Page 49 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

“Good heavens,” his mother said at last, pressing a hand lightly to her chest. “Then I absolutely must meet this Miss Maubry. Nothing less will do.” Her eyes gleamed with sudden purpose. “If you are in danger of making an error in judgment, it is my duty to steer you back onto the proper path before it is too late.”

George grimaced. Bloody hell. “You bemoan the fact that I am not married, though I have many, many years of bachelorhood still ahead of me.” He gestured vaguely with his fork. “Consider Father. He did not marry until he was three and thirty. If I am to follow in his illustrious footsteps, I still have a good four years of debauch...” He caught himself. “...fun ahead of me.”

His mother scowled. His father merely chuckled, his gaze gleaming with evident amusement.

Jane’s eyes lit with mischief. “Were you about to say debauchery, brother?” she asked sweetly, a cheeky grin spreading across her face. “I know perfectly well what the word means; there is no need to spare my sensibilities. I rather enjoy your candor. It serves to educate me about life and what I might expect of a future suitor.”

George shot her a warning look, which only made her laugh harder. She had become entirely too irreverent. Sensing the direction Jane’s curiosity was about to take, and knowing full well that once engaged she could worry a subject like a terrier with a bone, George smoothly changed the subject.

“How was your visit to Seaview Manor?” he asked. “And why did you not write to tell me you were going, so that I might accompany you?”

Jane brightened. “Mother was planning to visit, and I impulsively asked whether I might go with her. She said yes.” She glanced toward their mother. “Father came with us as well.”

George looked across the table at his father.

His father met his gaze steadily. “It is a fine thing you are doing,” he said. “Everything is impressively run. I made a handsome donation.”

The words struck deeper than George had expected. For the first time since he had opened Seaview Manor five years earlier, pouring his own funds into transforming a neglected estate into a refuge for abused and stray animals, his father had spoken of it without reservation.

At the time, there had been arguments. Sharp ones. His father had insisted George was squandering both land and money, that his energies would be better devoted to cultivating influence, studying parliamentary motions, and preparing himself for the responsibilities of his title. George had never doubted his choice, but that did not mean the absence of his father’s approval had not lodged somewhere deep within him. Now, hearing it offered so plainly, something tight in his chest eased.

“Thank you.”

Jane leaned forward eagerly. “They adore Papa there,” she said with a grin. “One of the hounds followed him everywhere, and there was the most dreadful little cat who hissed at everyone, yet allowed Papa to scratch behind her ears.” She sighed theatrically. “I wished desperately to bring her home, but Papa insists I must first understand the commitment required to care for an animal. He says I am too frivolous to see it through and that I may not delegate a pet’s care to the servants.”

She lifted her chin, clearly preparing to argue her case.

“I find a flaw in his reasoning. Papa and Mama are exceedingly responsible, yet they employ servants to attend to their every need. Does that mean they ought to undertake certain duties themselves to prove their responsibility? Shall Papa polish his own shoes and Mama arrange her own hair?”

George huffed a quiet laugh, even as his father fixed Jane with a stern glare that did nothing to diminish her satisfaction.

Jane rose abruptly. “George, there is a piece by Handel I am struggling to master. Mama suggested engaging a music master for me, but I told her I need only wait for you.” She turned brightly toward their parents. “Mama, Papa, pray excuse us.”

His mother laughed, clearly indulgent, and George rose. His devotion to the pianoforte had been another pursuit his father had once considered frivolous. George’s tutor had declared him gifted, so much so that the man had pleaded with the earl to allow his heir to pursue further musical study. The suggestion had outraged his father, who insisted that estate management and politics were quite sufficient occupations for a future earl.

George, of course, had mastered all three, later teasing his former tutor that one must draw the line somewhere, particularly whenever the man lamented that the public might never hear him play. One day, he would encourage his own son and daughter to find balance in his pursuits.

His steps faltered.

Despite knowing his duties, he had never truly contemplated marriage or heirs until this moment. His father yet lived, and George fervently hoped he would do so for many years to come. There was no urgency for him to assume the mantle of the earldom.

And yet...

Cordelia’s face rose in his mind with unwelcome clarity, and his heart gave a sudden, disconcerting lurch.

Is it because of you that I am thinking of sons and daughters?

Jane glanced back at him, her eyes alight with mischief. “Are you thinking about Miss Maubry?” she asked, fluttering her lashes with deliberate exaggeration. “You may confide in me. I am quite conversant in matters of romance and perfectly capable of offering guidance.”

He scowled. “And what, pray, do you know of romance?”

She lifted her chin proudly. “I already know the man I shall marry one day. Him and no other.”

George stopped short. “Who the hell is this bounder?”

Jane rolled her eyes. “He is not yet aware of my existence, but in three years’ time, he shall be.”

Bloody hell. George dragged a hand through his hair. He would never understand the female mind. “Tell me, who is this gentleman? Where did you meet him?”