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“You have my sympathy,” William said. “I also lost my mother at a young age. My one regret is that my sisters were never able to know her.”

“You mentioned your sisters before.”

“Yes. Hannah and Hester.”

“You must love them very much,” Lady Catherine said, “to sacrifice your own happiness for their well-being.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“You mentioned that you wish to wed for them,” Lady Catherine replied, “so they will have a maternal presence.”

“I would not call marrying a sacrifice.”

“No?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I cannot imagine that you are particularly eager to wed me.”

“Why would you imagine that?”

“Because I am not the lady who suits you,” Lady Catherine said. “Otherwise, you would not seek to change my nature.”

“Even perfection can be improved.”

“So I am perfection? Those might be the kindest words you have spoken to me.”

William scoffed. “You are far from perfection, as is made abundantly clear by you misinterpreting my words in such a deliberately obtuse manner.”

“And now, you do not wish to admit that you have said something very kind about me,” Lady Catherine said, nodding solemnly. “I understand, Your Grace.”

“Do you?” he asked dryly.

“I do, indeed. You are embarrassed to admit how utterly perfect I am,” Lady Catherine replied. “It makes you reflect more strongly on your flaws.”

Lady Catherine was the most absurd woman he had ever met in his life!

“Do I have my flaws?” William asked. “Perhaps, you ought to make me aware of what they are, my lady. I cannot imagine that you know me so well as to have already made a nuanced observation of my character.”

Her expression became sly and sharp, more closely resembling the fact that she had shown him the day before. “Are you certain that you wish for me to recount them for you? I would not wish to upset you, Your Grace.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

“You are doubtful,” Lady Catherine said. “You always assume that I have some ill intent, despite having no evidence to the contrary.”

“Is that everything?”

“Hardly. You are hypocritical,” she said. “You insist that I be a proper lady, but you are hardly a proper man.”

He bit back the insistence that he was not, for he realized that—from Lady Catherine’s perspective—he did seem to be an improper man.

“It is hardly improper to insist that an agreement be honored,” William said. “I should have been offered a bride from your family years ago.”

“Do you think so?” Lady Catherine said. “If that were true, I imagine that your father would have mentioned something.”

“That he did not doesn’t mean that I am not owed a wife.”

“Believing you are owed a wife does not necessitate arriving as quickly and unexpectedly as you did.”

“But it does,” he replied. “How was I to know that you and your sisters were not already being courted by other suitors? It would be most unfortunate if I had to break the hearts of all the men in the tonby claiming either you or Lady Dorothy.”

Her lips twitched into a small smile. “How can I argue with such flawless logic?”