“Your Grace.” She rose from the piano bench. “Love has everything to do with it. Why, a marriage without love is like . . . it’s like toast without butter. Dry and unpalatable. It’s like dinner with no dessert. Summer with no sunshine. An orchestra with no conductor.” Her words tumbled from her, carrying her across the music room toward the duke. She lifted the roll of sheet music she held, using it to punctuate her point like a conductor’s baton. “Marriage without love is a diminished chord, unresolved and lingering in our minds discordantly. Love is the note our ears long to hear, life’s satisfying resolution.”

The duke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Love spoken with a capital L and that moony look in your eyes, Miss Beetle, is a sentiment manufactured by poets to sell books of verse. Love is neither necessary, nor advisable, for a marriage that profits both parties.”

“How can you say that?” she protested.

The ladies were staring at Viola and the duke. Viola collected herself and lowered the roll of sheet music. “I only mean to say that love is essential to a harmonious union, Your Grace. And also that . . . well, just this: love makes life worth living.”

There, she’d said her piece. The duke wasn’t pleased by her outburst. He glowered at her with such ferocity that she retreated backward toward the relative safety of the piano bench.

“You’re so right, Miss Beaton!” Blanche clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Love makes life worth living. And I love Laxton and I’ll die if I can’t have him. I shan’t marry anyone else.” She dissolved into sobs, burying her head in a velvet cushion.

“Now see what you’ve done?” the duke asked Viola.

“What I’ve done?” Viola sputtered.

The duke stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, it’s been a very long night and day. I sustained several injuries.” He stabbed the air near the bruises around his eye. “And I signed an agreement to marry. Both activities which require a prolonged period of recuperation. We’ll have ample time for further discussion after I’ve had a nice soak and a long sleep.”

The image of Westbury rising from a soaking tub kidnapped Viola’s mind for a few hot and steamy seconds.

Blanche lifted her tear-stained face. “I don’t want anyone but Laxton.”

The duke’s expression hardened. “I don’t want to hear that name spoken ever again in this house. Is that understood?”

“But why?”

“He’s not worthy of you, and he never will be. You must forget about him. I’ve found two good options and you’re going to choose one of them . . . and that’s final!” He spun on his heel and strode from the room, leaving Viola and his sisters staring after him.