Peter replied through his teeth, each word spaced. “I do not wish to marry, Father.”

The viscount’s cheeks reddened again. “It’s time you stopped gadding about. By God, you will do as I say!”

Peter avoided his father’s gaze, seemingly absorbed in flicking the smallest piece of lint from the black velvet collar of his morning coat. Satisfied, he returned to the subject at hand. “You seem to have misunderstood me. I refuse to marry Jerningham’s daughter.” Only the smallest tremor in his voice betrayed his agitation.

The viscountess broke in before her husband could bellow whatever response he had in mind. “Thurlow, I don’t like your color. Perhaps we might continue this conversation at a later time? You know what the doctor said about getting overtaxed!”

“Balderdash!” the viscount protested, although he allowed his wife to pull him back onto a couch. “By George, you had better obey me, Mister Peter Dewland, or you will find yourself out the door.” The veins of his forehead were alarmingly swollen.

His wife sent a beseeching glance to her youngest son. His jaw was set in a manner that his father would have recognized, had there been a mirror in the near vicinity.

But before Peter could say a word, his father erupted out of his seat once again. “And just what am I supposed to say to this young girl who’s coming all the way over from India? Tell her that you ‘prefer not to marry her’? You planning on telling my old friend Jerningham that you decline to marry his gal?”

“That is precisely what I suggest,” Peter replied.

“And what about the money Jerningham’s lent me over the years, eh? Given it to me without a word of advice—just sent me over the blunt to do with as I like! If your brother Quill hadn’t pulled down a fortune speculating on the East India Company, Jerningham might still be lending me money. As it is, we agreed to consider it a dowry. You will marry the gal, or I’ll…I’ll …”

The viscount’s face was purple all over now, and he was unconsciously rubbing his chest.

“Quill could pay back the money,” Peter suggested.

“Bloody hell! I’ve already allowed your brother to turn himself into a merchant, playing around on the Exchange—I’ll be damned if I’ll allow him to pay off my debts!”

“I don’t see why not,” Peter retorted. “He’s paid for everything else.”

“That’s enough! The only reason your brother—the only reason I allowed Erskine to take on the smell of the market was because—well, because he’s a cripple. But at least he acts his age. You’re naught but a fribble, a sprig of fashion!”