Page 34 of Manufacturing a Duchess

Her mind returned to London, leaping from one recent memory to another. All revolved around one person: him. The first time she saw him, the first time she spoke with him, his gentle teasing, melting into his arms as she waltzed with him, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her, the way he knelt down before his daughter to speak with Marjorie, his sharpness, his social station far above her own or her comfort level? It was all summed up by the fact he was poor, and she was rich. Finally, regardless of whatever romantic feelings she had, this was business. Could only be business. For he loved Missie. He must love Missie—it was obvious. Beautiful, socially perfect Missie. Born to a title and generations of breeding. But love Aurora? Never her.

However long she waited to be called down to the morning room, she never afterward could tell. But it felt like forever.

* * *

“Lord Raeburn, the Duke of Selkirk,” the butler announced and then stepped back so Alec could move forward into the library. Lord Wentworth was sitting in front of a small desk, his chin lowered to his chest as he leaned back into his chair. It looked most uncomfortable. Alec studiously ignored the start the man gave and the quick flourishing of a handkerchief to dab at a drop of drool which was gathering at a corner of his mouth.

“Come in, come in.” Lord Wentworth woozily pushed himself to his feet and came around the desk to give a short bow. Alec returned the courtesy. “Please, have a seat. May I offer you a glass of something? This house is either too cold or too hot. A bit of refreshment is always helpful.”

Alec allowed himself to be seated in one of a pair of leather chairs in the middle of the room and acknowledged the offer with a nod. This was the first time he had looked closely at the older man, and it suddenly came to him that he looked nothing so much as like a rabbit. The man’s ears practically quivered. The baronet’s eyes—they were reddened and bleary, the color a washed out and pale blue. Good Lord! How did such a paragon of all that was beautiful descend from this slight, quivering, chinless being?

Completely ignorant of Alec’s musings, and as if grateful to have something to do before the discussion commenced, Lord Wentworth fussed around the decanter, pouring a glass of sherry for Alec and for himself. Reluctantly, Alec dragged his eyes away. He was so intent on not looking at the man that it took two attempts on the gentleman’s behalf before Alec realized he was being handed a glass. His lordship finally situated himself in the chair opposite his, whacking the seat a few times first for some reason and then making a slight slurping noise in his haste to take a drink.

Alec politely took a sip. In the absence of any further statement from his host, he decided to commence negotiations. “Lord Wentworth, am I correct in my understanding you are acting as proxy for Miss Hardcastle’s matrimonial affairs?”

“I am, sir, I am. I have been trusted by her father with this most solemn responsibility. While Mr. Hardcastle is a fine businessman, that is, an excellent man, a lion of industry, he is astute enough to know he is not, well—not quite, as one would say—he is not a gentleman and does not know our ways. Please know, I mean him no disrespect. Miss Hardcastle is a superb example of young womanhood, don’t you know, all that one would wish for, etcetera.”

“Thank you, sir. I am interested in—” Here Alec had to give himself a minute. Steady on, man. Lord, he hated all of this. It felt so shabby. Out with it. “I wish to discuss terms of marriage concerning Miss Hardcastle. I believe she would well suit my daughter and me as a wife, mother, and duchess.”

“Yes, just so,” rejoined Lord Wentworth. “Excellent decision. Most thoughtful of you to bestow your attention on her in—that is to say—a matrimonial direction. Excellent, excellent.”

There was a pause, with each man obviously a bit unsure as to who should proceed next. Alec took up the reins again. “I will be completely honest, sir. The property belonging to me as Duke of Selkirk is wholly mine and not entailed. In addition, the title is secure. But as to wealth, that is where I am frankly lacking. My estate, while I have attempted to manage it well these past several years, is having difficulties recovering from the years of poor management it sustained under my late father.”

“Yes, yes, just so,” responded Lord Wentworth.

Alec took a swallow of his sherry and continued. “To be quite blunt, I am seeking a bride who, in addition to whatever personal qualities she brings to the match, would also possess the funds to assist with making the estate whole and further securing it for the future. This would, of course, benefit any future children,” Alec stumbled a bit over this as he had been keeping the prospect of marital relations at arm’s length considering Miss Hardcastle, and those direct, intelligent blue eyes, seeing through his mercenary intentions and judging him almost as harshly as he judged himself, “of our union.”

“Yes, to be sure. Most sensible. Yes,” returned Lord Wentworth.

Another silence.

Alec tried again. “Therefore, sir, what are the terms to be settled on Miss Hardcastle in the happy event of her marriage?”

“Oh, yes, yes, her marriage. Yes, of course.” Lord Wentworth abruptly stood, crossed over to the desk, and began rummaging in what had been a neat stack of papers in one corner. He seemed not to be certain as to what he was looking for until one paper caught his eye. He scooped it up with an “Ah-ha, yes, this!” and returned to his seat.

It took him a couple of minutes to find the right distance at which to hold the paper so he could read it (Why didn’t the man own a pair of spectacles? Alec asked himself with irritation) and cleared his throat. “Well, ah, per the terms laid out by her father, Mr. Hardcastle, she is to have settled on her, at the time of her marriage, an annual income of five thousand pounds a year. That sum would, of course, be in perpetuity. She is also the sole heir, excuse me, heiress to the estate. Therefore, upon his death, she would inherit everything. Now, that exact amount would not be known, naturally, until the time of Mr. Hardcastle’s passing. But he notes if things continue increasing the way they have been, the income would likely be at least eight thousand pounds a year in total. If not more.” He lifted his head and jabbed at the paper. “Mr. Hardcastle has a note here that these are conservative figures. He does not wish to over-promise. And he cannot prognosticate the future. But this, ah, this is what he believes he can safely lay out to any prospective suitor who is deemed acceptable.”

Alec almost gulped and stopped himself in time. Five thousand pounds a year. And then more—eight thousand? Higher? It would save the estate. It would save his daughter. It would save his tenants. Their collective futures would be secure. Damnation! He was nothing more than an adventurer. He had to take a moment to get his anger at himself under control.

“And might I, that is, might my suit be deemed acceptable, in your view, as proxy to Mr. Hardcastle?”

“Oh, yes, I should say so, Your Grace. Without question. Most suitable. I have the authority to draw up the paperwork and have it signed as quickly as you wish. Yes, indeed. Most suitable. No question, no question at all. Would you like another drink?”

Alec blinked at that. Momentarily speechless, he shook his head. More of a response was called for, however. “No, thank you, sir. It all sounds most acceptable to me. I do have one request before we draw up and sign any paperwork. Call it a soldier’s eccentricity, if you’d like.” If he was going through with this business, he would do so as honorably as he could.

“And what might that be, sir?” Lord Wentworth was starting to relax, Alec observed. Seeing the light at the end of this particular tunnel and a return to his nap coming speedily into view? “I am sure we can accommodate.”

“I would like to discuss my suit with Miss Hardcastle. I have no desire to force an unwilling partner into marriage.”

“Oh, no, sir, most assuredly not. But I am most certain Miss Hardcastle could have no possible objection to an offer such as yours.”

“Be that as it may, I would still like to speak with her.”

“As you wish, sir, as you wish. You dukes have your little foibles, as you say. We can most assuredly accommodate them.”

“Thank you. Is Miss Hardcastle at home that I might speak with her?”

“Yes, yes, I believe so. I will call for the butler. He will, as you say, arrange for—bring you to—yes, right away.” Lord Wentworth tugged at the bell pull and explained with unabashed relief to the shortly appearing butler that the Duke of Selkirk wished to speak with Miss Hardcastle, so where might she be?