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“I look for a wife. Omega, of course. Let me be clear, a wife. I shan’t take a husband as I marry not for love but an heir. Perhaps I will take a mate, but for now, I’m not interested in that. I am not out in society much so don’t know the current market. I’d like you to bring me a few names. I’ll look them over and pick one.”
“Your Grace?”
“D’you have any other words than ‘Your Grace’? If not, then get out of my sight and I’ll find another. I don’t need a simpleton to help—“
“Your Grace!” Mrs Markham flushed a deep red. My lips twitched, I’d angered the omega—for that was anger, not arousal, colouring her cheeks. “I object to being called simple.”
“Simpleton,” I couldn’t help but correct her.
“Simpleton, not that it makes a difference.” She surprised me with a soft laugh. “I am shocked by your request and did not know how to respond in a civil manner.”
I took pity on her. “I’m not civil. But I don’t see why it’d make you uncomfortable. I’m sure my grandmother had some thoughts on the matter, even if she didn’t draw up a list for my… edification.”
“Nevertheless! Please forgive me, but, to take on such a task! You are still in mourning.”
“You think I’ve forgotten? If I’d the time, I’d look myself. I want to get this managed quickly. There is nothing in the law—“ I bit off the last for I did not like the fact I was defending my actions to a mere omega with no connection to me but she’d been my grandmother’s goddaughter.
“And you expect her to take on the role of Duchess immediately?” she asked, her eyes going from subservient to assessing. I repressed a grin. I would need to watch her like a hawk which I should have expected of my grandmother’s goddaughter.
“Obviously. Some help can be given by Mrs Danvers, the housekeeper. But she cannot be insipid or without a brain between her pretty ears. My grandmother requested no fish.”
She choked. “That is a… It is a lot of to expect of a debutante.”
I smiled. “I don’t want a child. Just a wife. What could be more simple? What omega wouldn’t want to be a duchess? Bring a list of candidates within a week. Exactly at the day and hour we were expected to meet. That will be all, I think. Happy hunting, Mrs Markham.”
Her jaw clenched briefly and her curtsy was decidedly rigid. I liked her. She would find me the right wife.
“I’ll take you to your carriage,” I ushered her out, suddenly feeling very jolly. “I’m headed out myself. I’d planned to ride, as you can see. But had to send my horse back to the stable. No matter. I’ll go to Jacksons and practice the Fancy. I feel like putting my fist into something.”
“I am afraid I don’t have the same joy in blood sports that you do.”
“Not for lack of wanting to punch an alpha or two in your time…”
My sally earned me a twitch of a smile.
* * *
A week went by in that manner when the hours seem to stretch for an eternity and the days flash by in a blink of the eye. I had both remembered and forgotten to expect Mrs Markham. So it caught me off guard when Horne came to me with the news that she had arrived with her daughter. I’d cursed all omegas for their unfortunate timing as I’d been on the brink of going for a ride. But it could not be helped. I had asked Mrs Markham to find some appropriate omegas. Of a sudden, I remembered a meal with my grandmother in my youth. We’d been at Ayleigh, and I about to go off to university. “Marry for the future, as we did in my day. And if you meet someone else? Well, Shakesperia said that music be the food of love, play on.” Such was her careless way of giving good advice.
“The Drawing Room?” I asked with some asperity.
“As Your Grace says.”
I did not waste time, for I wanted this meeting over with so that I could get on with my day. I hoped it would pass quickly. I cursed under my breath. Damn all omegas, except my sainted grandmother.
“I bring you news, Your Grace,” Mrs Markham said with a hasty curtsy as I entered. Today she was dressed more extravagantly as if she had put aside plans to meet me. She’d brought her daughter, a plain beta called Hero. An odd name for an odd almost bird-like child who fidgeted with her pelisse as if unused to wearing such a fine garment.
“Here is a list.”
I took the paper from her and glanced over the surprisingly long list.
The Hon Miss Divinia Cole
Miss Arabella Smith
Lady Olivia Clare, widowed Countess of Kellingham
I stopped after the third name and frowned at what I saw. “Tell me what you know of Lady Clare, Kellingham’s widow. I am surprised to see a widow on the list.”
