Albert let out a slow breath, folded his hands on the desk, and shook his head calmly, denying it.
Rowan's frown deepened as he leaned forward. "Then what is your reason?"
He was about to answer when Rowan's bandaged hand immediately caught his eye.
"Fighting again, I presume?"
Rowan narrowed his eyes. "No. And don't change the subject!"
Albert pinched the bridge of his nose. This son really needed a wife to keep him in line.
He sighed and brought up the old story. "You agreed to marry Harold Hale's granddaughter."
"Yes... but that was in the past... you called off the arrangement because she already had someone."
Albert leaned back and exhaled. "Not anymore. She broke the engagement—quite the scandal, considering the wedding was supposed to be tomorrow."
He shook his head at the unfortunate turn of events.
Rowan lifted his brows in disbelief. "That's misfortune for her but maybe a blessing too.
Better a broken promise than a lifetime with a man who doesn't deserve her. Unless," he paused, eyes narrowing, "...she's the one who didn't deserve him."
Albert raised a stern finger toward his son. "Mind your tongue. Harold Hale's granddaughter is far from worthless."
"So I'm supposed to feel lucky now?" he said, annoyed.
"But… why me? Theodore is unmarried too," he said, referring to his brother.
Slap!
Monica appeared from behind and struck the back of Rowan's head.
"Theodore has already married once… and you," she said, pointing a finger at her younger son. "Don't try to dodge marriage."
She knew her son well enough to read his thoughts.
Monica placed the coffee for her husband and sank elegantly onto the sofa.
"Besides, she's twenty-three, and Theodore is thirty-eight—that's far too great a difference."
Rowan rubbed the spot where his mother had hit him. "I'm thirty—still far older," he muttered in protest.
"Seven years' difference is preferable to fifteen," Monica fired back, and Rowan fell silent, unable to find the words to contradict his mother.
"Agnes came to us, hoping to reinstate the marriage arrangement.
After all, Harold's will made it clear, he wanted you and his granddaughter to be joined in matrimony."
Monica's gaze flicked downward. That's when she noticed the bandage wrapped around Rowan's hand—fresh, tight, and spotted with dried blood.
"What happened?" she asked. She rubbed her forehead and sighed.
"You really can't control yourself, can you? Always getting into fights."
"Hold up. My hand is not the real topic right now... I'm not agreeing to get married—that's final."
"You must!" both Albert and Monica said at once.
"No." Rowan shot to his feet.
"I don't even know who she is. I don't even know her name."
The thought of marrying someone he didn't even know made him shiver.
He started toward the door, ready to leave the study, when Monica shouted.
"Lyra Ashford. That's her name," she said firmly. "After you marry her, take the time to learn about her."
Rowan froze at the doorway and turned back around. "Say that again... her name."
He shoved his hands into his pockets, pulled out a business card, and checked the name as his mother repeated it.
"You said it, right? Lyra Ashford?"
"Yes, I can spell her name too if you want," Monica replied, shooting her son a sharp look.
"W—wait, one more question. What does she do?"
"She's a doctor in the government sector," Albert answered.
Rowan sank into the chair, his face dazed, making Albert and Monica glance at each other.