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“Nothing of the sort, Bernadette. I simply sold my title to the highest bidder. And we are now wealthy beyond belief. Your dowries have been tripled.” He propped his boots up on a table and swigged his brandy. “I’m going to be wed.”
Chapter Three
“You’re to be married, Your Grace?” Viola blurted out. Her elbow hit several piano keys and produced a crash of bass notes. Her heart pinged in a different way, jangling and jarring her from the inside out.
“To an American heiress,” was the nonchalant reply, with a shrug of one large shoulder.
“Which one, Your Grace?”
“Does it matter, Miss Beetle? The one with the wealthiest father.”
“Do you mean Miss Vanessa Chandler?” Viola had memorized the list of potential heiresses Westbury might marry. She wasn’t proud of that fact.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Never conversed with the lady, though I’ve seen her and she’s a beauty. And her father is obscenely rich.”
Miss Chandler was a statuesque woman known for her lustrous auburn hair, fine dark eyes, and utter lack of tact. Last Season she’d caused quite the sensation, nearly sending several matrons into apoplectic fits with her outspoken and outrageous American ways.
“The shocking Miss Chandler?” Blanche said.“You can’t be serious. She’s not a suitable duchess. She’ll make a mockery of the Westbury name!”
The Westbury name was already tarnished to a dull, rusty disreputableness, thanks to the duke. Blanche had a very good point.
“I may not be restoring the family name, but our fortune will be so vast that all objections to the match will be overlooked.”
“Great-Aunt Hermione will not approve,” Blanche said. “You know she wants you to marry Lady Winifred Woolfrey.”
“I’m well aware of that. Our great-aunt has been attempting to match me with that estimable lady for years.”
“What’s wrong with Lady Winifred?” asked Blanche. “She’s the consummate English rose. Beautiful, good-mannered, of good family, good fortune, and—”
“Goodis the saliant word in your description for a reason. She’s altogether too pious and perfect for the likes of me. She’d want me to reform. I’d make her miserable. Miss Chandler knows exactly what I am and all she requires from me is my title.”
“Perhaps you should speak with the young lady before you decide to marry her,” Viola suggested.
“I’ve spoken with her father. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“Great-Aunt Hermione wouldnotapprove,” said Bernadette.
“Great-Aunt Hermione isn’t here.” The duke drank his brandy. “And that’s partly why I’m doing this. I’ll reform just enough to wed and tosee my dear sisters safely settled, without any of the pitfalls and expenses of the social Season. Blanche, you already have two offers from very eager gentlemen.”
Blanche frowned. “Which gentlemen?”
“Unobjectionable ones. Honorable ones.”
“I do fervently hope that Lord Laxton has offered for me.”
“He’s not worthy to breathe the same air as you.”
“Pardon me? Lord Laxton is the gentleman I will marry. He’ll propose this Season, I know he will. He simply must!”
“You can forget about Laxton,” the duke growled.
“And which gentlemen have you chosen to replace him?” Viola asked. She agreed about Lord Laxton. She’d met him on several occasions and he’d always struck her as vapid and conceited.
“Flanders or Middleton.” He gestured expansively. “Take your pick, Blanche.”
“LordFlounderand LordMiddling?” Blanche collapsed onto a sofa. “How could you?”
“They’re both sober, steady gentlemen who aren’t bad looking, have all their teeth, are solvent enough, and would be overjoyed to wed you.”
