“That’s all it is—tedious. Walden is using his influence with the College of Arms to address the matter. He’s already sent a pigeon south, with directions to send another north when a decision has been made. The king is usually quite attentive to matters involving the peerage.”

“My happiness rests in the hands of a self-indulgent, lazy, supercilious…” Althea let the tirade die aborning, because beneath her temper lay the more honest emotion. “I am afraid, Nathaniel. I finally find you, I wade through years of arcane social conventions, and yet another pointless convention stands in my way. I know who you are, you know who I am. What do I care if at the time of our wedding you are still officially wearing some dusty old titles that have nothing to do with us?”

He kissed her, a swift, “That’s my Althea” sort of kiss. “I want the matter resolved for us, but also for Rothhaven. If he ever thinks to marry, his union must be unassailably legal.”

“I would like to know Robert has a companion in life,” Althea said, running her fingers through Nathaniel’s hair. “She’d have to be a woman of extraordinary tolerance.”

“Or she’d have to be extraordinarily in love. It happens, you know. The most unlikely people—”

Althea smacked his arm. “If Rothhaven is to take his place as duke, he needs the dullest, most blue-blooded, unremarkable, conventional duchess ever to wear a tiara. His past must fade under a cloud of boring decorum and his illness must become an insignificant footnote at the bottom of a monotonously ducal life.”

“I believe you have divined his strategy, or part of it. He’s already set about creating a proper façade and front drive for the Hall, and I expect he will soon be receiving callers.”

Althea pushed away from the wall and prepared to bid her fiancé a temporary farewell. “And where will he find that dull, conventional, unremarkable duchess, Nathaniel? Yorkshire society is not exactly awash in blue-blooded young ladies.”

“I know of at least one who excels at seeming conventional and biddable. She also happens to be the sister of a duke.”

Oh, dear. Oh, no. “Nathaniel, we must not let that happen. Constance isn’t suitable, and Rothhaven isn’t either.”

“We weren’t suitable, Althea, and if they make each other happy, who are we to gainsay them? Kiss me, and then send me on my way, please.”

Althea kissed him—and he kissed her—and all thoughts about unsuitable dukes and even more unsuitable sisters flew from her head.

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The undersigned invites your ladyship to a meal al fresco to discuss a project of mutual interest. I remain, your most obed serv,

R