“I beg your pardon,” he muttered.
“Now, back to my plan. All you need to do is come to town for the Season. Introduce me to some eligible gentlemen with whom you think I will be compatible. If I find one I agree with, then if needed, you might exert a little ducal influence on the man.”
Exert a little ducal influence? “Louisa, I haven’t been part of Society in years. I’m certain when the Season starts you will find the perfect man.”
Her face fell as she shook her head. “Harry, I am twenty-five years old. This year marks my seventh Season. The men out there desire younger ladies without any disgrace attached to their name.”
The last thing he needed was Louisa Drake reminding him of what his father had done to them all. Many people had wondered if the late duke had been mad to kill those people and then take his own life. His sister had told Harry there was some speculation making the rounds that he might also be insane for burying himself out here for so long.
“You are not the only one whose name has suffered,” he said in a biting tone.
“You are right.” Closing her eyes for a long moment, she finally said, “But you are a man. And a duke at that. No real harm has come to your name.”
More guilt knifed him in the belly. It was his father’s fault, not his. Seeing Louisa’s pained face across from him, he couldn’t help but think he had some blame in the matter. He should have noticed the changes in his father before he left for India.
“Louisa, I do not have the connections any longer,” he said, hating how she blinked quickly as if hiding tears.
She slowly rose and looked over at him, but not with tears in her eyes. Those blue orbs shone with the fire of anger. “You are the Duke of Worthington. If you return to town, you will be back in the bosom of Society in a day. You will have contacts, friends, and marriage-minded mamas seeking you out.”
“No.”
“But you must,” she insisted.
“Why must I?” he retorted in an angry tone.
She paused briefly before saying, “You need an heir. And Charlotte needs a mother.” Her full lips turned upward, and her blue eyes sparkled. “And I can find you a wife.”
“Absolutely not!”
She took a step close to him. “Yes, and you shall find me a husband. Who better than I to find you a lady who you will come to love?”
“You truly have lost your mind, Louisa Drake.”
“See,” she said with a bright smile. “You do know me so well. Find me a man who will tolerate my madness.”
“I am not sure one exists,” he muttered, shaking his head. Once again, she had turned everything upside down.
He leaned against the fireplace mantel as frustration swept across his body. The idea of matching her with a husband did not sit well with him, but the thought of her finding him a wife was abhorrent. There was no point in continuing this conversation. Nothing would drag him back to those miserable, small-minded people.
“I have no intention of returning to London.”
“Harry, you have a daughter. If she does not socialize with your peers, she will never be ready when the time comes to enter Society.”
Harry cringed. Not arriving in Society until sixteen, Louisa had never fit in with the fine people of town, which was a part of what had drawn him to her.
“There is no need for her to be part of that group,” he retorted, even knowing she might be right. At some point, Charlotte would want a Season.
Louisa rose and walked the room. “You are being terribly selfish, Harry. She needs friends. She needs a mother.”
“No.”
“You need an heir,” she said, turning to face him.
“Enough,” he rasped. “I am not returning to London. I am not marrying again. And under no circumstances will I take Charlotte to town.”
Her sapphire eyes sparkled with anger as she glowered at him silently.
He pointed at her and said, “And you will not speak of Charlotte to anyone.”