So why did Alexander feel likethiswas the worst?
He was standing in an extravagant ballroom decorated with bright ribbons and boughs of holly. He was surrounded by a slightly diminished but still impressive number of sweet, pretty, well bred, respectable, proper young ladies who wouldnotslam a door in his face if he offered to make her his duchess.
But he didn’t want to.
They were all perfectly fine. They werebetterthan fine. Each of them were splendid, accomplished women who would be a credit to the title and no doubt caring mothers to their future children.
But they weren’t Cynthia Louise.
He shouldn’t care.
It shouldn’t matter.
He hadn’t planned this party intending to marry her in the first place. As she’d rightfully pointed out, he would not have offered if extraordinary circumstances hadn’t divulged his indiscretion. He should be thrilled she hadn’t taken him up on his offer.
Thrilled.
Squeals filled the ballroom as the blindfolded gentleman with outstretched arms in the center almost touched one of the other guests before they could dance away, laughing.
It was as though Alexander were at a completely different party.
“Your Grace!” A rosy-cheeked miss held up a long strip of cloth. “Do you want a turn?”
“No, thank you,” he called back, pressing himself deeper into the wainscoting.
He didn’t need a blindfold.
Alexander was adept at avoiding uncomfortable truths.
Such as, his offer to Cynthia Louise had been no better than the morning seventeen-year-old Alexander Borland had woken up the new Duke of Nottingvale.
Here’s a coronet. Now, be someone else.
Alexander hadn’t been given a choice. Primogeniture forced the change upon him. He’d gone from an adolescent lad to a powerful lord overnight.
The rules had saved him.
Those same rules would stifle Cynthia.
Asking her tonot beall of the things he liked best about her... What kind of offer was that?
A duchess had expectations she was required to live up to. He should choose someone whowantedto live by the strictures of the beau monde. Who would thrive ruling that world, not wither within it.
If he liked Cynthia, he should leave her be.
His sister Belle emerged from the crowd and joined him against the wall. “Not playing the game?”
“There’s no way to win,” he muttered.
His heart was torn in two.
The thought of living without Cynthia Louise was infinitely worse than the scandal of choosing her.
But he was a duke, and duty came first.
“How is Cynthia Louise?” his sister asked.
“I haven’t seen her.”
