“Let’s get started, shall we? I know you follow all of Sophie’s friends, so how about we start by pulling up Seraphina’s Instagram page—”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not going to pore over Seraphina’s social media. Or Florrie’s. I promised I’d help find a new secretary, not a replacement for Sophie.”

“I’d like your input on both.”

“This makes me uncomfortable.”

“It should. If you hadn’t interfered yesterday, I’d be a married man today.”

“You just think I did something, but you have no proof.”

“And when I have proof? What then? How will you make it up to me?”

She shook her head, lips compressed.

“Poppy, I made my father a promise, and I’m not going to break that promise.”

“Then perhaps you need a better list,” she said, picturing Seraphina and Florrie. Both had been at Langston House yesterday for the wedding. Florrie was single at the moment—in between polo player lovers—and Seraphina was dating someone. It was in the early stages of the relationship but she apparently liked him and had told everyone he could be the one. Although that wasn’t the first, or second, or even third time she’d said such a thing. “Only Florrie is currently single. Seraphina is seeing someone. She brought him to the wedding yesterday.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“I’m not surprised. It was a tad hectic.” She studied Dal, who looked handsome and rested this morning, his crisp white linen shirt the perfect foil for his black hair and golden eyes. “So tell me, how do you intend to proceed with your wooing?”

“I’ll make a phone call, explain that I’m in need of a countess, and ask if she’s interested.”

“That’s it?”

“Should I ask her to fill out an application and give five references?”

“Dal, this isn’t the way to a satisfying relationship.”

“You’re a relationship expert now?”

She ignored the jab. “I’m not the one rushing into marriage, and I know it’s been difficult these past few days, but you can’t truly want a shallow, materialistic woman who is only marrying you for the title and money?”

“But that’s exactly what I’m offering, and all I’m really offering—”

“That is not so. She gets you. You. And yes, you’re a horrible, ridiculous, stubborn, awful man, but you’re still you. Why give yourself to someone who doesn’t care about you?”

“Because she’ll be happier with the title and houses and bank account than she will with me.”

“I don’t know why you’re saying these things.”

“Why not let her enjoy herself? As long as she gives me heirs, she can do what she wants.”

“I don’t want to hear any more.”

“It shouldn’t upset you. You crossed yourself off the list of candidates. Who I marry, or how I choose my wife, shouldn’t trouble you in the least.”

“But of course it does! I care about you. I care about your happiness, or lack of happiness. I care that you lock yourself away from the world and just work, work, work. I care that you lost Sophie, and now you’re in this position, but at the same time, I’m glad you didn’t trap Sophie in a cold marriage. That wouldn’t have been fair to her. She deserves so much more. And you deserve more, too, but you won’t demand more and that absolutely baffles me.”

She lifted the computer, rose and walked away.

* * *

Dal didn’t stop her, letting her march away with the laptop as if she was the injured party.

She wasn’t injured. She was lucky. She would soon have everything she wanted, and more.

A husband, a family, financial security, as well as respect. Once she was his wife, she’d have power and prestige. People would fall all over themselves wanting her approval, trying to ingratiate themselves.

She would be fine.