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what?”
    “Yes. Your aunt and I will never have children if we have not by now. And I have no brothers or other nephews. Surely you have at least wondered about this?”
    “I think I just assumed that one day you and Aunt Kate would produce a child. It still might happen.”
    “It is possible, but the doctors assure us highly unlikely. No, you will inherit the title and Thorne, and , therefore, I will help you through university and with a commission, if that is what you wish.”
    “I don’t know what to say, sir. Thank you hardly seems sufficient.”
    “No need to say more than thank you. You are like a son to me, Gareth. We are spoiled, though,” he laughed, “for there is enough distance between us that we appreciate each other. For all my faults, you will always be less critical of me than of your father!”
    * * * *
    Gareth was called back to the present by a slight pressure on his fingers, and his aunt gently announced to her husband that “Gareth has come, dearest.”
    His uncle’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled very slightly, as though even a change in expression tired him. Gareth had to lean down to catch his “It is good to see you one last time, my boy.” Gareth protested that he would be around for a while, but his uncle just squeezed his hand gently again. “No deathbed lies here, Gareth. Kate and I can’t see wasting time or energy on denial. I have so little waking time as it is. Are you ready to become a marquess, Gareth?” his uncle asked with a bit more of a smile. “I cannot say that a title makes dying any easier, but it does make living more enjoyable. And I would not have had Kate without it.”
    His aunt reached out to stroke the marquess’s brow and his eyes closed once again.
    “That is more than he has spoken all day, Gareth. I am so glad you’re here. Come, he will sleep for a few hours now. Let us go downstairs. I must look awful. I’ve been sitting here for days. Although you, my dear, look even worse!”
    Gareth laughed out loud and then looked horrified.
    “No, no, you will not wake him. And it is so good to hear laughter. Now, tell me when you arrived and where you are staying,” said the marchioness, leading the way downstairs.
     

Chapter 7
     
    By the time Arden returned from her ride, she had forgotten her father’s visitor and the papers he carried. In fact, most of her time had been spent contemplating her father’s plans for her. To take her away from Stalbridge and Ellen and Celia and drop her in her Aunt Millicent’s lap was truly outrageous and unreasonable. Even if Celia did receive an offer of marriage, surely Ellen would not want to move in with her? Surely she would not want to leave a comfortable home and Arden?
    But the other alternative? No one had shown any inclination to solicit her hand for more than one dance. One known rake had tried to kiss her, and one fortune hunter had paid her obviously insincere and ridiculous compliments until she laughed in his face. And I have no inclination toward anyone, she thought self-righteously. They are all dull-witted or physically unattractive. If her choice were marriage or Millicent, then it was really no choice, because whom would she marry? Her father’s question, which was who would be willing to marry her, she did not take seriously at all. He had exaggerated on the basis of gossip and Ellen’s overreaction.
    But she could not, would not, go live with her father’s sister. Millicent was a cold and rigid woman with no sense of humor. Although she was full of what might pass for family feeling in that she had a highly developed sense of what was due a Huntly, Arden knew she had no real affection for her brother or her niece. Life with Millicent would be like living in Milton’s version of hell. Cold, and with a companion as proud as Lucifer. At least she had the rest of the Season to change her father’s mind. If she was lucky, Celia’s seeming tendre for Lord Heronwood would fade away and she and