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Authors: Claudia Dain
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had, by the merest accident, been forced to engage her in conversation only last week at Hyde House. He had been neither entertained nor impressed. Mrs. Warren, on the other hand, had been something of a surprise. She was, aside from being beautiful with ginger hair and greenish eyes, quite clever and completely charming. Small wonder that the Marquis of Dutton was making a complete cake of himself over her.
Of course, Calbourne had not and never would make a cake of himself over any woman, ever. The idea was ridiculous. He really didn’t know what Dutton was thinking, to be such a complete and drooling pup over something as simple as a widow with red hair.
Lady Jordan, by way of response, merely grunted, her chin collapsing upon her chest. He had heard that, at some point in the far distant past, Lady Jordan had been quite a beauty. He could not see it.
“Should we not proceed, Lady Dalby?” Lady Amelia said.
It was the first word she had spoken and it did show the slightest bit of vigor on her part. Calbourne looked at Amelia Caversham a bit more closely. She was a good-looking girl, very fair, very blond, very fine boned. Her bosom was respectable, though not remarkable. She was the daughter of a duke, never a hindrance in arrangements of the marital sort, and she had, by every rumor, a hefty dowry.
All in all, she’d make someone a passable wife. But not him.
“Indeed we should,” Sophia said, arranging her skirts in a very pretty display, her ankles showing briefly and, he was quite certain, not accidentally. “The duke will grow quite bored if we do not proceed with directness and decision, will you not, your grace? Is that not a true statement of your preferences?”
“I appreciate decisiveness, as does the majority of the population, I should expect,” he said.
“Ah, we shall mark that down then,” Sophia said. “Anne, if you would make that the first notation?”
It was then that things went from odd to bizarre as Mrs. Warren rose to her feet and went to a small table in the nearest corner of the room, sat down, and, taking quill to paper, wrote something down.
They were compiling a list?
Good God.
“You are making a list?” he said, still unable to quite believe it. “Concerning me?”
“We are,” Sophia said. “Is it not completely flattering, your grace? I can assure you that not everyone in Town will receive such consideration. Lady Amelia is most particular, most exacting, as must be admitted are advantageous qualities to have in a wife. She will make some deserving man a truly spectacular wife. Of course,” Sophia said with a smile, “he must be found deserving first. Hence . . .” She waved her hand gracefully in the air, encompassing the room, the people in it, and the entire exercise.
Calbourne rose to his feet in a fury. He would have none of it. Not a single moment longer of it. It was preposterous. It was degrading and insulting and not the least bit amusing. He was not sure what he found more offensive: the fact that he was being subjected to a test of his worth by a room full of, it must be admitted, women of a less exalted rank than his own, or the fact that he suspected that any amusement in this room was at his express expense.
“Your grace,” Sophia said, not bothering to stand but considering him from a very relaxed posture on her very delicate chair, “you are not flattered? You should be.”
“Hardly.”
“How very strange,” she said, eyeing him coolly. “I suppose there is nothing for it. You must be marked down as a man of less than amiable tendencies. Such a pity. I had always considered you to be the most amusing man of my acquaintance, and so very, very amiable. And then, of course, there is the wager. You are defaulting? Anne, write that down. The Duke of Calbourne is not a man of honor as he does not honor a wager freely made.”
And, of course, there was nothing for it. He sat back down, his expression grim and his posture stiff. But he sat.
Of course, Calbourne had not and never would make a cake of himself over any woman, ever. The idea was ridiculous. He really didn’t know what Dutton was thinking, to be such a complete and drooling pup over something as simple as a widow with red hair.
Lady Jordan, by way of response, merely grunted, her chin collapsing upon her chest. He had heard that, at some point in the far distant past, Lady Jordan had been quite a beauty. He could not see it.
“Should we not proceed, Lady Dalby?” Lady Amelia said.
It was the first word she had spoken and it did show the slightest bit of vigor on her part. Calbourne looked at Amelia Caversham a bit more closely. She was a good-looking girl, very fair, very blond, very fine boned. Her bosom was respectable, though not remarkable. She was the daughter of a duke, never a hindrance in arrangements of the marital sort, and she had, by every rumor, a hefty dowry.
All in all, she’d make someone a passable wife. But not him.
“Indeed we should,” Sophia said, arranging her skirts in a very pretty display, her ankles showing briefly and, he was quite certain, not accidentally. “The duke will grow quite bored if we do not proceed with directness and decision, will you not, your grace? Is that not a true statement of your preferences?”
“I appreciate decisiveness, as does the majority of the population, I should expect,” he said.
“Ah, we shall mark that down then,” Sophia said. “Anne, if you would make that the first notation?”
It was then that things went from odd to bizarre as Mrs. Warren rose to her feet and went to a small table in the nearest corner of the room, sat down, and, taking quill to paper, wrote something down.
They were compiling a list?
Good God.
“You are making a list?” he said, still unable to quite believe it. “Concerning me?”
“We are,” Sophia said. “Is it not completely flattering, your grace? I can assure you that not everyone in Town will receive such consideration. Lady Amelia is most particular, most exacting, as must be admitted are advantageous qualities to have in a wife. She will make some deserving man a truly spectacular wife. Of course,” Sophia said with a smile, “he must be found deserving first. Hence . . .” She waved her hand gracefully in the air, encompassing the room, the people in it, and the entire exercise.
Calbourne rose to his feet in a fury. He would have none of it. Not a single moment longer of it. It was preposterous. It was degrading and insulting and not the least bit amusing. He was not sure what he found more offensive: the fact that he was being subjected to a test of his worth by a room full of, it must be admitted, women of a less exalted rank than his own, or the fact that he suspected that any amusement in this room was at his express expense.
“Your grace,” Sophia said, not bothering to stand but considering him from a very relaxed posture on her very delicate chair, “you are not flattered? You should be.”
“Hardly.”
“How very strange,” she said, eyeing him coolly. “I suppose there is nothing for it. You must be marked down as a man of less than amiable tendencies. Such a pity. I had always considered you to be the most amusing man of my acquaintance, and so very, very amiable. And then, of course, there is the wager. You are defaulting? Anne, write that down. The Duke of Calbourne is not a man of honor as he does not honor a wager freely made.”
And, of course, there was nothing for it. He sat back down, his expression grim and his posture stiff. But he sat.
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