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son. The duke wanted something from her, of course. Blake sensed his lips curling into an involuntary sneer. Louther and the duchess were already exchanging political gossip so Blake listened to his father ascertain whether his future daughter-in-law preferred potage à la reine or à la russe .
    â€œWe must make sure the servants know your favorite dishes,” the duke said.
    â€œThank you, Your Grace. You are very kind.”
    â€œNot at all. Since one must eat, one may as well enjoy it, especially in one’s own home. Vanderlin House will of course be your home much of the time.”
    â€œNot for many years, I trust.”
    â€œIn less than a month you will be living under my roof. You must speak to the steward about any preferences you have about furnishings too. I daresay the duchess will show you the rooms after dinner.”
    Blake, in midsip, almost spat out his wine. “Here, sir? Here? We have no intention of living at Vanderlin House.”
    â€œOf course you will live here. There’s plenty of room and your mother will be able to instruct Minerva in her future duties. You too. It’s time you played a more active part in the affairs of the dukedom. With the election likely this year you should be working with Gideon on our prospects.”
    â€œIf you need my help, let me have the management of Mandeville. I proved myself capable in Devon.”
    â€œLive in the country, Blakeney? Can you think of nothing but horses and hunting? You wouldn’t wish to live outside London, would you, my dear?”
    The duke didn’t expect Minerva to answer, which was just as well since there was no tactful response she could give without contradicting one of the two men.
    â€œNaturally we shall live part of the year in London,” Blake said. “In our own establishment.” A very small part of the year, he promised silently.
    â€œThe business of the Dukes of Hampton is the business of the nation and has ever been so. It’s time you gained some respect for our family tradition. You are, after all, our future.”
    â€œPerhaps I don’t wish to follow tradition. Perhaps I see a different future.”
    â€œHistory is greater than the petty concerns of one man.” He glared at Blake, the faded blue eyes still fierce in his papery face. “I will not allow the work of generations of Vanderlins to end with me.”
    And that was why the duke wanted them here, why he wanted this marriage. An heir, a different more satisfactory heir. It must gall him that Blake, whom he never trusted with anything, had to be the instrument of getting the son. But after that, he had no doubt, his father would wish to control him.
    Blake wasn’t going to live at Vanderlin House being instructed by Gideon. And it would serve the duke right if Minerva lacked her family capacity for producing boys. Instead of arguing, which was pointless, he answered his father’s challenge with a careless shrug and addressed his soup. He’d chosen the consommé over either of the potages and wondered if there was a pun in there somewhere. Consommé . . . consummation . . . or not.
    There was one sure way of foiling the duke’s plans for this marriage.
    Conversation of the kind he’d been hearing all his life washed over him: Who would get which office or bishopric or ambassadorship? How would so-and-so vote on which bill? Who should have one of the parliamentary seats over which the family held influence or sway? Who deserved the family jewels, to be “elected” to one of the Vanderlin pocket boroughs? Blake paid scant attention.
    What would the duke do if a year passed, two years, with no sign of a child of either sex, let alone a son? Would he blame his worthless son? Women were usually held responsible for lack of fertility.
    A name penetrated his thoughts.
    â€œRemind me, Gideon, who we are supporting in Westborough?” the duke said.
    â€œGeoffrey