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Dominic stirred his coffee. “More or less. Which is exactly my point. You’ll know who will suit me and who won’t. Who is duchess material and who isn’t. Who is willing to look beyond all the calumny and accept my suit rather than run screaming from the room or collapse into a dead faint if I look her way. Even after all these years, there’s still talk that the Dastardly Duke of Dartmoor murdered his wife. Society doesn’t forget something like that.”
Horatia snorted as she added a lump of sugar to her teacup. “There should be a special corner of hell set aside for scandalmongers and newspaper editors who spread such lies. But in all seriousness, I might be adept at picking a good brood mare for my stables, but I’m certainly not going to presume to know what sort of woman is going to appeal to you, dear brother. Matchmaking is not my forte. I’m afraid you’re going to have to separate the wheat from the chaff yourself.”
Dominic sipped his coffee, then grimaced. “You know how much I hate balls.”
“As do I. All that false gaiety and gossip.” Horatia shuddered. “Of course, I’m happy to look over anyone who catches your eye, butyouhave to do some of the groundwork first. And as for your other problem. With Celeste…” Horatia selected several sandwiches before settling back in her chair. “I can counsel her about her questionable reading choices and encourage her to behave in a manner befitting her station as a duke’s daughter, but I doubt she’ll listen. I’m the mother of four rumbustious boys, so have no experience with rearing female offspring to call upon. Aside from that, I’m far too ‘horsey’ for her.”
“Horsey?” Dominic scoffed. “Whatever do you mean?”
Horatia rolled her eyes. “I thought it was quite obvious. I’d much rather be ensconced in the country, striding about with my dogs at my heels or riding hell for leather about the estate. In Celeste’s eyes, I’m far too ‘rustic.’ We have barely anything in common, and I’m certain my opinion will hardly signify. So yes”—Horatia picked up her tea—“your daughter does need a mother to guide her, Dominic. And the sooner you find a suitable duchess, the better.” Over the rim of her cup, her eyes twinkled wickedly. “I hear the Earl and Countess of Castledown are holding a ball next week. The first of the Season…”
Egads.Dominic gave a resigned sigh. “You really are determined to make me brave the marriage mart all on my own, aren’t you? Given the fact most of polite society will eye me like I’m some pox-ridden, murderous monster, it’s bound to be a futile exercise.”
Horatia smirked. “Oh, the conceit of you, Dominic. Do you fear that youwon’tbe swamped by hordes of women throwing themselves at you like they would have done once upon a time?”
“Well…yes. Ordinarily, a widowed duke in the possession of a decent fortune, all of his teeth, and most of his hair but no heir isn’t likely to have an issue with finding a suitable wife. But in my case…” Dominic shrugged. “I’m going to need help to dispel the cloud of infamy hovering over me. Most of my peers tolerate my presence in the House of Lords and their clubs because they have to, but I’m not welcome in their homes. Nor do I want to be there if they think so ill of me. IfIwere to throw a ball—God, how does one even do that these days?—Lord knows who’d attend. I think it’s fair to say I’m either going to get title-hunting, money-hungry chits or the morbidly curious turning up on my doorstep rather than anyone with a genuine interest in becoming my wife.”
Horatia at last offered him a sympathetic smile. “I suppose you have a point. However, I doubt that having me by your side will do much to restore your reputation. I have a small circle of close friends, but I’m certainly not a social butterfly and would have negligible influence over the opinion of others. For the sake of the dukedom, and Celeste, you’re just going to have to grin and bear it.”
“True.” Except for the moment, Dominic couldn’t stop thinking about one particular woman. A certain enigmatic, redheaded bluestocking with a rebellious streak and a razor-sharp wit.
In the week since their encounter at Delaney’s Bookshop, Morton hadn’t been able to uncover any additional intelligence about Miss Artemis Jones. Which was most disappointing. To think that the only woman who’d caught his eye in a long time might never cross paths with him again was frustrating indeed.
He stared into his coffee, disgruntled yet intrigued that the rich, dark hue reminded him of Miss Jones’s liquid brown eyes. “Very well,” he said at last. “I’ll reach out to Castledown and seek an invitation.” He’d known the earl for years—they’d been firm friends at Oxford, and both of them were members of White’s—so Dominic knew he wouldn’t be snubbed. Noteveryonebelieved the malicious falsehoods spread by Juliet’s family—in particular, her brother, Lord Gascoyne.
“Good,” replied Horatia with a satisfied smile. “And I’ll expect a thorough accounting from you the following day at Northam House. Dinner is at seven. Don’t be late.”
