“I thought you would have grown out of that,” the duke continued. “Reticence is not an admirable trait when courting a lady. A lady likes grand gestures.” Birchwood fluttered a hand in the air. “They like to be wooed . . . for a beau to make grand proclamations.” His fluttering hand curled into a fist as though he were seizing hold of something. “You have to be bold. Adventurous.”

Of course, he could not help but consider the irony in this. He wondered if this was the same advice Birchwood had given his youngest son, Malcolm, who died from a broken neck when he fell from the trellis he was scaling to reach the bedchamber of his latest paramour, the very beautiful—very married—Lady Feckingham.

He refrained from asking, knowing Birchwood would not appreciate the reminder. The only thing more painful than the loss of his sons was the completely pointless way in which they had died. A splinter, a broken neck and choking. If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be laughable.

Birchwood continued, “A man in love is a man of action.”

Constantine resisted pointing out that he was not a man in love.

His cousin Winston had been in love. Specifically, he had been in love with the Lady Elise. At least, by all accounts. Everyone had been telling him that since almost the moment he had arrived in London. Winston had doted on his bride-to-be. It might have been a match arranged by their families, but his cousin had heartily been in favor of it.

It seemed since he was to fill his cousin’s shoes, everyone thought he, too, should take on his cousin’s betrothed . . . and display all the necessary infatuation with a woman he found agreeable and yet for whom he felt nothing. Only polite apathy.

He supposed it was a sound solution, as long as the girl was agreeable. He could do no better than Lady Elise. He had no misapprehensions when it came to that. She was far better than he. His superior in every way. Which was why he already knew what he would do. If the lass would have him, he would take her to wife.

It was the honorable thing to do. Lady Elise had planned on marrying the next Duke of Birchwood, after all, and he was now that man.

Old Birchwood’s gaze looked off in the distance. “What month is . . .” His voice faded away as the answer came to him on his own. “Ah. Yes. They would have married by now. Dear Winston and Lady Elise.”

A whimsical smile brushed the duke’s lips as he nodded. “Perhaps I would have been looking forward to the arrival of my first grandchild by now, hm?”

An awkward silence fell.