But what if the list does work if he can stand one of them enough to offer her marriage. What then?
That was the question Naomi didn’t wish to consider. It was a dangerous game she was playing, the stakes high. If she failed, her heart would be crushed.
If he chooses another, then he never really loved me.
If that was the case, then she was better off without him. Time would eventually heal her wounds. And she wouldn’t be left with regrets.
But if she did manage to succeed in having him declare his heart, a lifetime of love with Monsale would be her reward. She was determined not to settle for anything less.
“Monsale.”
The one-word usage of his name, not ‘your grace’ should have been the first sign that Mister Harforde considered himself above a mere duke. Monsale gritted his teeth and turned to greet Constance’s father. He was tempted to chase after Naomi and continue their discussion, but since Kitty had gone to such pains in order to arrange this introduction, he felt obliged to stay.
“Mister Harforde is it?” he replied.
Constance’s father gave a gruff, huff in response. He obviously assumed everyone in London society knew who he was, and his exalted status.
Rude ignorant prick. Just because one of your ancestors was in the good books of a king doesn’t make you any better than me.
He thought for a moment before reluctantly offering his hand. If he was going to court the man’s daughter, then concessions had to be made.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled when Mister Harforde hesitated. The limp handshake the gentleman eventually stooped to offer him, was so poor that it could only be seen for what it likely was, an intended slight. Monsale was quickly beginning to form a solid dislike of Mister Harforde.
What did Naomi say about the daughter? The father runs her life.
Miss Constance and Mrs. Harforde remained several feet adrift of them. Neither moved an inch. It was clear that Mister Harforde was taking the measure of his potential son-in-law, before deciding whether Monsale was worthy of meeting his daughter.
Why the devil did Kitty put this girl’s name on the list?
Mister Harforde moved toward a spot a little away from the rest of the gathering and Monsale reluctantly followed. Constance and Mrs. Harforde remained where they were, staring down their noses at anyone who happened to pass them by.
As soon as they were out of earshot of other guests, Constance’s father wasted no time in getting to the point. He stood, hands behind his back and considered Monsale over the top of his spectacles.
“I am not certain of you Monsale. I have heard rumors of you and your shady dealings. And I don’t like the sound of them. My Constance will not be married off to some bestial rogue, even if he does have a title.”
Bestial rogue? Actually, that sounds rather appealing. I should try that as my new moniker.
He opened his mouth, ready to reply, but Mister Harforde continued. “The Duchess of Redditch had some kind words to say about you, which to be honest is the first time I have heard anyone call you a good man. From what I understand, you have led an interesting life. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Monsale stifled a laugh. He knew exactly what an interesting life meant.
Oh, you don’t know the half of it.
He cleared his throat. “I have experienced many things during my three and thirty years, Mister Harforde. I will grant you that, but so have many other men.”
He got a haughty derisive snort in reply. “Yes, well, they are not the ones looking to secure the hand of my sweet Constance. I tell you here and now that I won’t let her be taken in marriage by a blackguard. Or the son of one. Wasn’t your father some sort of pirate? And then your uncle died under mysterious circumstances in the West Indies. Disgraceful business.”
After mentally putting a line through Constance’s name, Monsale dropped all pretense at good manners.
“Bermuda. Not the West Indies. You may wish to avail yourself of a map, sir. And yes, my father was a full-blown, unashamed pirate. As was I from the time I could wield a pistol. And there was nothing mysterious about the death of my uncle. He died in my arms when I was but thirteen years of age. Shot by a slave trader in Cable Bay.”
“Well, I never…”
Monsale leaned in close and touched a finger to the glass of Mister Harforde’s spectacles, pushing them back on his face. This action left a pleasing mark on the lens, through which the gentleman now glared back at him.
“I don’t suppose you have done anything of interest in your life. Which goes a long way to explaining why you are such a weasel of a man. Have no fear Mister Harforde, I won’t be troubling your daughter. Good evening, sir.”
Leaving a blustering Harforde in his wake, Monsale made for the door.
