To Love and to Loathe (The Regency Vows #2)(57)

“But don’t you feel that a few Seasons give a girl a certain… polish? I often think that twenty is the perfect age for marriage.”

“Not for this man,” Jeremy said firmly. “I should like either an exceedingly young wife or a somewhat older one.”

Diana’s eyes were instantly wary. “Older?”

“Yes,” Jeremy said slowly, thoughtfully. “Not elderly, of course—no offense, Grandmama,” he added as an aside to the dowager marchioness.

“I would have to consider myself as belonging to that category of people in order to take offense,” the dowager marchioness said placidly.

“But,” Jeremy continued, as though this interruption had never happened, “just a bit older. A bit long in the tooth, if you will.”

“Please define ‘long in the tooth,’ sir,” Diana said.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Jeremy heaved a dramatic sigh, gazing off into the middle distance as though deep in thought. “Perhaps… three-and-twenty?”

“Surely that is a bit absurd, Jeremy,” Violet said, with a worried glance at Emily, who, Jeremy belatedly realized, was the same age as Diana, and still unmarried. Lady Emily, however, seemed to be thoroughly amused by the entire conversation, much to his relief. He shot her a look that he hoped translated as apologetic, and she lifted her teacup to him merrily in return. She seemed in remarkably good spirits, and he wondered to what extent the whispered conversations he had noticed between her and Belfry were the cause of this.

“I mean no offense, Violet,” Jeremy said, all innocence. “I just find older women so terribly… enticing. If she were previously unwed, of course. An unwed lady of a certain age has had time to gain a full understanding of herself and her preferences, and should make an admirable wife, I think, despite her advanced years. A widow, of course, would be an entirely different matter.” He wasn’t even certain what he was saying anymore, just that he was driven, as ever, by his relentless desire to needle Diana.

“Oh?” Jeremy nearly laughed aloud at the strangled note in Diana’s voice; she seemed to be at war with herself, torn between the desire to quarrel with him on this point, and the desire to project an air of blithe unconcern.

“Indeed,” he said mournfully. “Widows are so… headstrong. So stubborn. So stuck in their ways. I just do not think I could ever marry one.”

His grandmother was watching him with an expression that he realized, too late, was one to be wary of. “I have not heard anyone suggest that you should, Jeremy,” she said in a deceptively innocent tone. “Unless it is you who have been considering the possibility?”

“Not at all,” Jeremy replied swiftly, sensing danger. “I just want to be certain we were all in agreement on what a disagreeable sort of species the English widow is.”

Lady Helen leaned forward in her chair, even going so far as to set down her teacup so as to be able to more easily cup her mouth with both hands. “Lord Willingham,” she said in a dramatic stage whisper, “have you forgotten that Lady Templeton is a widow?”

“Yes, Willingham,” Diana said lazily, “how foolish of you to have forgotten that particularly salient detail. Perhaps it is your advanced years?” She paused thoughtfully. “That is, of course, why it is so imperative that you marry soon—if you wait much longer, you’ll be unable to recognize your wife from one morning to the next.”

“Depending on who the lady was, that might not be such a bad thing,” Jeremy said, giving her his best, most deadly smile.

“Jeremy, do cease this line of conversation at once,” his grandmother said sharply. “This is entirely inappropriate talk for the drawing room—or for anywhere else,” she added severely. Ordinarily, one look from her would have been enough to cow him, but, as was always the case when Diana was near, he was feeling reckless.

“But surely, your ladyship, you see that an obvious solution to your grandson’s marital woes has presented itself.” Diana cast a significant look in Lady Helen’s direction, as though everyone present were not already perfectly aware what she was alluding to.

“I see a great deal, Lady Templeton,” the dowager marchioness said thoughtfully.

“I’m so glad,” Diana said, sounding pleased, though Jeremy could have warned her that the shrewd look his grandmother was giving her spelled trouble. He, however, was not feeling terribly charitable, particularly not when Diana turned to him and added, “I take it you recollect our conversation better now, Willingham?”

“Perhaps not in quite the same amount of detail that you seem to recall, Lady Templeton,” he said with a thin smile.

“I suppose I was just so touched by the sound of you confessing your desire for love and companionship that I committed every detail to memory,” she said, laying a theatrical hand upon her chest.

“I thought we were discussing matrimony,” he replied. “I’m not certain that the state necessarily goes hand in hand with the others.”

“A cynic!” she cried dramatically. “Clearly, you have yet to have your heart pierced by Cupid’s arrow.”

“I should certainly hope not. It sounds like a rather painful, bloody business.”

“All the better to allow you to properly empathize with your wife during childbirth, then,” Diana said solemnly.