It’s Marriage Or Ruin. Liz Tyner

       Chapter Five

      Well past midday, Marcus awoke when Robert cleared his throat in the room.

      He waved his valet away.

      ‘Your father is here. I have told him that you have been out and about earlier taking nosegays to the debutantes of the ton,’ Robert said. ‘And, that you returned to your room to change as you had got a smudge on your cravat which smelled of a marriageable innocent’s perfume.’

      ‘Father has arrived?’ Marcus thrust the pillow at Robert, who caught it easily.

      ‘Yes. And I fear he suspects I have misinformed him of your habits. He practically called me a liar…’ Robert dropped the pillow on to a chair ‘…which, of course, is often the case.’ He indicated the trousers and shirt he’d laid out for Marcus and added a waistcoat and cravat near the mirror.

      ‘I will see him,’ Marcus groaned, pushing himself from the bed. He donned the shirt and trousers.

      Before he was completely ready, Robert had the brush to his hair. ‘Can I not trim your locks a small amount?’ Robert grumbled. ‘Your father complains of it, as if I have nothing better to do than hold scissors. He makes certain to do so loud enough that I hear.’

      ‘I will tell him that I was searching for a bride and he’ll be mollified.’

      Robert stared at Marcus.

      ‘He might be right,’ Marcus continued. ‘I should not be so skittish about being wed. Perhaps if one does not forcefully throw oneself against the blade, but does so only a bit, one can recover to continue with living.’

      ‘Are you daft?’ The valet dropped the brush and took a cravat and began to unroll the linen. ‘I thought I’d raised you better than that.’

      Marcus felt the tugs as Robert put the cravat in place. ‘I might do my duty and make my father less angry with me.’

      Robert snorted. ‘The day I see you marry—I cannot even imagine such a thing. Besides, we have no room for a woman’s nonsense.’

      Marcus scowled. ‘A bachelor’s household has been fine, but now perhaps it’s time to change.’

      ‘Whatever you wish. Whatever you wish. And I wish for you to make a wise decision. You know, like the winter you skated on that iced-over pond. Now that was a wise decision—making sure that when the ice cracked you would only go into the water up to your knees.’ The valet raised his chin, put his eyes to half-mast and opened the door for Marcus to leave. ‘Your feet thawed out quickly and I’m sure you hardly felt the cold.’

      Marcus ignored Robert, grabbed the waistcoat and strode to see his father, making sure he was in control of himself before he opened the door.

      His father sat at Marcus’s desk, holding his arms extended so he could read the papers he’d pulled from the drawer.

      ‘You and Nathaniel were at the birthday celebration yesterday.’ His father squinted at the page in front of him. Then he put the missive down and tapped his fingers against the wood. ‘You spoke briefly to many young ladies and only gave much attention to an Emilie Catesby.’

      ‘Yes.’ Marcus finished doing up his buttons and pulled the chair near the doorway closer to the centre of the room, turned it so that he was facing the back and sat astride. He crossed his arms across the back. The light from the window behind his father shone in and the window dressing was open wide so that the contrast of the brightness into the dark room made it hard to discern his father’s expression.

      ‘Am I to imagine you have listened to my counsel?’

      ‘Of course,’ Marcus answered. ‘I always listen to you.’

      ‘Because I give you no choice.’ His father lifted the lid on a carved box, checking what was inside. ‘Where are the cigars Robert always has hidden away?’

      Marcus pointed to the book on the desk. His father tipped up the cover of the false book, finding the cigars. ‘Have you selected a bride to offer for?’ He put one in his pocket and picked up a letter from the table.

      ‘No.’ Marcus frowned. ‘Last night, I gave serious thought to what you said. I can’t make the wrong selection.’

      His father read as he talked. ‘That I can imagine, as I have been stating the same thing for years now. And don’t worry about the permanence of the union, that’s not a finite promise. The children, you will keep them for ever. Choose a good mother for your heirs. They’ll thank you.’

      Marcus considered the silver in the other man’s hair and the set of his jaw. He had been told that he stood exactly like his father. But he knew he didn’t have the same chip on his tooth that his father had—but then he had not been caught by a jealous husband. He’d never once kept company with a married woman.

      ‘While I do respect your view,’ Marcus continued, arms still resting on the chair back, ‘I must reflect on my own and will choose someone not distasteful.’

      ‘You have selected many mares for our stables,’ his father insisted. ‘This is no different. Pick some well-bred stock, acquire it and nature will take care of the rest.’ He threw down the letter after glancing at the script.

      ‘I do not like the implication that I am only needed to sire a grandson for you.’ Marcus bit the words out. Nor did he like his father reading his correspondence.

      ‘Then we will let your brother do so,’ his father stated. ‘I am getting tired of waiting.’

      ‘Father, my son would surpass his in inheritance anyway. Do not rush him.’ He certainly didn’t want his brother pushed towards Emilie. ‘I realised the value of your words recently. Give me some leeway to view the options before you start grumbling anew.’

      The older man selected another missive, then let the paper flutter to the table. ‘You say you take into account my words, yet you didn’t parade about with more than a few women when your mother’s likeness was unveiled. I keep listening for tales of you with one of the peer’s daughters, yet I hear nothing. It’s as if you are putting on a charade to make your mother and me keep silent.’

      ‘I’m not.’ Marcus kept his words calm. Blast, his father had been asking questions of someone about his son because he hadn’t been at the unveiling. ‘But I remained near the fence and tried to discern bloodlines.’

      ‘Pick good breed stock,’ his father repeated, rising and glaring at him, ‘although the lineage is important, it’s still no guarantee of siring the most agreeable offspring. Your mother and I both are from well-bred families.’

      ‘Thank you, Father. While I deeply love Mother, I am so pleased to have inherited your traits.’

      ‘You are welcome, my son.’ He moved closer, planting a soft kick at the leg of Marcus’s chair. ‘I am pleased to hear that you are considering my words. I don’t want to grow old without the comfort of a grandson.’ At the door, he said, ‘And I especially don’t want you to grow old without the discomfort of a son.’

      ‘Thank you, again, Father.’

      ‘And those whiskers.’ His father appraised Marcus. He raised his