Page 2 of Courting the Wrong Duke

“You have known me for fifteen years.”

“And every year I discover some new depth of disappointment.” Gabriel drained the last of his drink and set the empty glass upon a passing servant’s tray. “I am leaving with you.”

William glanced toward the clock. “Are you?”

“Yes. I need someone to listen while I tell him about the exhibition.”

A groan rose from a gentleman still seated at the table.

“Take him,” Huxley said. “He has been speaking of those paintings for three weeks.”

“Four,” Gabriel corrected.

“That does not strengthen your position.”

Gabriel ignored him and fell into step beside William as they moved through the room. He had been talking about the private viewing at the British Institution since the invitations arrived.

If William had remembered correctly, Gabriel had already described the selection of landscapes twice, the portraits three times, and one particular Italian study often enough that William felt he had seen it himself.

They paused near the entrance while a servant went to call for William’s carriage.

Gabriel began before the man had even crossed the threshold. “There is to be a Constable.”

“So you have said.”

“And two Turners.”

“You have also said that.”

“One of them has not been publicly shown.”

William reached into his coat and withdrew the folded sheet his mother had pressed into his hand that morning. “Would you care to trade concerns?”

Gabriel accepted the paper, his interest in the exhibition briefly interrupted. His eyes moved down the list.

Then widened. “This is ambitious.”

“My mother does not approach anything by halves.”

“Ten names.”

“Twelve originally. Two have become engaged since Monday.”

Gabriel looked impressed. “The Season is a brutal marketplace.”

William leaned one shoulder against the paneled wall. “I am apparently a neglected property she means to dispose of before its value declines.”

“Your value appears secure.” Gabriel studied the names again. “Lady Margaret Ellison. Miss Theodora Price. Lady Anne Whitcombe.”

He paused. “Lady Sophronia Marsh.”

William said nothing.

Gabriel lifted his gaze. “At the top.”

“My mother has taken a particular interest in her.”

“Your mother has been planning that match since Lady Sophronia learned to curtsy.”