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Releasing a deep sigh, Matthew addressed Bre’s concerns. “This is not as insane as you think,” he told her. Bre shot him a look that made it clear she absolutely thought it insane. “Aristocrats have been arranging marriages since long before you and me, and frankly, they’d probably continue arranging them whether we have a hand in it or not.”
“Maybe in the nineteenth-century,” Bre said. “But this is 2019, and this feels ick.”
Matthew sighed in frustration. “Families like the Rochester, rich, old, and titled, do not want their son’s and daughter’s marrying any ol’ commoner off the street. Just because their Prince did it, does not mean they approve. These people care about things like breeding and pedigree, and while, it might seem archaic, it’s the way their world operates,” he said.
Bre released a breath. Generally, she felt life in England was similar back home in the States, but things like this served to put her in her place. She was simply a cog in the machine of a great family. Whenever she questioned something, Matthew always reminded her that things operated in a specific way because they always had. This time appeared no different.
With a heavy sigh of defeat, Bre plopped down in her seat ready to throw herself into the process of finding the Duke of Rochester, a wife, even if it felt like a vast overreach.
“I can’t believe I am saying this, but where do we start?”
Chapter Two
Henry expected something drastic from his mother, especially considering his latest transgression involved his dick being plastered on every newspaper from America to China, but he did not expect for her to have lost her wits. His mother thrived on control, and as Dowager Duchess, she had it, but Henry was Duke, and his mother needed a refresher on what that meant.
“This is not negotiable Henry,” his mother stated calmly as though arranging marriages was something she did every day.
“You are correct mother,” Henry railed. “My marital status is not up for negotiation.”
Henry did not want to argue with his mother, but she got under his skin with her incessant need to control the family. This could be because Henry himself thrived on maintaining control of those around him, but he did not wish to look deeper into the similarities between himself and his mother.
Even as he railed against her, his head spun around how he might turn this idea to his advantage. Her plan had merit. Despite what he might say, Henry did not desire to lose his Parliamentary seat, and his recent documented behavior might make that difficult.
“If you did not want me pestering you about your social life, perhaps you should have kept your business out of the social pages,” his mother told him.
It irritated Henry that she had a point. Priscilla, Dowager Duchess of Rochester, handled scandal her entire life, after all, her husband had partaken in multiple affairs throughout their marriage, but when that scandal left the dark corners of a gentlemen’s club and splashed itself across the society pages, she took umbrage.
Turn out, Harry’s colleagues felt the same way.
“Those fucking assholes,” Harry said under his breath as he considered all the terrible things the men who wished to steal his hereditary seat from him did in their spare time. Henry felt sure that his trysts with some club whore were nothing compared to the skeletons some of these men hid in their closets.
“Harry,” she said, changing tactics using the nickname he gave up once he went off to university. Henry felt much more powerful and Duke-like than Harry. “I know this appears harsh and perhaps hypocritical, but even if this scandal had not broke, at some point, you would be expected to take a wife. ”
“I have never given into expectations mother, why would I begin now?” he asked.
“Be reasonable,” she demanded as her patience began to wane. Henry noted once more the similarities he and his mother shared. They both easily lost their tempers.
Pouring a drink, Henry considered what his mother placed on the table. He did not wish to lose his hereditary seat, for he knew if lost, he might never get it back. That seat had been in his family for hundreds of years, and he did not want to be the one to lose it. He also did not plan to marry anyone. His parents cared for one another, as people who spend thirty years together often do, but Henry knew they both felt trapped by the duty that titles and money brought them. Henry had no plans to be trapped. But, as he mulled it over, he began to feel the beginnings of a devious plan come to mind. A way to exact vengeance over someone he loathed, and get his mother off his back. If his plan cleaned up his image, well, more the better.
“I will concede to your wisdom mother,” Harry stated after a beat, much to Priscilla’s delight.
“Wonderful! I’ll have Mr. Nash, and Ms. Reynolds set meetings to your calendar and…” Harry cut his mother off before she could continue onward.
“I said I’ll concede to your wisdom mother but with some stipulations,” he told her smugly. He never intended to allow his mother to control his bride.
Priscilla’s face showed confusion and slight annoyance. “What sort of stipulations?” she asked.
Harry poured himself a scotch anticipating a hot debate. “First off, I will choose my own wife,” Priscilla made a move to interrupt, “No mother, I’ll play it your way, but ultimately the decision will be mine alone,” he said. His tone made it clear he would not budge. Henry could not have his mother meddling in his affairs. The game would be over before it even began, and he’d be shacked up to some airheaded socialite.
Priscilla released an unladylike breath of annoyance clearly not pleased.
“We will do this your way,” she conceded.
“Fantastic. When do I meet with Mr. Nash and Ms. Reynolds?” he asked, a smug look overcoming his features. Game, set, match.
* * *
For the second time in less than five hours, Bre Reynolds sat in front of a member of the Rochester family. Bre had never met the Duke until this moment, but her job was to monitor his life, so she was uncannily familiar with his habits.
