10. A Plan is Made

Meanwhile, in the Fenwick House dining room

"I'll leave you two to your brandy," Violet said when the dessert course was finished. "Aunt Katherine should be here at any moment to collect me for the card party."

Her father and brother both stood as she took her leave of the dining room, Philip watching closely until he was sure she was out of earshot.

"What's going on?" Michael asked, his suspicion evident.

Philip managed a look of contrition. "She has become fast friends with Lady Amelia," he replied. "So I don't want her to hear what I have to say."

Michael furrowed a brow. "But she's aware of your fondness for the girl?"

His son nodded, but he grimaced at hearing his father's choice of words. He was more than fond of Amelia Sheppard. "Oh, yes. I had to admit it to her because, well, I'm sure they've talked about me," he murmured. He winced. "And because Violet would have sorted it of her own accord. She's terribly clever."

Chuckling softly, Michael nodded. "She is at that. She'll make a fine wife for someone who will appreciate it, so I do hope she doesn't end up with some bounder with half a brain."

"A man with half a brain would need her though," Philip remarked.

A footman appeared with a decanter of brandy and two crystal glasses. Once Michael acknowledged him, the servant poured the drinks and hurried off. When the door to the butler's pantry closed, Michael held up his glass. "A toast to your impending nuptials?"

Chuckling softly, Philip held up his glass. "Let us hope."

They sipped the dark amber liquid at the same time and returned their glasses to the table before Michael leaned back. "When will you ask Weston for permission?"

Inhaling softly, Philip said, "I thought to pay a call on him in the morning."

"Will you send a footman ahead? To set a time?"

Philip shook his head. "I thought about it, but I think it's best if he doesn't have a chance to... to deny me before I can even ask."

"Will you apologize?"

Jerking in surprise, Philip stared at his father. "I hadn't thought to?—"

"Do so. Whatever you must to set things right," he stated. At hearing Philip's scoff, he added, "He's a duke, son. He can make things very uncomfortable for you for the rest of your life if you don't," Michael warned.

Philip dipped his head. "Oh, all right. And if he still doesn't give me permission?"

"I'll have a word with him," Michael said. "I... I should pay him a call anyway. Introduce myself. If he's like his father, then I believe we're of the same political leanings, so that should help." He paused a moment. "There's something you should know which may or may not complicate the situation."

A look of worry crossed Philip's face. "Go on."

Michael cleared his throat. "His grandfather, the Duke of Woodleigh, denied me permission to marry his mother."

Philip blinked. "You're... you're speaking of Her Grace, the Duchess of Weston?" he asked carefully, the memory of his father's drunken musings coming to the forefront.

"Helena, yes," Michael responded. "I loved her, and I wanted her to be my wife. But... when I paid a call on Woodleigh to ask his permission?—"

"He said no," Philip remembered.

"Said she was betrothed to Weston. A marriage contract had been arranged when she was but a young girl."

"Damn," Phillip whispered, pretending he didn't already know the tale.

Michael inhaled and let the breath out in a whoosh. "I recall a moment of feeling as if I'd been played, but it was evident from her reaction she knew nothing of the betrothal."

Philip dipped his head. "So... she wanted to marry you?"

"Indeed."

"Were you two... playing house?" he asked, trying hard to suppress a smirk.

"That's none of your concern," Michael replied. He arched a brow. "Have you been playing house with Lady Amelia?"

Philip's face bloomed with color. "We enjoy kissing, he admitted. "I've not taken her virtue, if that's what you're asking."

His father seemed satisfied with his answer. "What I'm about to say... please don't take it wrong."

Shaking his head, Philip displayed a look of confusion. "All right."

"I loved Helena. I always have. Until I see her again... until I have a chance to speak with her... I still love her," he stammered.

Philip gave a start. "Do you write letters to one another?" he asked. "Did you... while you and Mother?—?"

"No," he responded firmly. "Never. I left London to lick my wounds and live in the country. And that's what I've done for thirty years," he replied, a grimace marring his features.

"But you married Mother."

He nodded. "I married your mother because I needed an heir, and because... well, I knew her from when we were younger?—"

"Because she was a neighbor," Philip stated. "You played together as children."

"That's right. She was always very pleasant. Very amiable."

"But... you didn't love her," Philip guessed.

Michael shook his head. "I did after a time. After you two were born, I grew to love her. The longer we were married, the more regard I had for her."

"She loved you," Philip accused.

Michael dipped his head. "She did. With all her heart and more," he acknowledged. "So please know that I don't wish to seem heartless when I tell you that given Weston's death, I intend to renew my acquaintance with Helena."

Philip leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "All right," he finally said. "So... what's your plan?"

"I'll wait until you return tomorrow and then pay a call on the duke. Introduce myself. Plead on your behalf if I must?—"

"To beg on my behalf, don't you mean?"

"I'll warn him what's to happen if he doesn't give his permission?—"

"Which is?" Alarm sounded in Philip's voice.

"A trip to Gretna Green for you and Lady Amelia."

Philip's eyes rounded. "You're condoning it? I...I know I've threatened it in my letter to you, but I never really thought I would?—"

"I will not have what happened to me happen to you," Michael stated, stabbing a forefinger onto the tabletop. "He'll probably deny you the dowry, so we shall see to it funds are set aside for her and your children."

Settling back into his chair, Philip drew his brows together. "If you hadn't married Mother?—"

"I know. You and your sister would not exist," Michael acknowledged. "But I don't want you to suffer as I did. I don't want you to become bitter?—"

"Were you? You never seemed bitter."

Michael winced and inhaled deeply. "Then I did a damned good job of hiding it."

Philip finally nodded. "If I have to take Amelia to Scotland, there will be a scandal."

"Indeed," he agreed. "Which is why we need to do what we must to secure Weston's permission. There is strength in numbers. If he turns you down, I'll ask on my behalf. Explain that I want Lady Amelia as a daughter."

"You haven't even met her."

Michael gave him a quelling glance. "And yet I feel as if I already know her. I've been reading your letters about her for several months, and Violet's letters about her the last two weeks," he said.

"And if Weston denies you?"

Dipping his head, Michael said, "I'll ask if Helena might be available to see me." He shrugged. "Once I explain the situation, surely she'll agree to have a word with her son. She may have some sway with him."

Philip nodded. "Perhaps Amelia can help as well," he murmured. "As a last resort, of course."

"Strength in numbers," Michael said with a wan grin. "And if that doesn't work, then... it's off to Scotland."

Chuckling softly, Philip finally nodded. "Oh, all right."

Michael lifted his glass. "Here's to a plan."

Grinning, Philip lifted his glass and said, "To a plan."