I gave him a demure smile, not deferential enough to diminish my superior rank but enough to make him think his charm had flustered me. His charm, of course, was yet to be assessed. At a glance, it might be all he had going for him. His face was long and pointed, his skin sallow. I would have expected at least a flush, considering how the crush of bodies had heated the room. The sagging of his narrow shoulders gave the impression he was about to cave in upon himself. None of it mattered, though. Only the marriage logistics did. I’d never expected to marry for love.
“We’re definitely overdue for a meeting,” I agreed. “Really, we should all be having regular Rupert reunions, as a tribute to our progenitor. Get everyone together and have picnics on the green. We could do three-legged races, like the country folk do. I’m sure I could manage it with the skirts.”
He stared at me unblinkingly and scratched his wrist. “Earl Rupert’s descendants are spread out all over Osfrid. I don’t think a gathering of that sort would be feasible. And it’s not just unseemly for nobility to do those three-legged races; I don’t allow the tenants on my estates to do such things either. The great god Uros gave us two legs, not three. To suggest otherwise is an abomination.” He paused. “I don’t really approve of potato-sack races either.”
“You’re right, of course,” I said, keeping the smile fixed on my face. Beside me, Grandmama cleared her throat.
“The baron has been very successful with his barley production,” she said with forced cheer. “Quite possibly the most successful in the country.”
Lionel scratched his left ear. “My tenants have converted more than eighty percent of the land to barley fields. We recently bought a new estate, and those lands too now have a booming crop. Barley as far as the eye can see. Acres and acres. I even have my house servants, in both estates, eat it every morning. To boost morale.”
“That’s . . . a lot of barley,” I said. I was starting to feel sorry for his tenants. “Well, I hope you let them splurge every once in a while. Oats. Rye, if you’re feeling exotic.”
That previous puzzled look returned to his face as he scratched his right ear. “Why would I do that? Barley is our livelihood. It’s good for them to remember that. I hold myself to the same standard—a higher one, actually, as I make sure to include a portion of barley in all of my meals. It sets a good example.”
“You’re a man of the people,” I said. I eyed the window beyond him, wondering if I could jump out of it.
An awkward silence fell, and Lady Dorothy tried to fill it. “Speaking of estates, I understand you just recently sold your last one.” Here it was, a reminder of our financial situation. Grandmama was quick to defend our honor.
“We weren’t using it.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not so foolish as to waste money on an empty house and tenants who’ve grown lazy without supervision. Our town house here in the city is much more comfortable and keeps us close to society. We were invited to court three times this winter, you know.”
“Winter, of course,” said Lady Dorothy dismissively. “But surely summers in the city are dull. Especially with so much of the nobility at their own estates. When you marry Lionel, you’ll live in his Northshire estate—where I live—and want for nothing. And you may plan as many social gatherings as you like. Under my close supervision, of course. It’s such a lovely opportunity for you. I mean no offense—Countess, Lady Alice. You maintain yourselves so well that no one would guess your true situation. But I’m sure it’ll be a relief to be settled into better circumstances.”
“Better circumstances for me. A better title for him,” I murmured.
As we spoke, Lionel first scratched his forehead and then his inner arm. That second bout went on for some time, and I tried not to stare. What was going on? Why was he itching so much? And why was it happening all over his whole body? I couldn’t see any obvious rashes. Worse, the more I watched him, the more I suddenly wanted to scratch. I had to clasp my hands together to stop myself.
The excruciating conversation went on for several more minutes as our grandmothers made plans for the nuptials I’d only just learned about. Lionel continued to scratch. When we finally extracted ourselves, I waited all of thirty seconds before voicing my opinion to Grandmama.
“No,” I said.
“Hush.” She smiled at various guests we knew as we walked to the ballroom’s exit and told one of our host’s manservants to order our carriage around. I bit off my words until we were safely alone inside it.
“No,” I repeated, sinking back into the carriage’s plush seat. “Absolutely not.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m not! I’m being sane. I can’t believe you accepted that offer without consulting me.”
“Well, it was certainly difficult choosing between that and your many other offers.” She met my glare levelly. “Yes, dear, you’re not the only one around here who can be pert. You are, however, the only one who can save us from eventual ruin.”
“Now who’s being dramatic? Lady Branson would take you with her into her daughter’s household. You’d live very well there.”
“And what happens to you while I’m living very well?”