Page 2 of The Duchess Audition

Yvette made an odd, coughing sound, as if she was the one insulted. “So, you are here in all sincerity?”

“It would appear so.” Marina raised her head and forced herself to smile. “There is nothing I would not do for my uncle, and he asked me to attend.”

Even if marrying is the last thing that I want.

“You really are serious?” Yvette stared at her, open-mouthed.

Would I be standing here, enduring everyone’s stares, if I was not? was what Marina wanted to say.

Instead, she nodded, quietly replying, “I am.”

Yvette might have added to the ritual of humiliation, trying to get Marina to see what she already knew, that she did not belong, if a loud voice had not taken that moment to ring out across the entrance hall.

“Good morning!”

The conversations of at least fifty women, ranging in age, stopped at once.

All eyes, including Marina’s, turned toward the top of a grand, curving staircase to where the surprising orator stood.

His head barely passed the, admittedly rather tall, newel post where the stairs met the landing. A tiny gentleman in fine clothing, his dark hair neatly combed… no more than eight years old.

“His son?” someone whispered. “What is the meaning of this?”

“When I am the duchess,” another said with a smirk, “that child will spend all of his time away at school.”

The boy was remarkably brave, to stand before a sea of women without fear. Now that she knew who he was, Marina observed him and wondered which mannerisms belonged to his father, the Duke of Knotgill. Was that haughty look a reflection of his sire? The upward tilt of his chin? The squared shoulders and puffed chest? The unruly cowlick that had sprung free from the front of his lacquered hair?

The child cleared his throat, holding onto his lapel as if he were a tenor about to sing. “I am the one who summoned you all here.”

He spoke in a tone beyond his years, though his boyish pitch made it sound rather adorable.

“My father is in need of a wife, and I am in need of a mother,” he continued. “As such, I have decided to do what he has not, and find the lady for us.”

Disgruntlement hissed around the room like an ill wind.

“Of course, it is a trick,” a pretty brunette muttered. “I should have known. And to think I came to the countryside for this.” She crumpled her invitation and let it drop, turning with her chin up to walk right out of the manor.

Her irritated departure sparked an exodus of annoyed ladies, some looking furious, some vengeful, some disappointed, some laughing as if it were all a rare joke.

Marina’s new ‘friend’ tutted loudly. “There is little use in us being here. The duke likely has no idea about this.”

Or it is the best way for the duke to wheedle out the insincere… Marina had read a book with a similar premise: a great king, young and handsome, had presented a crowd of hopeful queens with a decoy who was old and haggard and dressed in rags, to see who was there for the right reasons. The decoy had announced that the palace coffers were empty, and that to be his queen, she could not expect fine things or a life of luxury. Just one woman had been left standing, a blind weaver who became a powerful and wealthy queen.

“Come on, we should go,” Yvette said.

Yet, Yvette did not walk out, and neither did Marina.

From fifty or so eager ladies of the ton, just six remained in the drafty entrance hall of Knotgill House.

At the top of the stairs, the boy seemed pleased, and Marina could not help but smile at the boy’s determination. After all, six was far easier to whittle down than fifty.

“Count yourselves among the fortunate,” a rich, booming voice echoed across the entrance hall, as a second figure shuffled into view.

Plump of build, in a fussy black gown that must have been at least two decades out of fashion, she was the most austere woman Marina had ever seen. Gray hair was scraped back in a tight bun, blue eyes narrowed in a glare behind a pair of round spectacles.

“The Dowager Duchess,” Yvette whispered, half-awed, half-alarmed.

“Exactly,” the dowager replied, though how she could have heard from all the way up the stairs defied belief. “I am Harriet, the Dowager Duchess of Knotgill. Grandmother to the duke and Great-Grandmother to this young man. And I am here to help my great-grandson choose the right duchess for his father.”