‘All you’d have to do is get whichever chit you choose with child a few times,’ the Earl added. ‘And while that is never an arduous task, doing so with one of the prettier, more compliant debs on offer this weekend would make it even less arduous. Then you could return to your old way of life, knowing you’d done your duty as the Duke of Rosedale.’
The Earl laughed while Margaret simmered with rage, not just for herself but for every debutante who was depicted in that appalling manner.
‘While Miss Whitmore may not be to your taste, I see a lot to admire,’ the Duke continued, annoyingly not telling the Earl how offensive his attitude was. ‘She has a boldness that makes her striking, and by contrast all the other debutantes appear simpering and weak-willed. She showed a great deal of elegance on the dancefloor last night, and I would say her beauty, while not demanding attention like many other young women, is more alluring because of its subtlety.’
Margaret’s hand covered her mouth as she listened in disbelief. Was he really talking about her? Did he actually mean what he was saying? Or did she hear some sarcasm in his words?
‘You can’t be serious!’ the Earl gasped, once again that odious man saying exactly what Margaret was thinking.
‘I have never been more serious in my life.’
‘I beg of you, Jacob, reconsider your actions. It’s not too late. No official announcement has been made. You can still get out of it if you act quickly.’
There was a long pause, while Margaret continued to hold her breath.
‘All right, Henry, promise me this will go no further,’ the Duke said in a lowered voice. Margaret drew in a much-needed breath, held it once again, and leaned in even closer to the open door.
‘Neither myself nor Miss Whitmore has any intention of going through with this marriage,’ the Duke continued. ‘She means nothing to me. This engagement gets me out of a sticky situation with Baron Winterborne. It will save Helena’s reputation and save Miss Whitmore from having to endure another Season as a wallflower. At some stage we will call it off and go our separate ways.’
Margaret stiffened, gripped with an unexpected pang of disappointment, even though the Duke was simply speaking the truth in a private conversation with his friend. And what had she expected? That he would continue to extol her charms and beauty as if he really had been struck by Cupid’s arrow?
‘Oh, thank God!’ the Earl said with evident relief. ‘For a moment I thought you’d lost your mind.’
‘Believe me, my friend, I am completely sane and know exactly what I am doing.’
Of course he did. He was using Margaret to save his mistress’s reputation. She had always known that and had no right to feel the rage boiling up inside her. And the second part of his statement was equally true. That was what she should focus on. She, too, was using him, to save herself from enduring another Season stuck in the wallflowers’ corner.
It was all just an amicable arrangement.
Margaret strode off down the hallway to prepare for a hasty departure, telling herself she was not angry, but instead grateful to have overheard their conversation. It meant that any lingering delusions she’d harboured regarding the Duke following the attention he had paid her at last night’s ball had been well and truly swept away.
Chapter Five
London
Jacob had expected to see Miss Whitmore again before she left Henry’s estate, but mother and daughter were gone by the time he’d finished his breakfast.
He was sure such a breach of etiquette was of no consequence. Shewasan unusual woman who cared nothing for convention, and such peculiarities would no doubt continue to reveal themselves as their so-called courtship continued.
Now he was back in London, he needed to make this arrangement formal, or rather, give it the appearance of formality. To that end, his first duty was to visit Miss Whitmore’s father and ask for his daughter’s hand.
He arrived at the Whitmore’s Kensington household certain it would be a quick visit, a shake of the hand and then he would be off. The footman ushered him into the father’s study, where he surprisingly found both father and daughter waiting for him.
Again, he decided to put no stock in this additional breach of the usual protocol. He already knew Miss Whitmore was somewhat unconventional, which was another reason why she was his ideal co-conspirator.
Mr Whitmore emerged from behind his desk and indicated for Jacob to take one of the deep leather buttoned armchairs. He sat in the one beside Miss Whitmore, sent her a quick smile, which wasn’t returned, while Mr Whitmore took the chair facing the couple.
The older man stared at Jacob over his half-moon glasses, like a judge considering how harshly he should sentence the recalcitrant in the dock.
‘My wife tells me you proposed to my daughter after having known her for no more than a few days,’ he finally said.
‘That’s correct, sir. We both knew it was what we wanted.’ Jacob resisted pulling at his stiff collar to relieve the discomfort caused by the older man’s unflinching stare.
‘Is that correct, Margaret?’ he asked, turning to his daughter.
‘Yes, Father. More or less.’
Jacob doubted he had ever seen a woman who looked less in love. On the night of the ball her demeanour had been delightfully light-hearted, but now those brows were once again drawn together and her lips were tightly pursed, just as they had been when he proposed.
