Now, where were we when our conversation had to be abandoned downstairs?" he...

Now, where were we when our conversation had to be abandoned downstairs?" he said when Ian handed the papers back to him.
Ian's thoughts were still in the study, where a desk was filled with his likenesses and carefully maintained reports of every facet of his life, and for a moment he looked blankly at the older man.
"Ah, yes," the duke prodded as Ian sat down across from him, "we were discussing your future wife. Who is the fortunate young woman?"
Propping his ankle atop the opposite knee, Ian leaned back in his chair and regarded him in casual, speculative silence, one dark brow lifted in amused mockery. "Don't you know?" he asked dryly. " known for five days. Or is Mr. Norwich behind in his correspondence again?"
His grandfather stiffened and then seemed to age in his chair. "Charity," he said quietly. With a ragged sigh he lifted his eyes to Ian's, his gaze proud and beseeching at the same time. "Are you angry?"
"I don't know."
He nodded. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to say 'I'm sorry'?"
"Don't say it," Ian said curtly.
His grandfather drew a long breath and nodded again, accepting Ian's answer. "Well, then, can we talk? For just a little while?"
"What do you want to talk about?"
"Your future wife, for one thing," he said warmly. "Who is she?"
"Elizabeth Cameron."
The duke gave a start. "Really? I thought you had done with that messy affair two years ago."
Ian suppressed a grim smile at his phrasing and his gall.
"I shall send her my congratulations at once," his grandfather announced. "They'd be extremely premature," Ian said flatly.