Mary Fran and Matthew: A Novella by Grace Burrowes

away to apply to Mary Fran at some opportune moment. “Are you declining to court Genie because you’re concerned for her happiness?” “I am concerned for her happiness—also for my own. My family needs coin desperately, though we need our honor more.” Made with such casual, weary assurance, the observation stung. “Genie has a notion she’ll marry only for love, Balfour. I don’t know where she came by it. Altsax thinks marrying for love is vulgar, stupid, and common.” “Not common enough,” Balfour muttered. “I had some questions to put to you on another matter, if you’ve a moment.” And now the man with the piercing green eyes who made casual death threats and summarized Matthew’s sister accurately in a few words took to studying a portrait of some crusty old Highlander over the fireplace. “Balfour, I do not share my father’s opinion on the matter of marriage. I married once for duty, for Queen and Country, and while it was not a horror, it was not what either I or my wife deserved. Ask me your questions. If I know the answers, I’ll gladly share them, though I have to warn you—the press of business means I must travel south in the morning.” The press of business and the dictates of sanity. The emotions flitting through the earl’s gaze weren’t hard to name: relief, wariness, and bewilderment. “Travel on if you must, but my questions are about your cousin.” The words were parted with carefully, with a studied neutrality that fooled Matthew not one whit. “Break Augusta’s heart, and the