“They are far more practical, though. It saves a man the trouble of wading through a sea of matchmaking mamas and their simpering daughters.”

The old retainer dolefully shook his head as he set out a plate of bread and cheese. “Be that as it may, the betrothal plan was agreed upon when you and Lord Godwin’s eldest daughter were mere babes in arms. When Lady Audrey eloped with that preacher a decade ago and fled the country, it nullified any obligation on your part.”

Hadrian had suffered no regrets over the loss of a marriage to his second cousin, Audrey. Though pretty, she’d been sober-minded, her nose either in a prayer book or in his face, scolding him for his lack of spiritual pursuits. At least she’d never known of the discreet liaisons that had occupied his time when he wasn’t studying at Oxford. At eighteen, he had not been ready to don the leg shackle.

Now was another matter. He had sown his wild oats and had gained the maturity to settle down.

Hadrian tore off a hunk of bread and buttered it. “One would think you’d be pleased that I would honor my father’s wishes. Anyway, it’s time I set up my nursery, and Lady Ellen will suffice to be my wife as much as any other well-bred girl.”

“Then there was no need for this long journey,” Chumley said mulishly. “Lord and Lady Godwin will be bringing their daughter to London for the season. There will be time aplenty to court her.”

“Ah, but it’s better for the courtship to take place away from the prying eyes of gossips. Having never been in society, Lady Ellen may feel nervous—especially as we’ve not seen one another since she was twelve.”

The valet refilled Hadrian’s goblet. “Your mother fears the girl still has chalk dust from the schoolroom on her fingers. She can hardly be prepared to step straight into the role of duchess.”

“Mama wed at eighteen, the same age as Lady Ellen.”

“Dare I suggest that is precisely why she would counsel Your Grace against the marriage … among other considerations?”

Wiping his mouth with the serviette, Hadrian aimed a shrewd glance up at the valet, who stood rigidly at attention before the table. “Ah, we arrive at the crux of the matter. Mama objects not to the age of my bride, but to Lady Ellen’s father. She still harbors a grudge against Cousin Godwin.”

“Can you blame Her Grace? She lost not only her husband but you, as well. At the tender age of five, you were torn from her loving embrace and given over to the guardianship of Lord Godwin. You spent your childhood exiled halfway across the country.”

“Ninety-four miles is hardly the ends of the earth. And I did visit her twice a year.”

For a week at Easter and one in August, Lord Godwin had permitted Chumley to escort Hadrian to London to see his mother. His fond memories of those times included many childish delights: outings to the circus, boat rides on the Thames, visits to the menagerie of lions and bears at the Tower. She had lavished toys and books and other gifts on him, too, so many that upon his return, Hadrian was allowed to keep only one item. The rest was donated to charity, for Godwin believed in the virtues of austerity and thrift.