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do not want to wish to make a brilliant match,’ she snapped. ‘My parents made a brilliant match and look what happened to them.’

      And look what happened to his parents for making such an unwise one.

      She rested her chin on her knees. ‘I do not care about titles or position. I want to marry someone who will love me for myself and who will not care what members of my family have done.’

      ‘Love?’ His parents had married for love. Or at least for the physical desire that so often masquerades as love. ‘Better to make a marriage of mutual advantage.’

      ‘My parents married for advantage,’ she said. ‘Believe me, it does not work.’

      Such a marriage had a better chance than one made out of love. Love led to rash acts and later regrets.

      And constant discord.

      ‘What say you of your sister’s marriage, then?’ The woman had not married the man out of passion, that was for certain.

      She uncurled herself and leaned towards him. ‘What can you know about my sister’s marriage?’

      ‘I can guess she thought it to her advantage to marry Lord Tinmore.’ Why Tinmore might have married her was not a topic for the ears of a young lady.

      ‘That she married him for his money, do you mean?’ Her voice rose.

      ‘Of course she married for money. And a title. And Lord Tinmore gained a young wife and a reason to emerge from seclusion. There is no shame in any of that.’

      She settled back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Lorene had no wish for a title or wealth any more than I do.’

      That he very much doubted. ‘Then what were her reasons?’

      The pain returned to Miss Summerfield’s eyes. ‘She did it for us. For me and for Genna. And even Edmund. So we—so we could have a chance for decent, happy lives. So Genna and I could have dowries. So we could marry as we wish. And—and not be forced to accept just any offer. So we would not have to become lady’s companions or governesses.’ She took a breath. ‘I assure you, Lorene married Lord Tinmore for the noblest of reasons.’

      ‘Your situation was that dire?’ he asked quietly.

      She nodded.

      ‘Then I commend your sister even more. I wish her well.’ He’d sacrifice for his sister, if he could.

      Her brows knitted. ‘I fear she will be miserable.’ Her chin set. ‘That is why I am determined that I should make a love match and be happy. For my sister.’

      He peered at her. ‘You would allow your heart to rule your choice?’

      ‘I would insist upon it.’

      He tapped his temple. ‘Better to use your head, Miss Summerfield.’

      She lifted her chin. ‘How can you know? You are not married, are you?’

      ‘Married? No.’ But he did speak from experience.

      When his father had embarked on his Grand Tour as a young man, he met Marc’s mother and eloped with her. They continued his tour for a passionate year, but their wedded bliss ended almost immediately when they set foot back on English soil.

      ‘Believe me, Miss Summerfield. A marriage is best contracted by one’s brain, not one’s heart.’ Or one’s loins.

      She leaned back in her chair again. ‘Then I pity the woman who becomes your wife.’

      He shrugged. ‘On the contrary. She is like-minded.’

      She blinked. ‘You are betrothed?’

      ‘No.’ He rose and put the last of their lumps of coal on the fire. ‘But we have an understanding. She is the main reason I am bound for London.’

      * * *

      It ought not to bother Tess that there was a woman he planned to marry. It should not bother her that she might see the woman on his arm in London. Or dancing with him at a ball. She had dreams of dancing with Mr Welton, did she not?

      But somehow it would have been a comfort to meet him in London without a woman in tow and to pretend they did not have a huge secret between them.

      ‘Are you certain this woman will marry you, simply because you offer her—what? That you are a viscount’s son?’ she asked him.

      He shifted in his chair. ‘I am heir to the title, not that I ever wished to be.’

      ‘Why would you not wish for the title?’ Both their father and Edmund would have been greatly gratified if Edmund had been the legitimate son and heir.

      In fact, their father should have married Edmund’s mother. She had been the woman he loved.

      Mr Glenville turned his blue eyes on her. Grieving blue eyes. ‘My brother had to die. Believe me, I would rather have my brother back than a thousand titles.’

      She reached over and touched his arm. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said truthfully. ‘It is a terrible thing to earn a title. Someone must always die.’

      He smiled, a sad smile. ‘Not always. One can earn a title from winning a war, like the Duke of Wellington.’

      His smile made her insides flutter. She glanced back to the fire. ‘You do not worry that this woman you wish to marry would marry you merely because you will be a viscount someday?’

      ‘Mind?’ His smile remained. ‘That is what I have to offer. A title. Wealth. Why should she not want those things?’

      A title did not keep a man from becoming a bitter person. Wealth could be fleeting, as well she knew.

      ‘Why should you want her, then?’ she asked. ‘What advantage does she offer you?’

      His expression sobered. ‘She is the sister of a good friend. We’ve known each other since childhood. Her family is extremely respectable and that will do much to erase the damage my parents’ reputations have done.’

      ‘You will marry her for her family’s reputation?’ Was that not like marrying for social connections? Her father had married her mother for her social connections, all of which disappeared when she ran off with another man.

      He gazed at her with understanding. ‘Perhaps you and your sisters never suffered the stigma of your mother’s scandals.’

      She glanced away again. ‘Our father never took us to London.’ There were, though, a few ladies around Yardney who whispered when they were in view and a few gentlemen who’d spoken—rudely.

      He added, ‘You will benefit from Lord Tinmore’s reputation in London, no doubt.’

      She turned to him. ‘I do understand that. Without Tinmore’s wealth and reputation, we should be invited nowhere. But that does not mean that I would accept an offer of marriage from a man for whom I do not feel great regard.’

      ‘I feel regard for my intended bride, but I will not let emotions dictate my choices.’

      ‘You like her, then?’ she asked.

      He nodded. ‘I like her well enough.’

      Well enough. She was beginning to feel very sorry for his intended. ‘But you do not love her?’

      He gazed at her and the firelight made his eyes even more intense. ‘Are you asking if I have a passion for her? If my mind goes blank and my tongue becomes tied when I am with her? The answer is no.’ He turned back to the fire. ‘But I like her well enough.’

      Perhaps if Tess’s father had loved their mother, she would not have sought lovers. Perhaps if her mother had loved her father, he would have indulged her and flattered her and cosseted her as she wished. Tess and her sisters had discussed this many times.

      ‘I hope you learn to love her,’ Tess told Mr Glenville.

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