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sitting and standing. “Suitability is beside the point at the moment. Right now, we are discussing the basics of what your lessons should entail. Who you select as a possible match will come later on. But who is the gentleman you are interested in? I should know who he is. Tell me his name.”
    “His name is Sir Richard Hamilton.”
    Will bolted to his feet in indignation. “Sir Richard Hamilton has a son older than me. He’s old!”
    “Yes.” She nodded. “I guessed as much.”
    How was she so calm? What was her game? “He’s likely twice your age, maybe even thrice.” He strode to the books lining one wall and placed a hand on the edge of a shelf to steady himself. “You can’t possibly be interested in him. What of children? Surely you want children.”
    Shrugging, she said, “I don’t require children, my lord. Unlike yourself, I don’t need an heir to carry on with my title and the property it entails.”
    “What are you about, Miss Duvall? None of this makes sense. Unless a woman is destitute, or craving a title, why would she willingly marry a man old enough to be her grandfather?” Truly, he was perplexed. With a sister as clever as Arabella, he’d thought he’d seen all there was to see when it came to women and mischief.
    She stood, tipped up her chin, and glided across the room like she was skating across an ice-covered lake. Again, she put herself in his personal sphere, when there should’ve been a greater distance between them. “I don’t require an heir. I don’t have to marry a man who requires a child. It’s very simple.”
    “It’s not simple at all.” He crossed his arms. “A woman should want children.”
    “I didn’t say I didn’t want children. There are just other things I want more.”
    “Such as?”
    “My lord, we seem to be getting off track. You are supposed to be tutoring me in whatever you feel is going to make me more marriageworthy or attract the right kind of suitor.” She flipped her hand in the air. “My personal wishes or interests concerning children have nothing to do with you and me.”
    Although she was right, he found it peculiar. He did recall a similar discussion with his sister, and her ambivalence toward being what she deemed “becoming a brood mare.”
    “Perhaps this is a discussion for another time,” he said, “but I assure you Sir Richard Hamilton is not the right choice for you.”
    “Excuse me, my lord, but you barely know me. We’ve only met today, so how can you have any inkling as to who is the right choice for me?”
    “He’s near doddering,” Will stated emphatically.
    “Many women marry someone well beyond their years.”
    His ire was building, but he suppressed the urge to tell her the way it was going to be. Yes, she was correct that many women did marry much older men, and it wasn’t as if society frowned upon it— he just frowned upon it. “All right. I am here to help you in your debut, not debate the merits of marriage to Sir Richard Hamilton.”
    “Yes, and I’m here to tell you that there’s really no need to tutor me because I’ve already found the man I want to marry.”
    “Regardless, I’ve agreed to do this for Marsdale. He feels you need to have some basic lessons. And I’m here to provide them.” He strode to the writing table and retrieved the parchment, as though showing it to her made their agreement more official. “I’ve started a list. The first thing we should consider is your clothes. I know a modiste in London who’s quite good and very sought-after.”
    She sighed as though she might finally be resigned to her fate. “Fine. Whatever you want. If clothes made by your modiste will help me get what I want, then so be it.”
    “I’m glad we’re finally in agreement, Miss Duvall.”
    “What else do you have on that list?” she asked.
    “Dancing, the use of proper utensils, proper dinner conversation.” He looked up from reading. “Or, in your case, proper conversation in any