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Mina unwrapped the silk cord and opened the binder.
“Study these dukes closely, Wilhelmina,” her uncle instructed. “You’ll become a duchess, or you won’t marry at all.” He shifted his weight on the lumpy purple velvet settee.
Mina could have told him that there was no comfort to be found in Great-Aunt Griselda’s mausoleum of a house that smelled of dried rose petals, camphor, and the oil of turpentine she used to paint the fur of her stuffed and mounted animals.
Every rap on Mina’s knuckles as she attempted to wrest something resembling a melody from the pianoforte, every book piled on top of her head to correct her posture, every sip of watery tea felt like a penance for some crime she’d never committed.
It wasn’t her fault that she’d been raised in the countryside without the benefit of a governess or the society of other girls.
The Duke Dossier was further punishment.You’ve been a bad, headstrong hoyden. Now you must study the lives of dukes.
“Did I hear someone mention dukes?” Great-Aunt Griselda, or Grizzy, as Mina thought of her, glided into the parlor on the invisible gladiator’s chariot Mina always pictured her riding upon. “My favorite subject.”
Sir Malcolm rose and kissed her withered cheek. “I was saying that if Wilhelmina is to marry, she must become a duchess.”
“Are you certain that she can aspire to a duke?” asked Grizzy. “I haven’t had much luck with her etiquette lessons, and she’s sadly lacking in accomplishments.”
If one considers proper forms of address to be an accomplishment.Mina preferred modifying and inventing weaponry for use in service to the Crown. A timepiece she’d modified had been instrumental in helping the Duke of Ravenwood defeat an enemy in Paris.
“There are only four eligible dukes this Season,” said Grizzy. She was an expert on eligible dukes. “I don’t count Thorndon—since he never comes to London, and I won’t mention Borthwick, since he’s seventy-five and Wilhelmina’s just turned twenty.”
Mina shuddered. “Thanks ever so much.”
Grizzy perched on the edge of her chair. “There’s Granwall, but they say he murdered his first wife. And Westbury, but he hasn’t a farthing to his name—lost it all in the gaming hells. Marmont might do, though he’s quite peculiar. He invents a new illness every day of the week.”
“Thorndon,” said Sir Malcolm. “He’s the only clear choice.”
Mina stifled a snort of disbelieving laughter. Thorndon happened to be Lord Rafe Bentley’s elder brother, but the two of them were like night and day. “Uncle,” she said, “Thorndon is a recluse who shuns society. I heard that he wanders the moors at night, howling at the moon. They say village maidens have gone missing.”
“Oh no, Sir Malcolm, Thorndon will never do,” said Grizzy. “Everyone knows he’s gone quite mad living in that cursed house in Cornwall.”
The very name Thornhill House conjured images of vine-twisted walls. Wind howling across moors. An ancient, haunted house. Craggy cliffs and crashing seas.
A prison.
“Utter rubbish,” said Sir Malcolm. “Those ridiculous rumors are complete fabrications. I have incontrovertible proof that the sixth duke of Thorndon is as sane and hale as I am. It’s all detailed in the dossier.”
“Yes, but Thorndon never visits London, and therefore I’m not likely to meet him, much less elicit an offer of marriage,” said Mina firmly.
Sir Malcolm’s impassive expression took on a hint of smugness. “He arrived in Town today. He’s staying at his club. And he’s in want of a wife.”
Blast.Mina should have known her uncle had a card up his sleeve. “He may be in want of a wife, but I’m not in want of a duke.”
“Nonsense.” Grizzy patted the black lace cap perched atop her towering mound of iron-gray curls. “Every young lady desires a duke.”
“Not this one,” Mina said.
“His mother’s ball tonight is your best chance,” said her uncle. “A preemptive strike will be best. The other young ladies will be frightened of his reputation but you will be armed with the truth.”
Blast all dukes to eternity!Tonight was when she’d been planning to approach Lord Rafe. This duke dossier business could ruin everything.
“And just how am I supposed to launch this preemptive strike?” Mina cocked an imaginary firearm. “Waylay Thorndon and hold him at pistol point in the gardens?”
Sir Malcolm’s upper lip twitched. “You are quite fearsome with a pistol. Steadier hand than most gentlemen I know.”
“Pray don’t encourage her, Malcolm,” said Grizzy. “She’s unconventional enough already.”
“Do you still have that flintlock pocket pistol?” asked her uncle.
