Robert smiled, hoping that would set his father's mood aright. “I have decided to marry.”
The marquess underwent a radical transformation. Every last touch of irritation disappeared from his expression, replaced by pure joy. He jumped to his feet and clasped his son into a hearty hug. “Excellent! Excellent, my boy. You know I have wanted this—”
“I know.”
“You are young, of course, but your responsibilities are grave. It would be the end of me if the title passed out of the family. If you do not produce an heir…”
Robert declined to mention that if the title passed out of the family, his father would already be dead, so he would not know of the tragedy. “I know, sir.”
Castleford sat down against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms genially. “So, tell me. Who is it? No, let me guess. It's Billington's daughter—the blond gel.”
“Sir, I—”
“No? Then it must be Lady Leonie. Smart pup, you are.” He nudged his son. “Old duke's only daughter. She'll come into quite a portion.”
“No, sir,” Robert said, trying to ignore the avaricious gleam in his father's eye. “You are not acquainted with her.”
Castleford's face went blank with surprise. “I'm not? Then who the devil is she?”
“Miss Victoria Lyndon, sir.”
Castleford blinked. “Why is that name familiar?”
“Her father is Bellfield's new vicar.”
The marquess said nothing. Then he burst out laughing. It was several moments before he was able to gasp, “Good God, son, you had me going there for a moment. A vicar's daughter. Quite beyond anything.”
“I'm quite serious, sir,” Robert ground out.
“A vicar's…heh heh—What did you say?”
“I said I'm quite serious.” He paused. “Sir.” Castleford took stock of his son, desperately searching for a hint of jest in his expression. When he found none he fairly yelled, “Are you mad?”
Robert crossed his arms. “I'm utterly sane.”
“I forbid it.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but I don't see how you can forbid it. I'm of age. And,” he added as an afterthought, hoping to appeal to his father's softer side, “I'm in love.”
“Goddamn it, boy! I'll disinherit you.”
Apparently his father didn't have a softer side. Robert raised an eyebrow and practically felt his eyes turn from light blue to steely gray. “Go ahead,” he said nonchalantly.
“Go ahead?!” Castleford spluttered. “I'll turn you out on your ear! Cut you off without a farthing! Leave you to—”
“What you'll do is leave yourself without an heir.” Robert smiled with a hard determination he had never known he possessed. “How unfortunate for you that Mother was never able to present you with another child. Not even a daughter.”
“You! You!” The marquess began to turn red with rage. He took a few deep breaths and continued in a calmer fashion. “Perhaps you have not reflected adequately upon the unsuitability of this girl.”
“She is entirely suitable, sir.”
“She won't—” Castleford broke off when he realized that he was yelling again. “She won't know how to fulfill the duties of a noble-woman.”
“She is quite bright. And one could find no fault with her manners. She has received a gentle education. I am certain she will make an excellent countess.” Robert's expression softened. “Her very nature will bring honor to our name.”
“Have you asked her father yet?”
“No. I thought I owed you the courtesy of informing you of my plans first.”
“Thank God,” Castleford breathed. “We still have time.”
Robert's hands curled into harsh fists, but he held his tongue.
“Promise me you won't ask for her hand yet.”
“I will do no such thing.”
Castleford regarded the firm resolve in his son's eyes and met it with a harsh stare. “Listen to me well, Robert,” he said in a low voice. “She cannot love you.”
“I fail to see how you could know that, sir.”
“Goddamn it, son. All she wants is your money and your title.”
Robert felt a rage welling up within him. It was unlike anything he had ever known. “She loves me,” he bit out.
“You will never know if she loves you.” The marquess slammed his hands down on his desk for emphasis. “Never.”
“I know it now,” Robert said in a low voice.
“What is it about this girl? Why her? Why not one of the dozens you have met in London?”
Robert shrugged helplessly. “I don't know. She brings out the best in me, I suppose. With her by my side, I can do anything.”
“Good God,” his father snapped. “How did I raise a son who spouts such romantic drivel?”
“I can see that this conversation is pointless,” Robert said stiffly, taking a step toward the door.
The marquess sighed. “Robert, don't leave.”
Robert turned back around, quite unable to show his father the disrespect of countermanding a direct request.
“Robert, please listen to me. You must marry within your own class. That is the only way you will ever be sure that you were not married for your money and position.”
“It has been my experience that women of the ton are quite interested in marrying for money and position.”
“Yes, but it is different.”
Robert thought that this was a rather weak argument, and he said so.
His father raked his hand through his hair. “How can this girl know what she feels for you? How could she help but be dazzled by your title, your wealth?”