reason, and deplored it.
“I meant to write to you, but then the duchess fell ill.”
“So I was also informed. I was very sorry to hear it.”
“She’s better,” said Randolph. “She’s turned the corner.” He would never tire of saying it.
“Splendid,” the visitor replied. “You’ve no further need for Verity’s…services then.”
He made her help sound wrong, or inappropriate at the least.
“She’s been wonderful,” the duke said. “A real blessing to our family.”
The phrase was not one his father usually employed. He was trying to turn Mr. Sinclair up sweet, Randolph thought. A touching but probably futile attempt. But to his surprise, it appeared to have an effect. Mr. Sinclair smiled and said, “As she is to ours.”
“Won’t you join us in a celebratory glass?” the duke repeated.
He didn’t specify the celebration. He’d have the fellow toasting their match in a moment, Randolph thought. But he once again was mistaken.
“I’m afraid we must go. Verity.”
“Why?” she asked, her chin high.
Mr. Sinclair sighed. “I’d rather speak of this later, at home.”
“Chester? I’m not going to Chester.”
“Verity. I made my position clear in my letter to you. We must step back and consider your future carefully.”
Even as his heart sank, Randolph felt his family gather itself around him. Robert and Alan moved to stand just behind him. On the other side of the table, Sebastian braced as if for a charge. Nathaniel and his father stepped closer to their visitor, the epitome of dignity and power. “We’ve watched over Verity very carefully,” said Flora. Randolph hadn’t realized that she could sound as high-nosed and imposing as her ferocious mother.
“My future is settled,” Verity declared. “As far as my engagement goes, that is.”
“Is there some problem?” asked Randolph’s father.
Mr. Sinclair sighed again. But he didn’t look cowed. “I protest at being forced to speak in this way. But I do not approve of the match.”
Surprise showed in expressions around the room.
“You have an objection to my son?” Randolph’s father asked, every inch a duke all at once.
“Not personally, exactly,” Mr. Sinclair answered. “I’m sure he’s a pleasant enough young man. But his judgment appears to be flawed. I will say no more on that score. Except that I won’t wed my daughter to a man who has spoiled his prospects and is doomed to a meaningless position on the sidelines of his profession.”
“Papa!”
“Randolph?” exclaimed Sebastian at the same moment. “Are you sure you have the right man? Haven’t mistaken him for someone else?”
“Surely this is an exaggeration of the circumstances?” the duke said.
His temper rising, Randolph watched his brothers try to puzzle out the situation. No one looked surprised at their father’s superior knowledge. Papa generally knew what was what.
Mr. Sinclair was shaking his head. “With respect, Your Grace, you aren’t privy to the inner workings of the church.”
“He ought to have changed out of the white,” Randolph said. “If he hadn’t been hurrying to go, he’d have—”
“Weak men blame others for their failings,” the older man interrupted, as if stating an invariable truth. Randolph suppressed a paradoxical desire to shake some charity into him. “Come, Verity. We’re going now,” Mr. Sinclair added.
“What if I won’t? You can’t make me.”
Randolph had never heard his intended sound so rebellious, or so young. Her expression warmed his heart.
“You intend to make your home here?” was the dry reply.
“You would be welcome to stay with us,” said Flora.
“I’m sure the gossips will find that curious.”
He wasn’t threatening, Randolph acknowledged. Spreading tales was obviously beneath Mr. Sinclair. The tittle-tattle would happen on its own.
Verity stood very straight, her hands in fists at her sides, her magnificent bosom rising and falling rapidly. She looked like Boudica facing down the Roman invaders. “Very well, I’ll go with you,” she said finally. “I have a good deal to say to you. I won’t change my mind, however.” She marched from the room.
Her father followed. The duke went with him. He meant to give Mr. Sinclair the most ceremonious of farewells, Randolph realized. He doubted it would matter.
“What was that about?” asked Sebastian. “I didn’t quite get it.”
“You are not alone,” answered Robert. “Randolph?”
All his brothers looked at him.
“I wish Georgina was here,” Sebastian said. “She’d explain it.”
“I’m not sure even she could do so,” replied Nathaniel. “Shall I postpone my departure for a few days, Randolph?”
“There’s no need for that. Please don’t.” If—when—he told his brothers the story of the archbishop and the ram, they’d fall about laughing, Randolph thought. Even Nathaniel. At first. And he wouldn’t blame them. At this moment,