Page 2 of Married to the Duke By Midnight

When she had looked at the list before the ball, she had felt there were plenty of options, but as she surveyed the dance floor and the people around it, she felt more limited than ever.

“What about Mr. Harbord?” Beatrice muttered and nodded discreetly at a gentleman on the same side of the dance floor as them but too far away from them to overhear them.

Jo subtly studied the man: He was in his fifties as far as she could tell and had most of his hair. He was relatively slender, not like his friend who had a large round belly. Mr. Harbord was dressed in crème-colored breeches and jacket and a claret-colored waistcoat. He looked… pleasant.

From her list she remembered, he had his own estate in Kent, which he managed well, had at least 7,500 pounds a year and two sons from his first marriage. Interests: Hunting, history – especially his own genealogy – and botany. All in all, he seemed like a rather ideal candidate except…

“He reminds me of Uncle Horace,” Jo muttered as she turned away from Mr. Harbord and stared blindly at the men and women on the dance floor.

“Oh, Jo,” Beatrice murmured and patted her arm.

They were quiet for a moment as Jo’s gaze swept almost blindly over the room. How had she thought this would work?

Her gaze snagged on a familiar face: Ambrose. He was standing by the doors to the garden with a group of his friends. As if he could feel her gaze on him, he turned to look at her and offered her a smug smile.

Jo looked away.

“What?” Beatrice asked.

“Just Ambrose,” Jo muttered.

Beatrice made a sound of disgust.

Ambrose was two years older than Jo, and even though she had lived with his family for ten years, they had never been close. Ambrose had been the leader in telling her how odd she was for always keeping her nose in a book and writing her lists. Now he wanted her money – and by this rate, he was going to have it.

Jo pulled the small fob watch from her reticule. Ballrooms usually did not have a clock – you were meant to frolic and forget the world beyond the walls – but she had needed one to keep track of time.

A quarter till eleven. Just five quarters of an hour until she had to marry.

“This is impossible.” Jo fought the urge to hide her head in her hands.

“It’s not,” Beatrice comforted her.

But it was easy for her to say: She had been happily married for six years and had three children. Jo had never felt more envious of her friend than at this moment. She had always thought that she would marry – eventually. But to someone she had known for years. A man who had grown from an acquaintance to a friend and then at some point over the years into a love so soft and steady that they would not see it coming until they one day realized they could not live without each other.

There was no time for that now though.

“Are you certain you want to rule all men with titles out?” Beatrice asked.

“You know I would prefer one without,” Jo muttered as she scanned the room. “Men with titles are too used to having their way…”

“All men are used to having their way,” Beatrice interrupted. “One way or the other,” she added with a small smile that told Jo there was some sexual innuendo she did not understand.

Jo shuddered slightly at the thought. Beatrice had made the act sound pleasant enough, but Jo could not believe how she should subject herself to it with a complete stranger.

“Who is he?” she asked and looked at a tall, slightly lanky man with dark brown hair. He was talking to a man beside him. The blonde man’s facial expression was calm, almost stony, while the dark-haired man talked animatedly, using his hands to underline his points.

“Which one?” Beatrice asked, then continued before Jo had a chance to reply. “It doesn’t matter. Both of them are married – happily. The blonde is the Duke of Camborne, the other is Viscount Winterbottom.”

At that time, two women joined the men; a short, curvy blonde whom the duke sent a soft look as she came to stand beside him and a taller, brown-haired woman whom the viscount tugged to his side with a hand at the small of her back. He turned his head to whisper something in her ear which had her smiling beamingly.

Jo tore her eyes from them, even though she would have liked to study this display of affection between the two couples for a little longer. She needed to focus on finding a spouse for herself. Although she doubted he would ever look at her in such a manner.

Her gaze swept over the ballroom again and stopped when a gentleman across the room caught her eye. Either she had missed him previously or he had just arrived. He was standing with a friend who Jo discarded as a flirtatious dandy after one glance, before looking back at the other gentleman. He had auburn hair and wore an expensive-looking, no-frills black evening jacket with a teal waistcoat and dark blue breeches. From this distance she could not determine whether he was sunburned or extremely freckled. Given his hair color, it might be the latter.

Oddly enough the idea that he might be freckled put her at ease. She had always thought that her greatest asset was her hair: it was thick and curled easily. Something Beatrice’s maid had been delighted over when she was doing Jo’s hair this evening.

It had a rather dull light-brown color though, but if Jo did not put her bonnet on in the summer, the outer layer would bleach into a lovely golden color which she liked better. It meant her nose and cheeks would be spotted with tiny freckles as well though. Her uncle had always told her that he thought it looked charming, but Ambrose had been relentless in his teasing. Telling her that she looked like a peasant and it was yet another reason she would never attract a husband.