Born to Scandal. Diane Gaston

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      His children. The only reason he’d consider this idea of marriage. Brent might not see his children frequently. He might not keep them at his side like his Irish grandfather kept him, but he wanted the best for them.

      ‘Speaking of your children, how is the new governess working out?’ Peter asked.

      Brent welcomed the change in subject, although it pricked at his guilt even more. She’d sent him one letter shortly after her arrival at Brentmore, but he’d not written back to enquire further.

      ‘Fairly well, last I heard.’ Was the passionate Miss Hill making the children happy? He certainly hoped so.

      Perhaps he would write to her tomorrow to ask if the children needed anything that he could provide. He had no clue as to what his children might need or desire. He’d tried to keep their lives as quiet and comfortable and unchanged as he could, knowing firsthand how jarring too much change could be. That was why he’d left them at Brentmore Hall, to disrupt their peace as little as possible with his presence.

      Who could have guessed their old governess would die? He’d not protected them at all from that trauma. How difficult for them that the woman’s death to come so soon after their mother’s accident.

      If a second marriage could accomplish all Peter said, how could Brent refuse? If Miss Rolfe was indeed the paragon Peter vowed she was, perhaps she could give the children a better life.

      He and Peter turned on to Somerset Street and knocked upon Lord Rolfe’s door. A footman opened the door and a few minutes later led them to the drawing room and announced them to the Rolfes.

      Baron Rolfe immediately crossed the room to greet them. ‘Lord Brentmore, it is a delight to have your company.’ He shook Brent’s hand. ‘Peter, it is always good to see you.’ He turned to two ladies who stood behind him. ‘Allow me to present you to my wife and daughter.’

      The wife was a pleasant-looking woman, the sort whose face just naturally smiled. She was soft spoken and gracious.

      The daughter had a quiet sort of beauty. Her hair was a nondescript brown, her eyes a pale blue, her features even. There was nothing to object to in her. Brent gave her credit for being remarkably composed in the face of being looked over by a marquess as if she were a bauble in some shop.

      ‘I am pleased to meet you, my lord.’ She had a pleasant voice, not musical, perhaps, but not grating. ‘Peter has told me so much about you.’

      He hoped Peter had told her everything. He’d learned the hard way it did not pay to assume she already knew. He’d assumed Eunice had known of his early life. After their marriage when she’d learned of it, she’d been shocked and appalled.

      ‘I am pleased to meet you as well, Miss Rolfe.’ He bowed.

      He ought to say something witty or charming, but he was not trying to impress. If this idea of Peter’s was to work, Miss Rolfe must know him as he was. There should be no illusions.

      They sipped sherry as they waited for dinner to be served. Conversation was pleasant and amiable. Brent liked that these people were very fond of his cousin and were as comfortable as they were in his presence. He was supposed to be the family’s salvation, after all, but they refrained from fawning over him and labouring to earn his regard.

      The dinner proceeded in like manner. He was seated next to Miss Rolfe, which gave him an opportunity to share conversation with her alone. She, too, retained her poise, although she did shoot occasional glances to Peter, for his encouragement or approval, Brent supposed.

      When dinner was done, Brent broke with the convention of the gentlemen remaining at the table for brandy and the ladies retiring to the drawing room.

      ‘May I speak with Miss Rolfe alone?’ he asked instead.

      ‘Of course,’ Lord Rolfe said.

      Miss Rolfe glanced at Peter before saying, ‘I would be delighted.’

      Brent and Miss Rolfe returned to the drawing room.

      She went to a cabinet and took out a decanter. ‘My lord, would you like a glass of brandy as we speak?’

      He was grateful. ‘I would indeed.’

      She poured his glass and settled herself on the sofa.

      He chose a chair facing her. ‘It is clear that Peter discussed this matter with you and your parents, as he did with me.’

      She lowered her eyes. ‘He did.’

      ‘I need to know your thoughts on this.’ She had to be fully on board with the scheme or he would not proceed.

      She raised her head and gave him a direct look. ‘It is a reality that I must marry well …’ She paused. ‘It is also a reality that my prospects to marry well are very slim. My dowry is very modest—’

      He put up a hand. ‘Money means nothing to me.’

      She smiled. ‘Actually, money means nothing to me, either. It is far more important to me to marry a good man.’ Her gaze faltered. ‘Peter—Peter assures me you are such a man.’

      He glanced away. ‘It is important to me that you realise precisely what you are agreeing to.’

      ‘Peter was quite forthright.’ Her expression turned serious. ‘I know about your Irish parentage and your wife’s infidelities. I also know that you keep your word and pay your creditors and fulfil your responsibilities to your tenants, your servants, and your country.’

      He felt his cheeks warming. ‘That is high praise.’

      She lowered her lashes. ‘It is what Peter told me.’

      All Brent truly did was what any decent man should do. It seemed no great thing to him.

      He changed the subject. ‘What of children?’

      Her cheeks turned pink. ‘Our children?’

      Lawd. He had not thought that far.

      ‘You shall, of course, have children, if you wish it.’ He could not contemplate bedding her, not at the moment. There was nothing about her to repulse, however. He could imagine becoming fond of her in time. ‘What I meant was your feelings about my children. Are you willing to take charge of them and rear them as your own?’

      Her hands fidgeted, twisting the fabric of her skirts. ‘If you think they would accept me in that role.’

      He had no idea. Sadly, his children were strangers to him.

      She spoke more confidently. ‘I am the eldest of five. I am certainly well used to the company of children. I would try my best for yours.’

      The words of his new governess came back to him—I would please you, my lord. I am certain I would—spoken with a passion Miss Rolfe lacked.

      Perhaps that was fortunate. Passion must not be a part of this decision.

      ‘Do you have any questions for me?’ he asked her.

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