“You are wrong in that.” Alfred straightened into the posture of a military general. “Your responsibilities as my heir include choosing a suitable wife.”

“There is nothing unsuitable about Emily Barrow. She is a baron’s daughter,” he reminded his father.

“And her family is ridden with scandal. You might as well have married a scullery maid. No one in polite society will receive her.”

And, of course, society’s dictates were of the utmost importance. Stephen suddenly grasped a very real reason why he might have wed Emily. Marrying her was the perfect way to defy his father’s wishes. Alfred Chesterfield could not control his choice of a wife.

“Is that all?” he asked. He stared at his father, eye to eye.

“Not quite. You will see to it that no one learns of your…indiscretion, until I have investigated the means of dissolving the marriage. I hope, for your sake, that it can still be done.” Having voiced his decree, the marquess saw no reason to remain. He departed without another word.

Stephen opened a cabinet and poured himself a brandy. As he warmed the glass in his hand, his fingers tightened around the stem. The marquess seemed unaware that he could no longer dictate his son’s choices.

He took a sip of the brandy, reveling in silent defiance. It occurred to him that it was more than past time to secure a new residence. He’d suffered long enough at Rothburne House, his future inheritance. And though he would have to live here again upon his father’s passing, there was no reason to endure Alfred Chesterfield until that day came. Tomorrow, he promised himself. He’d look into the matter tomorrow.

His life was his own, and he didn’t care what his father’s preferences were.

Stephen set the brandy glass down, his mind settling back to Emily Barrow. Beneath her thin, fragile exterior was a woman with an iron will, a dangerous woman who resented him. She was using him to provide for her niece and nephew. Just as he was using her to rebel against his autocratic father. The thought sobered him.

Had Emily believed he’d loved her? Why would he lie to a woman in that way? He didn’t like to think of behaving in such a dishonorable manner. And yet, the answers lay just beyond his reach, strange pieces of a puzzle that would not fit together.

Until he had the answers, he could not force her out of his life.

Emily longed to find a pistol and shoot herself.

After traveling for days in a tiny coach, stopping only to eat meals or to sleep at an inn, Victoria had commenced to scream at the top of her tiny lungs. For hours. And hours. The nursemaid, Anna, had tried her best to calm the infant, but Victoria continued to sob.