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“Lady Olivia Clare, wife of Lord Augustus Clare,” she said without hesitation. “They were unmated. He died without any heirs. I thought perhaps an older omega since you expect her to begin her duties right away.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Very. And a good woman.”
“How do you know she ain’t barren?” That was the relevant question, however crude.
“The late Earl had no natural children,” she replied her cheeks darkening with embarrassment. Then with a boldness that came through on occasion: “He left her to a terrible fate. Six years of marriage and never mated her during a marital heat.”
“I sense you have more to say,” I growled, unafraid to exert my alpha dominance on her. “Is she out of mourning?”
“Not yet… But… She has declared she will not marry again. That is to say, she will not suffer men or alphas to be near her except the alpha daughter of her vicar who acts as her temporary guardian. I suspect that perhaps Lord Clare was not kind to her.”
“Lord Clare’s past behaviour has no bearing on my suit.” I tried and failed to keep the bite out of my words. Now that I knew her fate—that she would be left without a penny to pinch, if the widow of an earl knew how to pinch pennies—I had irrationally, against all logic, decided that I would marry her. I would play the hero to her distressed damsel.
“Your Grace! She needs care!”
“Madam, the widow will be thrown out of her home when her period of mourning ends. She will not be cared for by some alpha children. She will be a pauper. Not many alphas, regardless of circumstances, will have the means to pay the Omega Fee for a Countess. Do you think she has a better option than the one I can give her?”
I crossed my legs and glared at the omega perched on the very edge of the sofa in front of me. I could sense she was beginning to fret. If she’d had a good mate, the alpha would have taken her aside and calmed her. But instead I, Syon Duke of Orley, was left to deal with the fidgeting hands that crushed her gown in a most unbecoming manner. She agreed even as she threw a distressed look to her silent beta daughter.
“Then find a way for me to meet and woo her. When she hears my suit, she’d be a fool to refuse.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” came in a whisper.
“Keep me informed,” I concluded our discourse as abruptly as I had the first meeting.
“Your Grace, if I may? I hope you realise that choosing a wife is not the same as buying a horse.”
“No, madam. I choose my bride because of what I can do for Lady Clare. I buy a horse because of what he can do for me. Just because I will mount both doesn’t mean I value them the same.”
“Then may I say you are riding for a fall.”
“Touché, Mrs Markham.”
She rose and left with a haughtier bearing than she began our meeting with, her daughter trailing behind her. The little beta glanced over her shoulder before following her mother out the door.
“Good day, your Grace,” she breathed so softly I nearly missed it.
I slumped against the window, my eyes tracking the carriage carrying Mrs Markham as it left. If only there were a cousin to take my place. But there were none. Like the late earl, I had no alpha bastards or cousins with any claim to the title. I must go through with this farce if I wanted the dukedom to survive and after twenty years the duke, I took pride in the title. Pride in everything that surrounded me. Moreover, should I die without an heir, my tenants, servants, the people who depended upon me would find themselves at sea with no guarantees to their future.
Shakespearia had it right, “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”
