‘But it’s a bit drastic, isn’t it? Marriage? Couldn’t you find some other way out of this?’
‘What have you got against marriage? Didn’t you fill your house with debutantes this weekend so you could find a wife yourself?’
‘That’s different—family pressure and all that. My hideous cousin’s even more hideous wife visited recently and was actually taking measurements so she could redecorate my house when her family inherits. I’ve got to marry and sire an heir so that never happens.’
‘You are such a romantic, Henry.’
His friend gave him a long, questioning look. ‘Is that what this is all about? You want to sire a son on Miss Whitmore.’
Jacob recoiled at the way his friend was talking. Did he always refer to women in such crude terms? Jacob was unsure, but they’d never had a discussion about marriage and children before, so it was hard to tell. And, unlike Henry, Jacob would be more than content for his cousin to inherit his estate. He knew what it was like to be the unloved product of a loveless marriage. His parents had married for duty and sired a child for no other reason than to carry on the family title. He would not inflict a loveless marriage on any woman and would certainly never be responsible for an innocent child experiencing such an unhappy childhood.
‘No, I simply proposed to one woman to save another woman’s reputation.’
‘How self-sacrificial of you.’ Henry’s tone suggested he did not see this as admirable but more likely as a sign of madness.
‘But of all the deliciously fresh and pretty young things I stocked my house with this weekend, why on earth did you have to pick Miss Whitmore? A woman who has been overlooked Season after Season?’ Henry added, still looking at Jacob as if he had lost his sanity.
‘That, I suppose, is a very good question and one I’m not sure how to answer.’ He looked down at his plate and tried to remember the sequence of events that had led him to this point. He was a duke. Hecouldhave selected virtually any young woman. So why had he picked Miss Whitmore?
He doubted he’d ever met another young lady who had such a low opinion of him. He’d certainly not met a young lady who could be as rude, forthright and downright prickly in his company.
And Henry was correct. As he so coarsely put it, she was not as young and fresh as the other debutantes present, young ladies who were about to embark on their first Season. Although last night she had looked surprisingly stunning. He certainly wasn’t the only man at the ball who’d noticed her generous cleavage, and dancing with her had been a dream. But when he’d proposed it had not been because of her womanly body or her agility on the dancefloor.
He took a sip of his black coffee. If he had been aware of such features, perhaps he would not have made his impetuous proposal, but what was done was done. And the fact that she wanted this marriage as much as he did remained unchanged, so there was no danger of her holding him to his word and demanding they actually tie the knot.
The moment he had seen her glaring at him in the morning room he had known that to be the case. He might not have consciously thought it through, but that awareness had happened suddenly, almost as suddenly as love at first sight. This was a woman who could not abide him. That was why he knew he had picked the right woman.
‘Because marriage to Miss Whitmore suits me very well indeed,’ he said, before taking a large bite of his toast.
The sound of her name brought Margaret to a sudden halt in the middle of the hallway. As she was the topic under discussion, she refused to see anything wrong with eavesdropping on a private conversation, so she flattened herself against the wall, her ear turned towards the breakfast room’s open door.
The deep male voice, rich with amusement, was obviously the Duke’s, and Margaret was curious to hear what he had to say and to whom he was speaking.
‘Why?’ came the response, the disparaging tone revealing it to be that of the Earl of Northwood. ‘She’s hardly a beauty, is she? And my goodness, there were some beauties here this weekend. You could have had the pick of any one of them.’
Margaret’s jaw clenched tightly. This was not the first time she had been described as ‘hardly a beauty’. She would not let it upset her, but she braced herself for the Duke’s response, which undoubtedly would be a hearty agreement with this assessment.
‘Miss Whitmore has all the qualities I am looking for in a wife,’ came his unexpected reply.
Margaret held her breath at this encouraging response and leaned in slightly closer to the open door.
‘And what would those qualities be?’ the Earl said. It was the very question she wanted answered. ‘A sharp tongue? A fiery temperament? They’re not exactly qualities most men look for in a wife, hence the fact she was heading straight to spinsterhood.’
‘She has a quick wit and knows her own mind. I believe those are admirable qualities.’
Margaret frowned. Did he really think those qualities admirable? They had never been described in such a manner before.
‘Admirable qualities in a politician perhaps, but in a wife? I think not.’
‘Perhaps I want a wife who challenges me?’
The Earl’s laugh was tinged with derision. ‘I find that hard to believe. Surely you want a nice compliant wife who will let you do whatever you want, with whomever you want. I can’t see you wanting to give up wine, women and song after you marry. Nor can I see that formidable wench letting you continue to live the lifestyle you enjoy. Once you’re married, she’s going to put you on a short leash, of that I am certain, and you will be miserable.’
The Duke said nothing, but then, what could he say? He was not going to change. And, more to the point, they never were going to marry anyway so it mattered not how long or short a leash she might wield.
‘I beg you, Jacob, reconsider this foolishness,’ the Earl continued, a note of desperation in his voice. ‘Find some way out of this. Any of the other debutantes present this weekend would happily let you keep as many mistresses as you want, and you’d never be on the receiving end of that supposed quick wit when you did stray.’
As offensive as that was, the Earl was correct. Debutantes were well aware that when they married they were expected to turn a blind eye to their husband’s affairs. He was also correct to suppose that it was something Margaret had never approved of, and never would, although in these unusual circumstances what she thought was of little consequence.
