“What do you make of the girl’s people?” his father added. “Can you stomach them?”

“I can’t say,” he said. “So far Lord and Lady Garrick have taken great pains to stay mostly in the background. But it is a mark in their favour that they were granted permission to take up residence in Elvado. The honour’s not lightly come by. As for Maris’s brother…” He shrugged. “I’ve not met him.”

His father raked him with a sharp, considering look. “And still you step sideways around my question.”

“Because I don’t have an easy answer for you, my lord. The best I can say is that I find Maris to be a not unpleasant proposition.”

Which was simply another way of saying that despite the girl’s suitability and charms, on a personal level he felt… indifferent.

His father smoothed the nap of one blue velvet sleeve. “You haven’t made a formal declaration to her?”

And that question stung. “No, my lord. Nor would I without consulting you first. I don’t believe I am that unwieldy a son.”

His father grunted. “As I recall, you rode your horse before the hounds when it came to the Talth girl.”

“Luzena was different,” he said stiffly. “I will not compare her to Maris Garrick.”

There came the sound of footsteps on the staircase below them. Then Rumm’s neatly trimmed head came into sight. Looking up, seeing them, he paused. “My lord, Nydd has arrived.”

Another dyspeptic grunt. “Show him to the library, Rumm. Offer him refreshment. Tea, not sherry. I’ll be there directly.”

Noting that his father’s breathing had eased a little, and that some fresh colour had washed into his cheeks, Morgan took a suggestive step down the staircase. His father’s clawed fingers took him by the forearm, halting him. The old man’s eyes were unnervingly anxious.

“Morgan, can you see yourself abiding with this Maris Garrick?”

“That depends, my lord,” he said, taken aback. In general his father never worried overmuch about his feelings. “Can you? I’d not handfast with any woman of whom you could not approve.”

“The brother’s still distasteful,” said his father, after a thoughtful pause. “But the mother’s inoffensive, and I know far trickier mages than Parnel. You could do a deal worse than his daughter, Morgan. Bring the girl to supper. Let me see her for myself.”

He bowed. “My lord, I shall invite her… but perhaps not too soon. I would not overplay my hand, nor give her permission to indulge in hasty speculation.”

“When do you see her again?”

“Tonight, as it happens. We dine at The Opal.”

That made his father stare. “The Opal’s expensive, Morgan. You don’t think dipping so deep in your purse isn’t overplaying your hand?”

“If I am to wed her, I must court her in some style.”