a disgruntled noise and sipped his drink.
“Pardon me if I am prying—you know my manners are not polished,” Gideon began. “But do you mean not to marry?”
“Of course not. I will marry. I must. Eventually.”
“You do not sound eager.”
Rochford shrugged. “I have simply not found anyone I want to marry. Everyone reminds me of my duty to have progeny, and I suppose they are right. The line must go on. And my cousin Bertram has no desire to inherit all the work and responsibility that go with being a duke. But surely there is time yet. I am not quite ready to ‘shuffle off this mortal coil.’” He swirled the brandy around in the bottom of the snifter, watching the dark liquid broodingly. “I will find a wife someday. And I will do it in my own way, without any help from Lady Haughston.”
“I must say, she did rather well for me,” Gideon pointed out mildly, watching his cousin. “I cannot imagine a mate better suited for me than Irene.” He paused, then added, “You might let her try.”
Rochford snorted. “It would serve her right if I did.”
This thought seemed to arrest him, for he stopped speaking and stared off into space for a long moment. Finally a slow smile curved his lips, and he thoughtfully took another drink.
“Maybe I should,” he murmured. “Let Lady Haughston see just how much she enjoys finding me the proper duchess.”
CHAPTER SIX
S IR A LAN CAME to call on Francesca the following afternoon, bringing his daughter with him. Francesca was relieved to see them. She had felt dispirited all day, fearing that she had lost Rochford’s friendship forever. She had stopped and started several tasks, unable to concentrate on anything, for her thoughts kept returning to Rochford’s anger. It seemed terribly unfair, she thought, that he had been so angry at her when all she had done was try to help him. Perhaps she had been a trifle clumsier than she normally was about such matters, but surely he could see that she had bore him no ill will in the matter.
If he had just allowed her to explain, she was sure that she could have made him understand—or at least kept him from becoming enraged. It was not like him to be quick to anger or disinclined to listen to reason. But Francesca was becoming aware that she apparently had that effect upon him. It was, she suspected, her frivolous nature that had grated on him. Rochford had always been serious—well, not serious, exactly, for he had a quick
Gideon cocked a skeptical eyebrow at that description, but refrained from saying anything.
“I have not been nursing an unrequited love for her all these years,” the duke went on firmly. “We could never go back to what we were, what we felt. It has been fifteen years, after all. We both lost those feelings long ago. I’m not angry because I hoped the two of us might—No, it’s just Francesca’s absolute gall in deciding to take over my life. Everyone lets her managethings. She is terribly good at it, maneuvering and arranging.”
A smile lifted the other man’s lips. “I have had experience.”
“But that she should decide to do it for me! ” Rochford’s dark eyes snapped. “That she thinks she is better able to choose a wife than I am. That I need her help in getting a woman to marry me!” A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth.
Rochford poured himself a fourth drink and took a healthy slug of it. “Then she has the nerve to preach duty to me. To me! As if I were some young fool who flits about indulging my whims, with no concern for my name or family. As if I had not devoted my life to the title and the estate since I was eighteen years old. To top it off, she implies that I am getting past the age of marrying. As if I must seize some silly girl and father children as fast as I can before I am no longer capable of reproducing!”
Gideon smothered a smile. “I feel sure she did not mean to imply that.”
The duke made a disgruntled noise and sipped his drink.
“Pardon me if I am prying—you know my manners are not polished,” Gideon began. “But do you mean not to marry?”
“Of course not. I will marry. I must. Eventually.”
“You do not sound eager.”
Rochford shrugged. “I have simply not found anyone I want to marry. Everyone reminds me of my duty to have progeny, and I suppose they are right. The line must go on. And my cousin Bertram has no desire to inherit all the work and responsibility that go with being a duke. But surely there is time yet. I am not quite ready to ‘shuffle off this mortal coil.’” He swirled the brandy around in the bottom of the snifter, watching the dark liquid broodingly. “I will find a wife someday. And I will do it in my own way, without any help from Lady Haughston.”
“I must say, she did rather well for me,” Gideon pointed out mildly, watching his cousin. “I cannot imagine a mate better suited for me than Irene.” He paused, then added, “You might let her try.”
Rochford snorted. “It would serve her right if I did.”
This thought seemed to arrest him, for he stopped speaking and stared off into space for a long moment. Finally a slow smile curved his lips, and he thoughtfully took another drink.
“Maybe I should,” he murmured. “Let Lady Haughston see just how much she enjoys finding me the proper duchess.”
CHAPTER SIX
S IR A LAN CAME to call on Francesca the following afternoon, bringing his daughter with him. Francesca was relieved to see them. She had felt dispirited all day, fearing that she had lost Rochford’s friendship forever. She had stopped and started several tasks, unable to concentrate on anything, for her thoughts kept returning to Rochford’s anger. It seemed terribly unfair, she thought, that he had been so angry at her when all she had done was try to help him. Perhaps she had been a trifle clumsier than she normally was about such matters, but surely he could see that she had bore him no ill will in the matter.
If he had just allowed her to explain, she was sure that she could have made him understand—or at least kept him from becoming enraged. It was not like him to be quick to anger or disinclined to listen to reason. But Francesca was becoming aware that she apparently had that effect upon him. It was, she suspected, her frivolous nature that had grated on him. Rochford had always been serious—well, not serious, exactly, for he had a quick
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