A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,4
neither raised with this expectation. It will be difficult for you to adjust, but you must rise to the occasion. I urge you to accept this proposal and take it seriously.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course, Your Grace. It is extremely generous of you.”
“It is not generosity,” she snapped. “I have no wish to see Carlyle run into the ground! I wish to see it descend to someone who will appreciate its majesty, care for its dependents, and preserve it for future generations. To that purpose, each of you has six months to establish yourself as someone capable of becoming that man. And you needn’t fear that the funds would cease if I should die.” She glared at Mr. St. James again, as if guessing what he was about to ask. “I will leave instructions in my will to continue the annuity so long as my conditions are met.”
Drew had never had the freedom to be disreputable or irresponsible, though he suspected the other man had.
“What shall those conditions be, Your Grace?”
“Respectability,” she said, still looking down her nose at Mr. St. James. “No outrageous behavior. Sobriety. The Dukes of Carlyle have long held positions of power in Westminster, and you would do well to take an interest in politics so that you are prepared to acquit yourselves well when you sit in the House of Lords. If you do not, someone else will be happy to take advantage of you, sooner than later.” She paused. “And I have always felt a wife settles a man. I do not require that you marry, but the next duke will need an heir. A suitable bride is invaluable.”
“We must marry?” That jolted him out of rosy thoughts of selling out of the army and settling his family.
“The Duke of Carlyle will need an heir,” she repeated. “If you do not provide one, Captain, Mr. St. James would become the heir presumptive.”
Not bloody likely, thought Drew as he and his cousin exchanged swift, measuring glances.
“Mr. Edwards will answer any further questions.” The duchess rose to her feet, rousting a large ginger cat from beneath her chair.
He leapt up and rushed after her. “If I may, Your Grace . . .”
She looked up at him. “Yes?”
He smiled and ducked his head. She was a tiny woman, and he had learned that his height intimidated dainty females. “You spoke very deliberately about the importance of marriage.”
“Yes, Captain,” she said with a trace of impatience. “Not only does a good wife make a man more reliable and stable, she is necessary for a legitimate heir.”
“Of course,” he said hastily. “I only meant to inquire how you might suggest I proceed. As an army man, I have had few opportunities of meeting any lady who would be worthy of becoming a duchess.”
Her demeanor thawed slightly. “Yes, I see. Do you intend to remain in your post?”
Only as long as it takes to clear out of the barracks. “I don’t believe I could do justice to this new responsibility and fulfill my duties. In fact, I don’t know how I could undertake to learn anything about Carlyle from Fort George, let alone enough to assume the dukedom. I wonder if perhaps I ought to find a situation somewhere nearer?”
It had not escaped his notice, when Mr. Edwards unfurled the family document, that the current duke was nearing sixty. A man of that age, who had suffered a serious injury that rendered him incapable of marrying and siring a son, whose mother had undertaken to locate new heirs . . . This was not some vague, airy expectation. This, Carlyle Castle and the title that went with it, might well be his within a few years, even months. There was no time to lose—nor did he wish to.
The duchess’s expression warmed. “Yes, Captain, I believe that would be a fine idea. You would have Mr. Edwards to explain things, and naturally I would be here.” She eyed him up and down again. “With the right valet, you’ll be a handsome enough fellow. I daresay there are a number of ladies I might introduce to you, who would be deserving of your interest.”
Drew smiled. While he still supported his mother and three sisters on a captain’s pay, a wife and children were luxuries he couldn’t afford.
But as heir to the Duke of Carlyle, with fifteen hundred pounds per annum . . .
“I would like that very much, Your Grace,” he said.