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thing. I find the very idea of an arranged marriage distasteful and positively medieval. And secondly, had I known of your father’s plan, I should have told you long before now.”
    “To allow you to pick out your own bride.” Reggie nodded.
    “Exactly.” She cast his friend an appreciative smile. Reggie fairly swelled under her approval and beamed back at her.
    “Damnably decent of you, Mother.”
    “I think so.” She nodded in a smug manner and sipped at her brandy. For a moment she looked far younger than her eight and forty years and rather vulnerable as well. Ridiculous idea, of course. Helena, the dowager Countess of Pennington, was anything but vulnerable. She’d been very much his father’s partner as well as wife.
    From the moment Marcus had recognized that as a young boy he’d been rather pleased by the concept and vowed to forge a similar relationship with his own wife. The difficulty was in finding a woman who possessed the qualities of intelligence and competence necessary for such a position, as well as charm, passion, and, preferably, a fair face and figure. A woman who could capture his heart and his mind. In short, the perfect wife. A creature even he admitted could not possibly exist. Of course, what he wanted no longer mattered.
    “Did you look at this letter your father signed?” Lady Pennington studied her son. “Was it legitimate?”
    “It appeared so.” Marcus nodded. “I know father’s signature as well as I know my own, and I have no doubt as to the authenticity of the letter. However, it simply laid out the bones of the agreement. Whiting had other documents detailing the fine points of this marriage bargain.”
    “And did you examine those as well?” she said, a curious note in her voice. Marcus waved away the question. “I glanced at them. It scarcely seemed necessary to do more. My fate is apparently sealed.”
    “It might well be wise to have another solicitor look at it all.” Reggie’s manner was thoughtful.
    “Another eye might find a way out and—”
    “Nonsense, Reginald, it would simply prolong the inevitable,” Lady Pennington said with a sigh.
    “Besides, Mr. Whiting has always acted in the best interest of Marcus and his father. Indeed, he has been of great assistance to me in the years since my husband’s passing.”
    “I trust Whiting implicitly.” To Marcus’s knowledge, the man had never done anything that was not aboveboard, nor had his counsel ever been ill-advised. “If there was a graceful way out of this, I do not doubt Whiting would have found it already.”
    “That goes without saying.” His mother sipped her brandy. “Of course, neither Lord Townsend nor your father could foresee the depths to which his daughter might fall through no fault—”
    “What depths?” Marcus’s brows pulled together.
    “Oh, that does not bode well,” Reggie murmured.
    “It’s not nearly as bad as it sounds,” she said lightly.
    “What depths?” Marcus said again.
    “I must say it sounds exceedingly bad,” Reggie said under his breath.
    “Indeed it does. What depths, Mother?”
    “It was actually a terrible error according to Mr. Whiting. Miss Townsend was erroneously informed as to the nature of her finances after her father’s death and was compelled to seek honest employment as a governess.” Lady Pennington’s gaze met her son’s, and a challenge gleamed in her eyes. “I certainly think no less of her for that. For taking her fate in her hands. Do you, Marcus?”
    “Not at all, Mother.” He couldn’t suppress a wry smile. His mother was unusually egalitarian about such things. No doubt because she too had faced financial difficulties as a girl, and she too had taken charge of her life. “You seem to have considerably more information than I do about my intended bride. Just how long was your chat with Whiting?”
    “Long enough. I simply know the right questions to ask, and I daresay, Marcus, you were probably far too stunned by