“Or helps you to cease thinking...”
Duke glared at him for a moment. The man’s quick mind could be considered a blessing or a curse. It helped him slide through life with ease but Roman knew better than most that Duke struggled to stay focused on anything for long. The only reason he’d become so successful at law was because the nature of his work was so varied.
He rather reminded him of Lady Clementine, actually...
Roman shook his head, lifted a pile of books from the chair opposite, set them upon another pile and took a seat. He did not need to be thinking about that thorn in his side. The wretched woman would have his aunt believing all kinds of tales and mostly out of her own boredom, of that he was certain.
All the women from that family were an odd lot. One would think being the daughters of an earl, they would be thoroughly composed and educated in all the things a young lady should be educated in but no—not a single Musgrave could play the pianoforte or embroider.
At least he didn’t think Clementine could. He’d certainly never heard her sing or play; however, he had seen her take up shooting, play an aggressive game of bowls, and spend an entire garden party hunting for ferns. He doubted the woman could sit still long enough to learn anything actually useful.
“You are here about your aunt, I presume.” Duke laced his fingers together and leaned forward, elbows propped upon the desk.
“How soon can we get this situation sorted?”
“The supposed sighting of your uncle is...problematic.” Duke pressed two pointed fingers to his lips. “The fact is, your uncle’s children know they are merely causing delays and they have no real hope of putting off him being declared truly dead, but the longer they drag this out...”
“The longer my aunt suffers.”
“Precisely.”
“They’re a vindicative lot. They hated that their father remarried.”
“If they manage to make this case last long enough, your aunt will be, well, dead, and they get the money anyway.”
Roman ground his teeth together. “They inherited more than enough as it is.”
Duke shrugged. “They’ve contested every element of the will where your aunt benefited. If the house wasn’t part of her dower agreement, they’d be trying to snatch that up too.”
“The trouble is, without my uncle’s money, she cannot run the house, and the damned thing is so old it consumes money quicker than you can consume brandy.”
“Doubtful.” His friend smirked. “The good news is this shall be wrapped up soon. A vague sighting of a man missing for years won’t stand up in the courts. You just need to be a little patient.”
“I don’t have time for patience,” Roman replied tightly. “I’m meant to be in London before the start of the Season.”
“Ah yes, to pick out the perfect bride.”
“I already have one picked out. I’ll be sending you the marriage agreement before long.”
Duke’s brows lifted. “Already? You’ve barely had the title a year. Planning on making lots of little marquises, are we?”
“It’s my duty, Duke. Something you do not know much about.”
Duke sniffed. “I know enough. I’ve watched you flog yourself to death over duty for decades. Who is she anyway?”
“Miss Abigail Fisher.”
Duke nodded. Naturally. Not a single attractive woman could get past Duke without him taking notice. “Pretty young thing. Barely debuted. A little young for you, perhaps.”
“She is from a good family and is highly accomplished and agreeable.” He resisted the temptation to defend his age. He was hardly over the hill yet, and had all his hair and a good set of teeth.
He grimaced. Good lord. Was that all he had to offer Miss Fisher?
No. He had the title too. And an income sufficient enough to make her very comfortable.
Duke tutted and shook his head. “Agreeable? How many times have you met given she is scarcely just out?”
Roman ignore Duke’s frank stare. He didn’t need his friend’s judgement. “She’ll make a good wife and do the family name proud.”