“Not at all.” Feeling as if he’d entered a world where nothing made sense, he crossed to slump into one of the gilt armchairs set opposite the Caravaggio.
“Good.” Meg followed him and took the chair beside his.
He hardly knew how to respond. As he examined the unpalatable truth, his stomach churned with angry disbelief. “So that’s why she’s been so nice to me.”
“Don’t be a blockhead, Sir Charles. She likes you.”
“As a husband for her niece.” His voice emerged as a growl. He raised his head and studied Meg. “She doesn’t see me as her suitor at all, does she?”
Meg’s expression made her look much wiser than her eighteen years warranted. “Don’t be angry with her.”
“I’m not.” Which was a blatant lie. At the moment, he burned to corner Sally and insist that she came to her senses.
“Yes, you are, and I don’t blame you. But it’s not her fault. I want you to see that.”
“How the devil can I see that?”
Meg sighed. “Because I’m going to break a few confidences and tell you things you couldn’t know.”
He frowned, as curiosity set a brake on his rising temper. “Are you sure?”
“Do you really love her?”
“With every beat of my heart.”
“And you want to marry her?”
Despite the moment’s seriousness, his lips twisted into a wry smile. “Do you have the right to ask me that?”
Meg shrugged. “She has nobody else to look after her.”
“What about your father?”
“He has enough on his plate, with six daughters to marry off. The affairs of his youngest sister come well down on his list of things to worry about. So do you mean marriage?”
“Of course.” He sighed, and enough resentment lingered to add an edge to his words. “I hoped she’d come around to my way of thinking in her own time, but I hadn’t counted on her asinine plans to marry us off.”
“I think if you leave it to Aunt Sally, she’ll never come around to the idea that you want to marry her.”
“I begin to wonder if you’re right.” He was starting to realize that a man could bash himself to pieces against the barriers Sally raised against the world and still make no crack in her defenses. “What do you suggest? Pouncing?”
Somewhat to his relief, Meg’s giggle brought her back to looking like an eighteen-year-old girl. “It might be something to consider. You’re always so careful with her. I’ve noticed, even if Aunt Sally hasn’t.”
“It’s odd—she’s so bright and vital, yet at heart, there’s something fragile about her.”
“You are the right man for her.” Meg’s smile glowed with approval. “I always thought so, and you just proved it.”
“While she thinks I’m right for you,” Charles snapped, still stung at how badly Sally had misjudged him.
Meg sighed. “Aunt Sally is clever about people—mostly. But she’s completely blind when she looks at herself. She believes she’s past the age where romance and marriage are possible.”
“I know. She told me. It’s so deuced frustrating.” With an impatient gesture, he ran his hand through his hair. “She’s only thirty-one.”
“She’s convinced she’s too old to attract a husband—at least one who doesn’t want a sensible woman to run his house and comfort his last years.” Meg’s eyes sharpened. “Did you know my late uncle, Lord Norwood?”
“No.”
“Lucky you.” Her mouth turned down in contempt. “He was an awful man. Dull, stolid, sure he knew best on every matter under the sun. A bore and a bully. I don’t know how my aunt lived with him for nearly ten years without coshing him with a fire iron. And he never did much to hide his disappointment about not siring an heir.”