Page 1 of Better Than a Duke
PROLOGUE
The coach, a blue-and-yellow coat of arms emblazoned on either door, turned up the long drive of a large, stern house replete with turrets and gargoyles along the roofline. The coat of arms, a bear with a dismayed-looking falcon in its mouth, seemed cheerier than the mansion, though the coach’s occupant wasn’t particularly fond of either. Changing a three-hundred-year-old coat of arms, though, was devilish difficult, especially when other family members, who apparently disliked falcons, found it fierce.
Once the coach stopped, Beckett Raines, the Marquis of Hentrose, descended to the crushed oystershell drive and headed for the front door, which opened as he approached. A large, broad-shouldered man in yellow-and-black livery rushed out into the sunlight to meet him.
“My lord! We didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
“We only stopped long enough to change horses,” Beckett said, handing over his hat and gloves as he continued into the house. “And I’m only staying long enough to hear this Season’s version of ‘the serious speech.’”
“No tea, then, my lord?” the butler asked, following him inside.
“No. An orange would be appreciated. Oranges are portable.”
“Very good, my lord. The dowager marchioness is in the morning room.”
“Thank you, Loomis.” Beckett turned right, up the side hallway. “Is she sitting in the morning room, or lurking behind the baubles cabinet, ready to spring out and terrify me?”
The butler cleared his throat. “Sitting, my lord. Last I saw her.”
“Ah. Unexpected. The orange, if you please. I’m famished.” Taking out his pocket watch to check the time, he walked into the long, opulent morning room. “Good morning, Mother.”
Georgiana Raines, the Dowager Marchioness of Hentrose, remained seated on the sofa, an open letter in one hand. Polished, petite, and sweet-looking—like a snake just before it struck. “You’re a day early, Beckett,” she said, setting the letter aside. “And where is Rebecca?”
“Your letter said it was vital that I call on you before the Season. I am doing so. What I am not going to do, however, is argue with you about my lack of a wife in front of my daughter.” He dropped into the chair opposite her. “I presume that’s what this summons is about.”
“Of course it is.”
“Who have you found for me this time, then? And be quick about it; I told Rebecca I’d be home tomorrow morning by nine o’clock.” He pulled out his watch again, clicking it open. “Which with continued good weather gives you… seven minutes.”
“You make it sound like I do nothing but hurl females at you. That isn’t so, you know. A name doesn’t pass from my lips to your ear until I have personally investigated, interviewed, and approved the lady in question.”
“Well, the female you hurl at me today will be the sixteenth chit in the past eight years. I believe your standards may be too low.”
The dowager marchioness lifted her teacup and took a sip, eyeing him over the rim. “I find it industrious of me, identifying two acceptable ladies a year. And don’t bother telling me there was only one this year and four that year or that I sent one after you twice. It doesn’t signify.”
Beckett drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “No, I don’t suppose it does. Not with only six minutes remaining. Who is it? And I told you, no more debutantes. They’re nearer in age to Rebecca now than they are to me.”
“Thirty is not ancient, Beckett. And a great many wealthy, powerful men prefer young wives.”
“I’m one-and-thirty. And no.” He stood. “If you mean to toss a child at me, I’m leaving now.”
“She’s not a debutante, for heaven’s sake. Sit down.”
He sat again, sinking back in the chair and swinging his watch back and forth over one mahogany arm. “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense.” It wasn’t curiosity; rather, until he knew who the dowager marchioness meant to send after him, he couldn’t finalize his strategy to evade capture.
“The granddaughter of the Duke of Milton. Lady Pauline Grenedy. She is four-and-twenty, not some young thing just out of school, but a polished, popular, well-prepared, and well-respected young woman. And she’s lovely.”
Duke’s family members, now. His mother must have been desperate, to consider adding someone of higher rank into her family circle, even as an in-law. “How many granddaughters does old Milton have now?” Beckett drawled, crossing his ankles. “Nine?”
“Oh, who knows. But she is one of them. Which means shehas a very blue-blooded pedigree. She also has a great deal of common sense and is brilliant at navigating among her—and your—peers.”
His eye twitched. Common sense was a good thing for a woman to have. As were skills at charting a safe course through the aristocracy. And both were on his unwritten list of characteristics he’d want in a wife if he ever remarried. “How is she brilliant at navigating?” he asked. “That’s a rather nebulous description. Has she never beached a ship in the shallows? Can she twirl through an entire ballroom without knocking aside a single dowager and simultaneously prevent pirates from boarding her schooner?”
“You spend far too much time in your daughter’s company, Beckett. That’s what nannies and governesses are for, you know. To teach them arithmetic, and to keep them from being loud.”
“I enjoy Rebecca’s company. We’re composing a poem, presently. Its theme is the brevity of spring. ‘Sunny’ rhymes with ‘bunny,’ I’ve been informed, though I suspect the poem is subterfuge and she’s angling to make a pet of the little spotted one that’s been eating the garden flowers.”
Georgiana Raines sniffed. “Good God, Beckett. I don’t know where you learned to raise a child, but it wasn’t from me.”
