Lucy exchanged a knowing glance with Olivia, then said, “Truly, papa, two months is unreasonable. Four months, at least. We cannot have even a decent wedding gown sewn in so short a time.”
"What of my sisters?" Chastity demanded. "Who will care for them when I am gone?"
“It isn’t Chastity’s fault that she spent the last eight years being our mother,” Jessica said.
Chastity started at the wistful note in Jessica’s voice. Did she still miss their mother so desperately?
Lucy patted Jessica’s hand. “Of course, it isn’t her fault, but perhaps we have stood in Chastity’s way of finding happiness.”
Chastity blinked. “What?”
“You have selflessly cared for us these eight years.” Lucy smiled gently. “You deserve a family of your own.”
“You are my family,” Chastity insisted.
"It is your duty to marry,” the duke said. “Your sisters will follow suit.” He waved a hand. “You only set an example for them in avoiding marriage."
The younger sisters cried out in protest.
"You know nothing of your daughters,” Chastity said coldly. “They are women of sense who will not marry out of obligation."
He nodded slowly. "Another notion you put into their heads."
Chastity pursed her lips. "I suppose you will marry them to some old reprobate if they don't follow your dictates."
“Chastity,” Olivia and Lucy said in unison.
"Your three sisters will have no trouble finding husbands,” he continued. “Olivia had two offers, but you said the men weren’t up to snuff, so she rejected them. It is because of you that she has no family."
The younger sisters gasped.
Chastity scooped up her teacup and hurled it at her father. Tea spewed across Olivia’s pale blue morning dress. He barely jerked aside as the cup whizzed a hair’s breadth past his nose then crashed into the marble hearth behind him.
He shifted his gaze onto the shattered china, stared for two heartbeats, then slowly turned cold eyes onto his daughter. “I tolerated your mother’s temper. I will not tolerate yours.”
A chill raced across her arms at the deadly quiet in his voice. Her heart pounded. “I will not marry Hathaway,” she whispered.
“Then marry another.”
He was serious. Her head swam. She couldn’t bear life with the moon-faced Lord Hathaway. If she didn’t find someone else— She felt sick.
Lucy jumped to her feet and hurried around the table to her. “Look, Papa, you have upset her. Come.” She eased Chastity back onto her chair. “You must not worry about us,” Lucy said. “We are old enough to care for ourselves. We are all going to enjoy a season—this is to be my first, remember? Who knows, we might find husbands of our own. We wouldn’t want to leave you all alone. You may search for a nice gentleman when you chaperone us this season.”
Chastity looked at her. “What did you say?”
“I said, you will probably find a very nice gentleman this year at some ball we attend.”
Not bloody likely, she thought. Despite Lucy’s youth, she was too wise to fall for the first handsome man who whispered pretty nothings in her ear. Jessica had no intention of marrying—ever. Olivia— Shame stabbed. Was her father right, had she doomed Olivia’s last two offers? Bah! The men were not worthy of her sister, nor had they understood her bluestocking ways. The fact no other gentleman had offered for her only demonstrated the male sex’s insecurities. Olivia found more pleasure in her books than she would in a man. She would be miserable with anyone who insisted she give them up.
Chastity looked at the duke. "What if I agree to marry?"
A hard glint appeared in his eyes. “Refuse and I marry you to the first man who proves he can use a sword.”
Her fingers itched to snatch up the saucer and hurl it. “Use his sword, you mean.”
“As you will,” he muttered.
She forced calm and said, “I have a proposition.”
Chapter Two
Quinn Ramsey, the infamous Devil of Delny, leaned back in his library’s padded chair and saluted his surrogate brother with a lift of his sherry glass. He drank the contents in one gulp, then set the glass on the table between them. “I will marry once I am old enough to know the difference between lust and love.”
“Christ, Quinn, didn’t I teach you the difference?” Stirling propped his booted foot on the chaise lounge and rested his elbow on his knee. “It has been almost a year. How long do ye plan to ignore your father’s dying wish?”
Quinn nodded toward the windows overlooking the hills beyond his estate. “Have you ever noticed how the gloaming loses color as the hours tick into night?”
“Darkness tends to do that to the sky, lad.”
Quinn returned his gaze to Stirling. “I will not have the light and color leeched out of my life by some conniving, title-seeking chit—and her mamma.”
Stirling picked up his glass of sherry from the table to his left. “I was present when your father died, remember? I am not a man to give my promise lightly.”
Quinn blew out an exasperated breath. “You and that damned promise. How many times must I hear about it?”
“Until you keep your promise.”
The young man grimaced. “You mean, until I shackle myself to some milk-faced female who will bear me milk-faced children, a milk-faced heir in particular. Then she will delight me further by nightly sitting in front of the hearth, dutifully awaiting my return home. Thank you, but no.”
Stirling sipped his sherry. “Your word means nothing, then?”
It did, damn him for knowing that. “I never promised when I would marry.”
“The when is now, my young friend. I have just the woman for you.”
“God help me, I can imagine the sort of harridan you would choose for me.”
Amusement twitched the corner of Stirling’s mouth. “Indeed?”
“A fearsome female to reform the Devil of Delny.”
“Every man who marries must reform in some way,” Stirling said with a straight face.
Quinn gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Spoken like a man with no plans to wed, you lucky lout. It is only fair that I don’t have to marry until you do.”
Stirling sipped more sherry. “When I marry, you will marry, eh?”
He shrugged carelessly. “Why not? If you shun marriage, I should enjoy the same privilege.”
“What if I were to marry, say, five weeks from now?”
Quinn snorted. “You? I am more likely to marry before you. I haven’t forgotten all the times you deftly avoided marriage—and warned me to steer clear of matchmaking mammas.”
“I stand by my assessment,” Stirling said.
Quinn’s housekeeper entered with a tray of light refreshments, including oatcakes, a selection of cheeses, and sliced fruit. She set the tray on the table between them.
“Still trying to fatten me up with some of your apple-walnut scones, Mrs. McPhee?” Stirling teased.
“If you say so, sir,” she replied crisply. “I can’t help it if they’re a favorite of yours.” She straightened and faced Quinn. “Will ye need anything further, my lord?”
“Nae. Thank you, Mrs. McPhee.”
When she left, Stirling selected a scone, took a bite, then said, “I concede your point. Most mammas do not represent their daughters with honesty. Still, being a titled lord carries responsibility.”
Quinn frowned. “I would trade places with you in a moment. You are a lucky devil to wed as you please.”
“You are right, and what I please is to wed in June.”
Ramsey blinked. “What? You are jesting.”
“I have never been more serious in my life. June first, I will marry Lady Chastity.”
Ramsey frowned. “Never heard of her. I don’t believe you. The marriage of one of Scotland’s wealthiest shipping barons—and most eligible bachelors in Inverness—would make every paper.”
Stirling laughed. “You give me far too much cred
it. I am a simple businessman.”
“I have known you longer than anyone. Not to mention, I accompanied you on your trip to Spain last month. That deal you made for those three ships wasn’t made by a simple businessman—and you had no plans for marriage.” Quinn popped an oatcake into his mouth.
Stirling grimaced. “Don’t remind me of that trip. I nearly took the bullet meant for you.”
“Not true,” he replied, feeling oddly wounded. “Betsy’s aim isn’t that good. She never came close with that muff pistol. It was the knife that had me worried.” He shuddered. “She must have learned how to use the damned thing from her husband.”
“That will teach you to dally with married women.” Stirling reached for another scone.
“That’s what I get for dallying with the wife of a butcher. Though I didn’t know that until it was too late, so don’t lecture me. She was an actress—the good friend of the actress you dallied with. So you can’t pretend we’re any different.”
“Perhaps,” Stirling said. “But my actress didn’t try to shoot—or fillet—me.”
“You have eleven years on me, man. By the time I’m your age, I’ll be as skilled with the ladies as you.”
It was Stirling’s turn to shudder. “Perish the thought. By the time you’re my age, you will be an old married man with four children.”
Ramsey widened his eyes in horror. “If you are trying to talk me into marriage, you’re going about it the wrong way.” Stirling’s expression sobered and Ramsey silently cursed. He knew that look, and it never boded well for him.
“How old did you say you were, now?” Stirling asked.
Quinn eyed him. “Twenty-one, as ye well know.”
“Four years remain before you come into your full inheritance.”
“Don’t bother with blackmail,” Quinn retorted. “You can keep the bloody inheritance. I would rather join the navy until I come of age than shackle myself to a wife who will make my life hell and then send me to an early grave.”
“Not all women are like Dahlia, your father’s second wife. Some are like your mother.” He paused and chuckled. “Iona suited your father in every way—his will of iron included—and he loved her with every breath he took. When she died, a part of him died along with her.”
“I know Iona was the only mother you ever knew,” Quinn said. “But Dahlia is the only mother I knew. Now you’re asking me to do the very same thing my father did: marry to ensure the title. That’s how he ended up with that bitch.”
Stirling regarded him. “When did you last hear from her?”
Quinn refilled their glasses, then threw himself back against the chair cushion. “Two days ago. She made sure I knew that she’d read in the paper about the ships you purchased in Spain.” He grunted a laugh. “Then she had the audacity to ask for more money.”
“I’m sorry, Quinn.”
Quinn shook his head. “Oh, you know I don’t blame you. She only favors you to hurt me.”
“You sent her the money, I assume?”
Quinn stared into the fire. “Father would have wanted it.”
“Aye, he would. Just as he would want you to keep your promise.”
“Stirling—”
“We know Dahlia has a nasty disposition,” Stirling cut in. “And, aye, she is the only mother ye knew. But she’s not the only woman you’ve known. Your father’s sister is one of the kindest women to walk this earth. So, forego the threat to join the navy. We both know how badly you would fare. For one, you suffer from seasickness. Second, you would spend all your time in the brig, for refusal to take orders. Your father begged you to marry within the year. That date is two weeks away.”
Ramsey’s chest constricted with the memory of his father lying in bed, his body a shell of its former strength. “I didn’t agree to that,” he said, then added when Stirling started to reply, “It matters not, I will no’ marry simply to appease a man who no longer lives. He can’t know the difference.”
“You can,” Stirling said in a soft voice.
“I won’t marry to satisfy my father—or you,” he said with heat. “I weary of this subject, Stirling. Too many men marry women like Dahlia. I have no desire to be one of them.”
“You like women well enough,” Stirling said.
“Aye, they can be pleasant.” He grimaced. “Until they open their mouths.”
Stirling ducked his head and Quinn felt certain he hid a laugh.
Stirling rose and stretched. “I must return home. There is a ball two days hence. I shall send you the particulars. You will meet the young lady who is to be your wife.”
Quinn shot to his feet. “I will not marry.”
“You did say that if I marry, you will marry. As I said, I am to wed June first.”
“Nae,” Quinn began, but Stirling shook his head.
“In this, you will do as I command, for I can do far worse to you than any navy commander.”
***
A rap sounded on Chastity’s bedchamber door. She looked up from the accounts she and Olivia were studying as their father entered.
“Where are your sisters?” he asked without preamble.
As if they’d been summoned, Lucy and Jessica entered the sun-bathed room behind him.
“Good morning, Papa.” Lucy kissed his cheek, then started toward the divan set before the bay window, where Chastity and Lucy sat.
Jessica passed her father and he said, “Do I not deserve a kiss from my daughter?”
Jessica sighed and turned back. “Of course.” She rose on tiptoes as he leaned down slightly so that she could kiss his cheek.
He frowned. “You have grass stains on your dress again.”
She nodded, then crossed to the chair nearest Chastity and flopped down onto the seat. “I was in the garden. The roses are budding. The tiny buds are so beautiful.”
He started to remind her that he employed a large staff of gardeners to tend Gledstone’s landscaping, but caught the warning look on Chastity’s face. For all her independent ways, she coddled the girls too much. Still, he had to choose his battles with his eldest daughter. He recalled the teacup she’d hurled at him and couldn’t help a small smile. She had her mother’s auburn hair and the temper to match. The too-familiar pang of loneliness that he’d lived with since the death of Emilia stabbed. He shoved aside the memories and crossed the room. He stopped before reaching the table in front of the divan.
He clasped his hands behind his back. "We will be entertaining a special guest tonight."
"Shall I inform Cook?" Chastity asked. “I peeked into the kitchens earlier and saw two deliveries arrive. One of venison and mutton, the other was the fish man with a basket of salmon, two of herring, and a few sacks of mussels and crabs.” She glanced at Olivia. “We were just noting everything in our household ledger. Cook said she planned to bake tarts and bramble scones today, as well.”
"Aye.” He smiled. “Tell Cook we shall want a lavish dinner. And—” he flicked his gaze between the four of them “—you are all to be present in your best gowns."
Chastity frowned. "Our best gowns for one guest?"
"He is the most important guest we have ever entertained."
Olivia’s eyes rounded. "Surely, not the Archbishop?"
"More important."
“The ghost of Robert the Bruce.” Jessica’s lips quirked as she picked a blade of grass from her skirt. "But as he is probably haunting Bannockburn, who is this very important person?"
The duke’s gaze rested on Chastity. "Your sister’s future husband."
"What? Nae—not Lord Hathaway? But you promised. We made a bargain." A bargain he couldn’t possibly keep.
He nodded. “Aye, we did. And you will live up to your part of it, beginning tonight.” He paused. “Sir Stirling James has accepted your challenge.”
Olivia’s brow furrowed. “You mean the challenge to…” Her words trailed off.
“What challenge?” Jessica straightened. “You don’t mean a man has actually agr
eed to marry us off so that he can marry Chastity?” She looked at her eldest sister, who stared at their father. “You said no one would be fool enough to accept the challenge.”
“Oh, Papa, you didn’t…” Lucy sank back against her chair.
“I did. Sir Stirling will secure husbands for you three by the end of May. Then he will marry Chastity.”
“How is it possible he can find matches for us so soon?” Olivia asked. “We have no gentlemen callers.”
“I do not want to attend balls,” Jessica snapped. “And I don’t want a husband. Just because Chastity agreed to this plan, doesn’t mean we have to go along with it.”
“That is where you are wrong, my dear.” The duke locked gazes with his eldest daughter. “Your sister got you into this mess. Now she will get you out. Sir Stirling assures me he can fulfill your terms.”
Chastity stared. Only ten days had passed since she’d made her outlandish proposal. How had he gotten someone to agree to such a ridiculous scheme—and in so short a time? Fear knotted her belly. Who was the man who had agreed to marry her three sisters to reputable men—the man who wanted her father’s title badly enough to marry her? It wasn’t possible to find three good men for her sisters in a month. The scoundrel could only be planning to marry them to any man who would have them.
She lifted her chin. “They must be above reproach. I must approve them.”
The duke shook his head. “Oh no, my girl. You will not renege on your promise by finding fault with every one of your sister’s prospective husbands—or yours, for that matter.”
“I would never ruin my sisters’ chances at finding suitable husbands,” she shot back. “But neither will I stand by while a fortune hunter foists other fortune hunters onto them in order to obtain your title and lands. And I will not—”
“You will abide by the terms of our agreement,” he cut in, “or I will marry you by handfasting to Lord Hathaway today. I will not make the same mistake I made in the past, Chastity. This time, you will abide by my commands.” He scowled. “And you will leave the choosing of my daughters’ husbands to me—their father. Do you think me incapable of protecting them?”
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