Page 82 of Better Than a Duke
“I… I’d contemplated that, but he’s quite careful about my reputation.”
“It will need to seem like passion got the best of you. A mad kiss, or whatever you can manage.”
“Soon. My grandfather has given me one more week, or he’ll simply post a full-page announcement of our engagement in the newspaper. That could create some… animosity between Beckett and myself, and I would like to avoid that if possible.”
“It’s good having the Duke of Milton as an ally. I’ll host a house party. He may dislike me, but if you attend, he can’t very well refuse. A party will ensure we—you—have witnesses. Do it then. After weeks of acquaintance, it’s believable the two of you could be caught up in passion.”
Rebecca almost forgot to back away when she heard a chair scrape against the floor.Oh no. A party at her grandmother’s house would make her papa a fly in the spider’s web. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she ran on her toes for the foyer and then leaped out the front door and into the coach.
“That took a moment.” Her papa pretended to wake up on his seat and stretched.
“I didn’t want Grandmama to see me crawling under the table and tell me how unladylike I am,” she said, putting on her shoes and then sitting back into the corner of the coach. She needed to think. And she needed to talk to Eddie, and the rest of the Biscuits. They’d just run out of time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Iris pushed her aunt’s chair around a shop’s display of feathers meant for decorating hats. “I’m beginning to feel pity for all the bald-arsed ostriches in the world,” she muttered, angling to the right when Aunt Margaret jabbed a finger in that direction.
“What was that, dear?”
“Nothing. Just amusing myself.” And wishing she’d been able to go kite flying with Edmund and Rebecca, and Beckett.
“Well, stop it. I’m after a silver brooch to match my silver hair clip. A silver one. Made from silver. With a rose or a lily decoration.”
“Yes, I understand the directive.”
“Keep looking. You have a better view than I. And don’t say ‘arse’ in polite company. For heaven’s sake. Your camel’s back is already overburdened with straws, Iris.”
Considering that Aunt Margaret now only saw the need to be wheeled about when it would be the most inconvenient for everyone around her—namely in shops and at balls—Iris wasn’tcertain which of them more deserved a scolding. “Perhaps we should try Tindersen’s?”
“I detest the shop woman who guards the counter there.”
“Mrs. Tindersen, you mean?”
“Is she married to the shopkeeper? How dreadful for him.”
Stifling yet another sigh, Iris steered the chair around the rear of the shop again. “Sheisthe shopkeeper. It belongs to her.”
Aunt Margaret twisted to look up at her. “Shameful, a woman owning a business. We shan’t be purchasing from there any longer.” She slapped her hands against her thighs. “Roll me to Dandridge and Sons. Perhaps I’ll have better luck with antique brooches.”
“Very well.” Wrenching the chair about again, Iris pulled it out of the shop, using her arse—backside—to keep the door open when the other shoppers decided to pretend they didn’t have any arms.
“Your uncle spoke with His Grace last night. Harold seems assured that Trent will be making a formal offer for you in the next day or two.”
She’d expected it, but Iris still felt like all her hair was standing on end. “And you waited until this moment to tell me?”
“Oh, pish. You’re going to accept, I trust. You’d be mad not to. You! A duchess!”
Iris leaned down so she could lower her voice. “Considering that he expects me to bear more children for him, children which will more than likely be left to me to raise and support after his death, I’m beginning to think that marrying him might not be the soundest decision.”
She mostly said it to be contrary, though clearly she needed more than a stipend for Edmund and herself to ensure she didn’t end up worse off than she was now. It was so odd that lately, onoccasion, she forgot how dire her circumstances were. She—and Edmund—had been so happy over the past few weeks. Blasted daydreams.
“I suggest you reconsider, immediately,” Margaret said, her tone sharper. “Dangling yourself in front of any man and then declining his attentions is unwise; leading on a duke will have consequences you are not in a position to manage. You’re one loud sentence away from being cut from Society as it is.”
That had been harsh, and a shiver ran up Iris’s spine. “I haven’t led anyone on,” she retorted, just remembering to keep her voice lowered. “You threw me at him.”
“And have I made a secret of that?”
“No. You’ve been quite open about your eagerness to have Edmund and me gone.”
