“Non compos mentis. It means ‘of unsound mind.’”
“Yes! I knew I had heard that.”
He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Does that letter sound as if it came from a man of unsound mind? He plotted to acquire the laudanum and planned how to make it look accidental. No one would rule him non compos mentis.”
Her heart sank. “No. I suppose not.”
“Granted, juries are less eager to deem someone guilty of felo-de-se these days, but that doesn’t mean they won’t.”
“I suppose. Although you’re a duke now. That ought to work in your favor.”
“It depends on the jury.” He shrugged. “They may consider me a jumped-up boor who should never have been allowed to become duke in the first place.”
His use of “boor” made her wince.
“Sorry,” he said, reaching over to cover her hand. “I honestly wasn’t thinking of what you called me initially.”
Her gaze flew to him. “That’s why you’re so intent on seeing Rosy marry, isn’t it?”
“Part of the reason.” When she lifted her eyebrow, he sighed. “Most of the reason, yes. Once she marries, I’ll know she’s safe from whatever scandal or financial difficulty she might otherwise endure if she stays under my roof, especially if she marries someone protected from the usual laws.”
“A peer, you mean.”
“Yes. Having endured a scandal yourself because of your parents’ actions, I’m sure you understand.”
She slid her hand from his. “I do, though my family’s scandal didn’t result in a loss of so much.” She rose and began to pace. “Why are you telling me this now, when you wouldn’t before?”
“Because your words about trust affected me. I had already resolved to tell you the truth before my relations arrived, but their lies made it more imperative that I do so.” Lifting a somber gaze to her, he added, “And perhaps now you also understand why I can’t marry just yet.”
She tilted up her chin. “No, I’m afraid you will have to explain that more fully. Especially because I haven’t even said I wish to marry you.”
Judging from the surprise on his face, he hadn’t thought she’d make him explain. Or even consider not wedding him. Geoffrey the Almighty always thought things should go according to his plan. And while she realized now why he had that belief, it didn’t change the fact he was willing to sacrifice her happiness—and his sister’s, by choosing the appropriate husband for her—whether they wanted him to or not.
He stood to come around the desk. “I can’t marry you yet—because I also don’t want you to suffer, damn it. I don’t know how many more times I can brazen my way out of a conversation like the one I just had with my relations. Plenty of people in Newcastle considered my father high and mighty, solely because his own father was a viscount. Father never belonged, and as a result our family didn’t either.”
He took her hands in his. “If dislike of my family ever rises to the level of charging me with murder, I couldn’t bear . . . I would refuse to drag you through that. Or through the scandal of having a father accused and convicted of felo-de-se.” He released her hands. “It’s better that I get Rosy married as soon as possible to a respectable man—”
“Don’t forget—to a peer,” she snapped. “He must have a title, you said.”
“Yes!” He glared at her. “A peer, if she can get one, and you’ve made me see that she can. So, after enough time has gone by that I’m sure I’m safe, that no one is likely to bring any charge of murder against me, you and I can then consider marriage.”
She shook her head. The sheer arrogance of the man never failed to surprise her. “How much time is ‘enough,’ assuming I would even accept such an offer from you?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. It depends on how long these rumors continue.”
“I see.” She really did understand at last. While she’d given up on pretending she didn’t want to marry him, she couldn’t wed him if he expected their marriage to be on his terms alone. Apparently, he couldn’t foresee any future for them where they made decisions together for their mutual happiness.
“You do realize,” she said, “this disaster you’re protecting us from includes a number of ifs. If Rosy doesn’t marry a peer. If you’re accused of murder. If you’re forced to defend yourself by using your father’s letter. If your poor, dead father is brought to trial postmortem. If the jury deems his suicide felo-de-se. If you and your family personally lose your goods and property as a result.”
“All of those things could happen,” he said defensively.
“They could. But the likelihood that they will happen in that order and with the most damaging result is small, to say the least. So refusing to marry just in case they all do is like refusing to marry until you’re sure the Thames won’t overflow and flood all of London.” She stared up at him. “What if, for example, instead of using your father’s letter, you insist that his doctor be called as a witness to confirm your father’s tale about confusing his laudanum for his tincture of rhubarb?”
He scowled. “For all I know, the doctor is the one who started the rumors. Wait, how did you know about Father’s ‘tale’?”
“Oh!” She probably should have mentioned that sooner. “Rosy told me. She overheard you and your father speaking with the doctor on the day your father died, so last week she asked me what laudanum was.”
The blood drained from his face. “What the hell? Has she been going around questioning strangers about Father’s death?”