Brampton refrained from pointing out that he was never likely to see any such thing, since he would have to be dead before Osbert could succeed-supposing, of course, that Charles were also dead. He crossed one leg over the other and stared gloomily at his left foot, jiggling it slightly so that the tassels of his gleaming Hessians swung back and forth.

"Really, Richard dear, you should consider poor Mama's feelings," Rosalind had added, "if she were to be ousted from her home by my upstart cousin."

Brampton had blinked. His mother lived in a very comfortable house on Curzon Street, left her quite unentailed in her husband's will. He had wisely refrained from pointing out this fact. He had stood up and wandered restlessly to the window that overlooked the busy street outside.

"Very well, Mama," he had said at last, abruptly. "I have been aware of my responsibility for some time now. Unfortunately, I have no candidates for wife in mind. Do you?" He had swung around and favored his mother with a piercing glance from his blue eyes.

She had picked up her cue without hesitation. "Well, there's Melissa Rathb-"

"Not a simpering miss from Almack's," Brampton had cut in. "Spare me that, Mama."

"Well, she is rather silly, and her conversation is not highly edifying," Rosalind had commented, unexpectedly coming to her brother's defense.

"Then how about Nora Denning? She has beauty, wealth, position…"

"No!" Brampton had thundered. "If I want an iceberg, I shall join a naval expedition to the North."

"Really, my dear, I do believe she would make an excellent countess," Lady Brampton had urged.

"Perhaps so, Mama, but she will not be my countess," her son had answered firmly.