“Why do you say that I must?” he cut in, gesturing to them. “I have brothers; you could do that for me.”
Both Kit and Ben rolled their eyes.
“Neither of us want to be the duke,” Kit pointed out, “or to have the necessity of siring one. That’s your job.”
It was interesting that he was really just a stud, ensuring the continuation of the Blackheath dynasty. But he wasn’t truly surprised to hear his brothers speak thus. Everyone loved being near dukes, but no one actually wanted to be one. Not in reality. Not with the weight and responsibilities that kept him up most nights.
He would likely have to marry. One day. Far in the future, and he would choose a lady very carefully. A lady who expected only the luxury and importance of being a duchess. A lady who lived by her sense of duty and family obligation without a need for love or grand passion.
Love and grand passion were the devil.
“Exactly,” Ben continued easily. “I have no desire to have your responsibility. I am much happier swanning about London, gambling your money.”
He let out a long sigh. “We should discuss that.”
Ben sighed, too, as he tugged his coat on, his emerald pin winking in the morning light. “Must we?”
He leveled his brother with as sober a stare as he could manage. “You were sent down from Oxford. We have to have a conversation about your behavior.”
Ben let out a sound of elaborate indignation. “My behavior is perfectly exemplary.” He scowled. “Those old dons are absolute devils.”
He laughed, recalling his own time there. “Yes, some of them were,” he said. “I am glad we’ve abandoned discussing my love life. We can get on to realistic matters.”
“You don’t have a love life,” Ben pointed out.
“Exactly,” Kit agreed. “You go from opera dancer to singer to artist to authoress, but you never have a love affair. You leave them too soon to love them.”
“I do that on purpose,” he said, stunned at Kit’s vehemence. Wasn’t that what most gentlemen did? If not, they should. It was best to make certain no one got hurt in such things.
“Of course you do,” Kit said, clapping his hand on his back. “Because you are absolutely terrified.”
“Terrified?” he echoed, snorting. “I do not know the meaning of the word terror.”
Kit nodded woefully. “Indeed you do. You quiver in your boots at the very idea of love.”
“I do not,” he protested. “I am merely a sensible fellow who understands that love often puts a person in a very dangerous situation.”
“I’m in love with Margaret,” Kit confessed.
“I know.” Will sighed. “And I worry about you.”
“Why?” Kit’s face transformed in rapturous expectation. “Margaret is an angel.”
“She is an angel,” he affirmed.
Although he didn’t necessarily think Margaret would like being described so. She was a woman, whole and full. Yes, she was good-tempered and kind, but he could tell that she had a mischievous spirit about her. And he was looking forward to seeing more of that in his sister-in-law. He was glad that she was a woman of parts and not just a pretty piece.
Kit needed someone like that.
“I shall wish you both happy,” Will said, clapping his brother back on his shoulder. “I could never do otherwise, but I worry about the way sometimes love can inflame people and cause them to do things they regret.”
“I am not Papa.” Kit grew serious. Earnest. “Nor am I Mother,” he added. “I have been raised by you, and I am careful, and I shall not make the mistake of falling prey to my own emotions.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, his voice gruff. Not with emotion. Certainly not. But with the events of the day. Being thrown into the Serpentine couldn’t be good for his voice.
And he had raised his brothers over the last decade. It had been a difficult thing, for not only had their mother abandoned them, dying on the continent, but their father, too, had died when they were all young.
It had been a brutal childhood.