“Have you thought of perhaps . . . ?” She paused, but he knew what she would say, and he steeled himself to hear it.

“What?” he asked. “Marrying again now that I am older, so some young girl can be even more frightened of me?” Rachel hadn’t just not loved him; she had been terrified of him. The smallest touch of their hands would send hers behind her back. “Have you seen the women getting married this past season? They are barely out of the nursery.”

“Not all men marry sixteen- or seventeen-year-olds.”

“No, but if I let it be known that I am open to the idea, some will be thrown at me. That I know for certain.”

“Then don’t let anyone know, and look for someone older and stronger this time. Not all women are like Lady Bryant.”

Everton swallowed his uncouth reply. His marriage had been a disaster. Which part of his story had the duchess misunderstood? He wouldn’t put another woman through that. He took a deep breath and squinted his eyes shut. He had been the one to come here for help. It wasn’t as if Her Grace had been offering her advice unsolicited. Even still, he had hoped she would have something better to offer him than marriage. Coming here had been a mistake. It was time to make an exit. Talking with someone hadn’t actually helped him at all.

He took a deep breath through his nose and tipped his head to one side. Plastering a half grin on his face, he did what he always did.

Deflected.

“Older and stronger, you say? There is only one woman I can think of who matches that description, and I’m afraid your son simply doesn’t approve.”

Everton had never seen a duchess throw her head back and laugh before, but he found he liked the sound of it. Like bells in a country village. “Ah, Lord Bryant,” she said after calming down and wiping her eyes. “I may be older, but I don’t believe I am strong. No wonder you are all the ladies have to talk about in town. Frankly, I don’t know how you have avoided matrimony these past few years as it is.”

“At times, it has been quite the endeavor,” Everton admitted. Once it had nearly meant a duel. Preposterous things, duels, as if he would have even shown up. Everton stood. He had spoken about Rachel for the first time since her parents informed him of her death. That was something, wasn’t it?

Her Grace stood as soon as he did, making his lapse in courtesy less alarming. “Are you leaving already? I’m quite certain that nothing I have said has been helpful.”

She was correct about that.

“I’m not convinced I am ready to be helped.”

Surely she wouldn’t let him leave after having admitted that. No woman of her age had ever been able to resist a wealthy young man in need of unwanted help. But to his surprise, she nodded and walked him to the door. “If you don’t want matrimony, you could always try singing. That is what I often do.”