He shook his head. He’d thought that nonsense of his interest in her sister had died long before. It had been his father’s talk and he’d never encouraged it. Never. In fact, he’d thought it long forgotten.
He knew that on occasion when he’d planned a day at home, his mother had arranged things so the Hightower sisters would arrive for tea. But his mother planned a lot of teas with young, unmarried women when he was at home.
Her words about him marrying her sister slid in under his ribs and irritation bit into him. He didn’t mind so much when his mother dangled the names of young women in front of him, but Lily—she should know better. ‘You realise I nearly died,’ he said, chin forward. ‘Marriage has not been foremost on my mind.’
‘You are all recovered now. Aren’t you?’ Her eyes locked with his.
‘I’m alive, at least.’ Not that it appeared to make a great deal of difference to her, except where her sister was concerned.
‘Another reason for a marriage, I’d say.’ Hopeful eyes stared at him.
‘But if I die, it wouldn’t matter to me whether I have a wife or not.’ Well, it might. Lily should not wear black.
‘But it might matter very much to your lineage and to a woman wanting a family. A duke needs an heir. Simple fact. But I don’t expect you to die, however, I expect you to live a long and healthy life.’ Her eyes sparkled in jest. ‘You’ve no choice. Duty.’
‘I hope you don’t overestimate me, Miss Hightower.’
He’d wanted to make his mark in life by the time he reached thirty. He’d thought he’d be able to use his influence in Parliament to produce more jobs for the people put out of work by the mechanised looms, but his progress was much slower than he’d expected. Marriage had seemed the logical next step after his work. And he’d just assumed Lily understood. The few times he’d spoken with her as an adult and told her how much progress he was making, and had said personal duties would come afterwards, she’d nodded her head in complete understanding.
He’d thought.
Now Lily stood in front of him and she must have seen something on his face. She put her hand out, not touching him, but hovering above his sleeve. She smiled. ‘So you will be at our soirée next week and consider courting my sister?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ She stepped back, eyes widening before the lids lowered, her hand falling to her side. ‘No?’
Neither spoke.
‘Are you certain?’ The words came out carefully, hesitant. ‘You’re not going to marry Abigail?’ She examined him closer than Gaunt had when he’d been checking Edge to see if he had a pulse.
‘I can’t believe you ask that.’
She took in a breath and somehow managed to hold it. ‘Do you have any plans for marriage?’ Her voice rose, her arm moved out and she patted as if touching the top of small heads. ‘A family of your own. Little heirs. A little group all snuggled together at bedtime.’
‘I do not think of it quite the same as going to a litter of kittens and picking out the one with the healthiest yowl.’ Then he thought of Lily falling from the tree and hid his smile. ‘Although I’m not opposed to a healthy yowl.’
‘Agreed,’ she said. ‘But you have to admit my sister would make a good duchess.’
‘Your sister is a pleasant person. But I’ve never seen her as a duchess. Ever.’
Mouse-brown eyes stared up at him and a flutter in the area of his heart gave him pause. His mother was right. Lily had grown into her eyes, although he did not think her comment about his marrying her sister deserved explanation.
Because of his father’s words claiming it to be true, people had assumed Edge would marry the younger Hightower sister. It had suited Edge’s purpose to let people believe the tale. It deflected false hope in mothers angling their daughters to catch his eye and kept him from having to dodge flirtations. Besides, he’d always known he would some day marry Lily. He’d decided it and the idea had flickered through his thoughts on occasion, seeming more perfect each time, and he’d just known Lily felt the same way. How could she not? True, he always danced with her sister first, then Lily last so he could linger with her without Abigail fluttering around waiting for her dance.
And they’d not said much, but he’d not thought there was a need. They’d stood by each other, companionably, watching the others. If that did not signal a deep interest then he did not know what could have. He’d stayed late at a noisy soirée with music and chatter drowning out all words so he could spend a few moments at her side. Never had he done that with another woman.
‘Stop looking so grim.’ She mocked his face, a forced snarl to her lips. ‘It hasn’t hurt my sister to be considered as your potential bride. Quite the opposite. She received the best education and the envy of so many people.’
He shrugged internally, realising he didn’t quite understand women as well as he’d thought. ‘So, on the day you mentioned that your father would be so happy to have a duke in the family...’ Well, he’d misinterpreted that statement. Her sister had been the last person on his mind as he’d waltzed with Lily that night.
He knew without question she’d always been pleased to have a private word with him. And when she’d spoken about how well Abigail was growing up, he’d noted it as a statement of how well Lily had taken care of her sister and how Lily would be a good mother...to his children. He’d not imagined her as assuming he had any interest in Abigail. Abigail?
‘Edge.’ This time her lips pressed firmly before speaking and he knew she didn’t jest. ‘I know you’re an honourable man and, since you’ve said nothing, I started to worry we’d misunderstood. No one will court her because they think you have her planned for a bride. Father has frowned upon any other suitors. She’s going to end up a spinster if she waits almost for ever for you and then after she’s rejected everyone else you look in a different direction.’
‘I have never once indicated any intention to marry Abigail.’ He’d treated her with extra notice because he did plan for her to be family. His wife’s sister.
‘Well, Father has so much money I suppose we could purchase a husband for her later on.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I do feel you should have told me, though.’
‘I thought I indicated my intentions to you.’
‘That you intended to marry Abigail.’ Her words accused. ‘Yes. And she’s said she’s tired of waiting on you and she’s determined to wed before the year is out. It is on her list.’
‘Her list, or your list?’
‘It is on her list, above finishing the embroidery sampler. That sampler will never make it to the wall. However, Abigail will make it to the church... And it is on my list, too. Finding my sister a suitable match.’
‘I will attend the soirée, but—’ The same feeling of the ground crumbling beneath him he’d had when he’d fallen into the water overtook him. His breath shortened. What if Lily didn’t—wouldn’t marry him?
She walked closer, a form he could not decipher behind the dark clothing, and reached
