Page 54 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
“I do not wish to punish him,” Colin said.
“You do. You feel that by being everything he is not, you can win somehow. You can prove that he was a terrible person,” Aunt Matilda said, “but that will never be enough. You cannot punish a man who is already dead, Colin, no matter how much you wish you can.”
Colin frowned and ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “Aunt Matilda—”
“Do you believe that your father is watching you and disappointed in your actions from beyond the grave? You cannot prove anything to him now,” Aunt Matilda said. “Your refusal to wed or accept that you are not your father is hurting you and no one else.”
Colin sighed softly. Why did Aunt Matilda always have to sound so reasonable? He took another sip of his drink, acutely aware of how carefully his aunt looked at him.
“My dear aunt,” he said, “you cannot possibly know. I do not feel the need to prove anything to my father.”
“I do know,” his aunt replied. “I have known you since you were a boy, remember? I know you very well.”
Colin chuckled. “I suppose you do.”
His aunt’s lips twitched upwards in amusement. “I am glad that you have finally acknowledged that.”
Colin averted his gaze and traced a finger around his glass once more. “I suppose you are right,” he said, “to an extent. I do wish that my father were alive, so he could see that I am nothing like him.”
“But he is not.”
Colin finished his class of brandy and smiled wryly. “You are right. I suppose I have been hoping to punish the man, even if that is impossible to do.”
“Yes,” Aunt Matilda said, “so you must think of yourself. Allow yourself to be happy.”
Colin frowned. “But to wed?”
“You like Lady Clarissa,” Aunt Matilda said. “Is that not so? I have seen how you look at her, and you seem to have much to say to one another. You share an interest in poetry.”
“She has no dowry.”
“Since when have you carried about the size of a woman’s dowry?” his aunt asked. “I have never heard you speak about a woman’s eligibility to any man in relation to her dowry.”
Colin’s heartbeat quickened. “She is nearly a spinster.”
“Then you had best make the proposal soon,” his aunt replied, waving a dismissive hand. “I am certain that you noticed—ah, I see.”
Colin felt a foreboding feeling creep down his spine. His aunt knew him too well.
“That is why you were so tense when you saw Lord Creshire, was it not?”
“I was thinking of Deborah.”
“And also, of course, of Lady Clarissa,” Aunt Matilda said. “You were worried because Lord Creshire expressed an interest in her.”
Colin grimaced, thinking of their visit to the baths. After Lord Creshire arrived, he had taken over most of the conversation, making it difficult for Colin to even speak to Lady Clarissa. With every comment, Colin felt the burning desire to announce all of Lord Creshire’s crimes right before Lady Clarissa.
“I was,” he admitted. “I do not like any—I do wish that Lord Creshire was uninterested in her. I do not like the attention he pays her.”
Aunt Matilda’s expression softened. “So you must do something. Lady Clarissa has expressed an interest in you, has she not? If you do feel so fond of her and desire her strongly, you should pursue her. I think she would be receptive to your advances.”
Colin hummed. “That would please you?”
“It would,” she said, “but only if you also desire it.”
“I promise to think about it,” Colin replied.
The door opened, and Colin stood as their guests entered along with Russell and Deborah. Greetings were exchanged, and everyone took their places at the table. He tried not to stare at Lady Clarissa as dinner commenced, but he doubted she would have noticed even if he had. Her mind seemed elsewhere.
