His butler, Sebastian, entered the room. “Welker is preparing your bath, Your Grace.” He glanced sideways at his bruised forehead. “And I asked Cook for a cold compress for your wounds.”

“And can you arrange to strike the memory of this cursed day from the annals of my mind?”

“That is beyond even my abilities, Your Grace.”

“I’m to be married, Sebastian,” West said glumly, sinking into a chair by the fire.

“Felicitations, Your Grace. And the fortunate young lady is . . . ?”

“Miss Vanessa Chandler. An American heiress. Mr. Chandler wishes to purchase a title for his darling daughter. And I wish to settle my debts and see my sisters’ futures secured.”

Even though Sebastian’s impassive face displayed no hint of censure, West felt the disapproval rolling from him in waves. Even his butler disapproved of the match. Bernadette had the right of it—Great-Aunt Hermione, from his mother’s side of the family, would be appalled when she learned of his choice of bride. That formidable and highly opinionated elderly lady had been attempting to marry him off to Lady Winifred, one of London’s elite, polished, to-the-manor-born ladies, for years now.

You must marry the perfect duchess, Westbury. It’s the only way to repair the ruin you’ve made of the Westbury name and fortunes.

Miss Chandler wasn’t the perfect duchess. But she’d make him rich enough to buy their way back into society. And she didn’t mind about his bad reputation. All she wanted was his title.

It was simpler this way. No foolishness about courtship. No expectation that he would be reformed by falling in love.

It was far too late for any meaningful reform. And falling in love was out of the question. Miss Beaton could keep her buttered toast and her musical metaphors.

Though she had looked rather magnificent brandishing that roll of music in the air, bearing down upon him with her green eyes sparking and her bosom rising and falling rapidly.

Not that he should spend any more time picturing her heaving bosom.

Marriages of convenience. The settling of debts. Those were approved subjects. “Miss Chandler and her mother will pay us a visit Tuesday next to discuss the details of the wedding.”

“Very good, Your Grace. I’ll inform Mrs. McClurg.”

“I can see by your expression that you have something to say to me, Sebastian. Out with it.”

“I, Your Grace?”

“You don’t approve of me marrying an American.”

“I would never presume to comment on your choices in life.”

“And that’s a brazen lie. You always find a way of letting me know your displeasure. This is my attempt to do the right thing, Sebastian.”

“And I have every faith in you, Your Grace.” His tone of voice said quite the opposite. “Will there be anything else?”

“Tell Welker I’ll be up soon.”

“Very good.” Sebastian bowed and left the room, taking his cloud of judgment and disapproval with him.