Page 2 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
Beatrice giggled, her fan fluttering at a frantic pace. “Then I shall bring an umbrella. Besides, Lady Birks was very clear. She said you required a woman of substance. Someone who would not be easily swayed by your... well, your various distractions.”
Theodore’s internal alarm, which had been ringing since the word 'marriage' was uttered, reached a deafening crescendo.
“Substance,” he mused, his voice dropping to that low, velvety hum that tended to make women forget their own names. “How terrifying. I have spent my entire life avoiding substances. It sounds dreadfully heavy, don't you think?”
“It sounds like exactly what you need,” Beatrice countered, though her blush deepened under his gaze. “Since you are looking for a bride with such discretion, I thought it only right to show my interest. After all, I am told I have a very sturdyconstitution. You would say we get along quite nicely, don’t you think, Your Grace?”
“A sturdy constitution?” Theodore repeated and chuckled. “Lady Beatrice, you make yourself sound like a fortress, and here I was, thinking you were the most delicate thing in the ballroom tonight.”
Beatrice’s breath hitched again, her fan slowing as she fell into the trap of his gaze. “A fortress can be quite useful, Your Grace. Especially when dealing with someone of your reputation.”
Theodore laughed, a soft, genuine sound that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “My reputation is mostly smoke and mirrors, I promise you. Though I suppose my godmother is determined to blow the smoke away. Tell me, did Lady Birks mention if there are any other 'sturdy' candidates, or am I to be exclusively yours?”
Beatrice giggled, her composure wavering under the sheer heat of his attention. “Oh, there are several, I assure you, Your Grace. But I told her that I would very much like to be at the top of that list.”
He took her hand, his thumb grazing the silk of her glove. “ Well, I shall have to thank my godmother for her impeccable taste in candidates.” He offered her a bow that was perfectly pitched as he prepared to walk away. “If you will excuse me for a moment, My Lady. I find I cannot rest until I’ve had a word with the architect of this registry. I suspect she is keeping the best secrets for herself.”
“But we are still to have our dance later, are we not, Your Grace?” Beatrice called after him, her voice hopeful as she tilted her head.
Theodore paused, glancing back over his shoulder. He let a slow, devastatingly charming grin spread across his face. “Undoubtedly, Lady Beatrice. I should consider the evening a failure otherwise.”
He held her gaze for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, long enough to see her blush deepen before he finally turned away.
The moment his back was to her, the smile on his face didn't just fade; it vanished. The warmth in his eyes was replaced by a sharp glint. He felt a prickle of genuine anxiety at the back of his neck, a sensation he usually reserved for high-stakes card games or particularly reckless horse races.
A list?
He knew his godmother. Julia was a master of the long game. If Beatrice believed he was looking for a bride, then half the Ton believed it. If there was a list, it was likely already etched into the social fabric of the Season, a blueprint for a future he had spent years outrunning.
He moved past a group of laughing Earls, his eyes sweeping the perimeter of the ballroom with precision. Every second he spent navigating the crowd, the more the air in the room seemed to thicken.
Finally, he caught a glimpse of her near the doorway leading to the terrace. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. She looked entirely too serene for a woman who had just set a match to his reputation. She was mid-sentence, her head tilted toward a companion, when she felt him approach; she paused to look in his direction.
Theodore stepped into the alcove, his presence large and imposing enough to startle the other lady into a hasty curtsy. He didn't spare the guest a glance; his focus was a laser, locked onto Julia.
“We need to talk, Lady Birks. Now.”
“A list! I cannot believe my ears. A list, Aunt Julia?”
“Calm yourself, Theo, it’s not —”
“Why would you... how could you...” Theodore temporarily stopped his pacing and took a deep breath. “You will put an end to it.”
Julia crossed her arms and lifted her head. “I will do no such thing.”
“Aunt Julia!”
“Yes?” she answered with raised eyebrows.
Theodore stared at her as though the single exclamation ought to have sufficed. Julia did not flinch at the volume of his voice. She simply smoothed her skirts. Theodore looked at her. He had known this woman his entire life. He knew every expression in her considerable arsenal, and the one she was wearing now, that serene, entirely unbothered look, was the one she deployed when she had already decided how something was going to go and was simply waiting for everyone else to arrive at the same conclusion.
It was deeply irritating.
He drew a breath that seemed intended to steady both his temper and his dignity, though neither appeared entirely successful.
“You cannot possibly expect me to accept this absurd scheme of yours,” he said at last, resuming the pacing he had begun the moment they stepped into the corridor outside the ballroom. “I cannot even bring myself to believe it. That you would go that far to create a list of women applying to become my wife. To be the Duchess of Carrowell.”
Julia let out a soft sigh. “Theodore, you are pacing like a caged beast, and for what? Because I have taken an interest in your future? Someone must, given that you seem content to spend your years as a permanent fixture of the gaming halls and the gossip columns.”
