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!”

As the viscount drew a breath, Quill raised his head and met his younger brother’s eyes. In the depths of Quill’s silent apology, Peter saw the manacles of marriage looming.

His father was glaring at him with all the frustration of a ruddy, boisterous Englishman whose younger son has proved to be nothing like himself. Peter cast a desperate look at his mother, but there was no help to be found.

He quailed. His stomach churned. He opened his mouth to protest but could think of nothing to say. And finally the habits of a lifetime’s submission took hold.

“Very well.” His voice was hollow.

Kitty Dewland rose and came to give him a grateful kiss on the cheek. “Dear Peter,” she said. “You were always my comforting one, my good child. And in truth, darling, you have escorted so many women without making an offer. I’m certain that Jerningham’s daughter will be a perfect match for you. His wife was French, you know.”

In her son’s eyes there was a bleak desolation that Kitty hated to see. “Is there someone else? Is there a woman whom you were hoping to marry, darling?”

Peter shook his head.

“Well, then,” Kitty said gaily. “We will be right and tight when this girl—what’s her name, Thurlow? Thurlow!”