The Earl of Sheffield sat alone in his library, a small glass of sherry on the desk next to the letter that he had not yet decided how best to answer. The fire crackling in the background punctuated his thoughts.

“She has always been a difficult one,” he said aloud to the portrait of his late wife hanging in pride of place on the opposite wall. “Always so headstrong. Perhaps I should not be surprised that she has responded in this way.”

The portrait looked back at him with the same piercing green eyes now belonging to his daughter.

He sighed and looked down at the opened letter, reading it once again, although he knew that there was no new information to be gleaned from the contents.

My Lord,

It falls to me to formally convey to you the sad tidings of my father’s death. My late father was a most excellent man, and I hope that you will join me in praying for the safe delivery of his soul.

You will know by now that this news first reached your household by means of a letter from my brother to your daughter. I beg your pardon for any impropriety on my brother’s part; no slight was intended on Lady Rebecca’s honor.

This brings me to the matter of mine and Lady Rebecca’s imminent marriage. Although I was made aware of the arrangements for our betrothal on the occasion of my one-and-twentieth birthday and greeted them with all the joy and anticipation that might be expected for such a prospect, I believe that Lady Rebecca has not yet been informed that she and I are intended for one another.

I believe that my late father would have wished for me to undertake the office of matrimony as swiftly as possible on my assumption of his title, and therefore ask that you inform Lady Rebecca of our future joy at the earliest available opportunity.

You will, of course, be aware that it is not customary for such occasions as weddings to take place within the mourning period unless they are already long-standing arrangements. I believe that since the matter of my marriage to Lady Rebecca has long been decided upon, this occasion falls into the latter category. I believe that my father would not wish there to be any delay in the completion of my happiness, and therefore propose that the wedding take place in two weeks’ time, with your blessing.

I remain your devoted Servant,

Charles Godwin

The Earl of Sheffield sighed and folded the letter again. Considering how strongly his daughter had reacted to the news of her betrothal, it seemed unlikely that she would take any better to the idea of becoming the Duchess of Leinster in only a fortnight. And perhaps it would be wise to give her a little more time to get used to the idea.

The Earl earnestly wished above all else that his daughter would be happy. He had seen the misery of occupying a precarious position in society, as Caroline Swanson did, and had no wish to see the same inflicted on his only child. Clearly, Rebecca did not see the matter in the same light, but he hoped that she would come around in time.

Perhaps, he mused, there was no sense in dragging out the anticipation of the wedding longer than was necessary. After all, the contract was signed and had been since the new Duke’s one-and-twentieth birthday. His father had wanted the whole thing settled ‘before I leave this earth,’ and it turned out that he had been quite right to get their agreement in writing so early on.

It was the Earl himself who had suggested that they wait a little longer before the engagement be turned into a marriage.

The truth was that he had wanted to keep Rebecca to himself for as long as possible. Since her mother had died when she was only five years old, it had been just the two of them together, although he had had an attack of conscience over her wellbeing when she was fifteen, and taken on Miss Swanson as a companion for his daughter.

Miss Swanson had been introduced to the family as the ward of the Earl’s brother who had taken very little interest in his young charge. There was some question that the girl was his natural daughter, but if that was the case, it did nobody any good to dwell upon the matter.

What was known beyond doubt, however, was that the girls were devoted to each other, and so in a fit of kindliness, he had taken over responsibility for Miss Swanson’s keep — much to his daughter’s delight.

But perhaps, he mused now, he had been selfish all this time. His daughter was twenty now, and he could not continue his protestations that Rebecca was too young to marry any longer.

The sooner his daughter had assumed the title of Duchess, the sooner she could begin to accustom herself to the pleasures of her new life. He was sure that the new Duke would make a perfectly reasonable husband, if not the dazzling one that flighty young women might have hoped for.

He dipped his pen into the inkwell and began to write his response to the Duke.