“I wasn’t aware that I required your blessing for family decisions. I’m paying you a salary to instruct my sisters in music, nothing more.”

“You’re not paying me at all.”

He ducked his head. “I’m not?”

“Your butler told me that my salary has been delayed. It’s been delayed for months now.”

“A clerical error which will be remedied immediately. The point is, you’re not employed to lecture me.”

“I can’t stand by and watch you destroy your sisters’ lives. They’re good girls and they deserve better. You can’t just bring home a husband for Blanche and Bernadette like you would new gloves or a parasol.”

“It happens all the time. I’m finally doing my duty. That’s how society will see it.”

“You may do your duty, marry if you choose, but selecting husbands for your sisters instead of allowing them to find their own suitors is the most arrogant, wrongheaded . . .”

She stopped speaking abruptly. By the play of emotions across her face, and the decided lack of dimples, she was probably wrestling back several more insults. She took a deep breath that plumped her breasts against her bodice in a thoroughly distracting manner and curved her lips into a smile.

A man could become lost in those dimples and never find himself again.

“It’s not in their best interests, Your Grace,” she said sweetly, patiently. “Your sisters have been sheltered, as all noble young ladies are, from anything other than a narrowly dictated list of acceptable occupations. They know how to stitch a Psalm on muslin. They know a smattering of French. They can play a piano sonata (some of them with more success than others). But they lack practical experience of the world. I know that you are fond of your sisters and wish the best for them.”

Another bright smile. A kind, encouraging spark in her green eyes.

“Because of your obvious affection for them you must allow them to experience the modicum of freedom afforded them by the excitements and social engagements of the Season. Let them be young, Your Grace. Allow them to converse with gentlemen, fill their dance cards, observe London at the horse races, walk along a moonlit path at Vauxhall Gardens—”

“Let me just stop you there.”

“But I’m not finished yet.”

“It’s a very pretty speech, and very winningly said, but it won’t have the desired effect. My mind is made up, I’m afraid.”

The smile left her eyes and lips. “So, you’ve been gambling and being . . . wicked for years and suddenly you simply decide to marry and force your sisters into unhappy marriages on a whim?”