Page 14 of How to Capture a Duke

Rather than argue, he remained silent.

She met his eyes. “It is your ducal responsibility to produce the next heir to the dukedom.”

He shook his head. She already knew he had an heir. His first cousin, Spencer, Lord Jeffries. Their fathers had been brothers, and Spencer was Tristan’s only living male relative.

She read his mind, as she often did. “Your cousin is not your direct bloodline. You need a son.”

“He is competent,” Tristan said. That much was true. Spencer was not a spendthrift, and he was more social than Tristan would ever be. He’d make an acceptable Duke of Keswick.

“Perhaps, but there is no reason to believe your son will speak like you,” she said.

Tristan clenched his fists by his sides. “And if he does?” How could he ever forgive himself if his child inherited his traits? He could try to protect his son, but he could never entirely shield him from the cruelty of others. Or of a selfish and unloving mother, like Olivia might be.

“Are you going to marry Lady Olivia?”

He remained silent for several heartbeats. Two of the house party guests were to depart early tomorrow, and gossip would mostly likely travel to town with them.

He sighed. “I will marry her, but do not expect a grandchild.”

“Hmm. You believe you can ignore her?” She leaned on her cane.

“She has no choice.” He was a duke; she had no say. His thoughts turned back to when they spoke by the river on a pleasant morning, before he knew of her machinations. She wanted a choice.

She’d never have one now, unless this was her choice all along.

Antonia arched a fine eyebrow. “From what I have seen of Lady Olivia, she may not be as biddable as you believe.”

…

The hushed whispers at the manor told Olivia that the news of her betrothal had already reached the group. Late afternoon tea was a daily ritual that took place on the terrace overlooking Rosehill’s lovely gardens, and Olivia was hesitant to join the women.

They reached the end of the hall, and the doors leading to the terrace came into view. Her mother halted. “Hold your head high, Olivia. You have managed to ensnare a duke.”

Olivia looked at her mother incredulously. “I did not ensnare him, Mother. The word suggests I laid a trap for the man. I most certainly did not. Don’t you believe me?”

Her mother’s silence was more crushing than a denial.

She doesn’t believe me!

Her mother tapped her hand. “None of that matters now. I admit to being quite shocked, but now that matters are resolved, I am pleased with the outcome. I’ve always expected great things for you, Olivia. Your sister is a countess. Now you will be a duchess.”

“Mother, he doesn’t want me to be his duchess.” For her part, it wasn’t the title she was opposed to, but the man.

Her mother’s gaze lacked the warmth and reassurance she desperately needed. “Men are simple creatures of habit, Olivia. The sooner you learn this, the better. The duke will go about his business, his clubs, his evenings out. After you produce an heir and a spare, you may go about yours.”

Not likely. Tristan would have to visit her bed, and they’d both agreed that would not happen.

“You will have freedom as a duchess. Freedom is happiness. Love is fanciful,” her mother added.

She refused to believe this. Not after observing her brother and sister with their spouses.

But her parents hadn’t had a loving relationship. Theirs had been cold and distrustful—the type of marriage Olivia did not want. Her father, the former Earl of Castleton, had been a disciplinarian. Her older brother, Ian, had never gotten along with their father and had departed home without a shilling and opened the Raven Club.

Would she end up like her parents? Would she also become cynical over time? Her stomach sank at the thought.

How can this be my fate?

A servant opened the doors, and they stepped onto the terrace. The women sat at tables enjoying tea, cucumber sandwiches, and scones. All eyes turned to her, and conversation ceased. The thrum of silence sounded as loud as a trumpet blast in Olivia’s ears. She was highly conscious of each look, most filled with curiosity, others laced with jealousy. Olivia’s eyes clashed with Lady Samantha’s, and gooseflesh rose on her arms at the lady’s disdainful glower. Word, it seemed, had traveled as swiftly as the wind.