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with the fevers—and the idea that he ought to wed Penny. No blood relation, don’t you know.”
    Penny almost shouted, “What?”
    So did West. That bounder with West’s fiancée? That is, Miss Goldwaite was not his betrothed any longer, but he still felt protective of the woman.
    Sir Gaspar shook his head. “The jackanapes thought to keep my blunt in his family. Counting the days until I shuffled off, I suppose. I wouldn’t put it past him to compromise my gal, so I had to get you out of London. His mother wouldn’t hear a word against him, of course. You can’t say I didn’t have your best interests at heart, poppet, protecting you from that. Westfield is a far better choice.”
    â€œI am safe here. I still want to know why you will not let me stay where I am happy, if you say you care for me.”
    â€œI told you, I want grandsons. Besides, it’s not right, you living in this harum-scarum household. A blind painter, his Frenchy friend . . .”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Marcel? He takes good care of Grandpapa.”
    Now the banker blushed. “He’s in the backroom studio, half naked except for some feathers. That ain’t right. You need the company of females.”
    â€œYou were the one who dismissed Lady Bainbridge after my come-out.”
    â€œShe insulted your stepmother.”
    â€œShe told her the Egyptian style looked ridiculous in our London house and that her daughters were spoiled brats.”
    Now Sir Gaspar took off his spectacles to polish them with his handkerchief, not meeting either West’s eyes or Penny’s. “Yes, well, that’s, um, another reason I need you wed to his lordship and back in London.”
    â€œYou want me to redecorate your town house?”
    â€œI want you to take the girls in hand.”
    Penny saw her stepsisters twice a year, once when they met in Bath in the winter, once at summer when she traveled to the Lake Country. Lady Bainbridge had been correct: They were horrible children. They were horrible young women now.
    Her father was still polishing his glasses. “They’re both of marrying age, you see, and ready for their come-outs. Constance doesn’t have the same connections a viscountess would, not even with my knighthood.”
    â€œYou want me . . . to marry this man, this person who ignored my existence for thirteen years . . . so that I can bring out your wife’s daughters? That is how much you care about my happiness?”
    Sir Gaspar looked up. “Here, now, I planned your wedding before I ever met Constance. I always wanted you to be a lady like your mother, and I am not ashamed of that. I saw you were brought up for the position, didn’t I, with all those books and schooling and some snooty baroness to haul you to the Queen’s Drawing Room for a formal presentation?”
    â€œYes, you did that, Father.”
    â€œAnd your father agreed, Westfield. My gal was good enough for him, and she is good enough for you.”
    â€œIt was never that she is not good e—,” West began.
    Sir Gaspar did not give him the chance to continue. “I have the special license in my pocket, and the innkeeper’s wife says she can bake a cake big enough for the whole village for tomorrow, right after church. I already sent a message to the vicar.”
    â€œTomorrow?” Penny asked with a groan. “You have waited thirteen years, and now tomorrow?”
    Her father nodded. “I don’t want to have those females around the rest of my life.”
    And that, Penny and West both supposed, was as good a reason as Sir Gaspar needed to force them to wed. Tomorrow.

Chapter Five
    In an arranged match, George, Prince of Wales, was wed to Caroline of Brunswick. Need I say more?
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—By Arrangement, a chronicle of arranged marriages, by G. E. Felber
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    â€œ W hat are we going to do?” Penny cried once her father left to