Page 2 of The Duke’s Bargain

Arthur's expression remained unchanged.

"The ton has long since convinced itself that you have no interest in finding a wife. Naturally, Sir Malcolm has concluded there shall never be an heir."

Ellis shifted his weight.

"Should that assumption prove false, Winworth would remain in your direct line." Ellis swallowed as the words left his lips.

“Marriage." Arthur tasted the word as though it were spoiled wine.

"Have you taken leave of your senses, Ellis?" The words were dangerously close to a whisper.

“No, Your Grace, just simply brainstorming all options, out loud at your request.”

Marriage. He had not considered the notion in ten years, and his only season had ended when he was nineteen, before the Continent. Before London became somewhere he avoided like the plague, he had maintained a residence there, fulfilled his Parliamentary duties when required, and spent no second longer in the city than necessity demanded.

Winworth was his home. Yet he could not deny the simple, painstaking fact that there was merit in Ellis's thinking, however frustrating that might be.

He had no desire to marry, but he had every desire to prevent Malcolm's satisfaction of one day walking through his apartments, sitting at his desk, and presiding over tenants who had never belonged to him.

"If I were to marry, where do you expect me to find a wife who was not deterred by hearsay? What sensible woman would agree to such an arrangement, particularly without the benefit of a courtship, which I have no desire to offer? And even if such a woman existed, what woman could I tolerate without a reason to send her away?"

The coveted title of Duchess was not enough. The Duke of Buckingham was feared, and rightly so, at every level of society. His self-imposed isolation in the country had only allowed rumour and conjecture to flourish. He had no desire to court a woman, nor any intention of attending a season in London.

Ellis straightened his shoulders.

"I know of a few people in Windleham who would, Your Grace. You forget that the title of Duchess would still prove alluring to many young ladies, both here and amongst the ton. I... we could approach a suitable family. A marriage of convenience, if you will. A local woman with neither title nor ambition to trouble you."

For a duke of his reputation, breeding did not necessarily matter. Arthur’s position was sufficiently established that whichever woman he chose would be accepted by society, at least publicly. That widened the pool somewhat. At thirty years old, a marriage of convenience was not the worst idea.

He considered the fire battling against the grate in the adjacent fireplace. The flames curled and twisted in every direction, yet somehow their restless dance seemed to bring order to his thoughts.

If he were to marry, he would require a woman of childbearing age, and she must be desperate enough to accept his proposal. A substantial sum ought to be provided for her troubles. The marriage was to be nothing more than a transaction.

She would have to be plain; he had no desire for a beautiful wife. Beautiful women attracted attention, yet Arthur had spent eleven years avoiding it at all costs.

Yes. Desperate.

Plain.

Hell, positively ugly, for all he cared.

Young enough to provide him with one or two heirs and send his dastardly half-brother back to the shallow pits of society from which he had crawled. Arthur would need to have the marriage arranged quickly, and the look upon Malcolm and his porcupine of a mother's face alone would almost justify the inconvenience.

Arthur looked up at Mr Ellis and gave him a curt nod.

A wife. An heir.

Malcolm would be disappointed. It was, infuriatingly, a sound strategy. He set down his now empty whisky glass and returned his attention to the papers on his desk as Mr Ellis began to make his exit.

"Plain," Arthur ground out.

A pause.

"Positively ugly, if required."

Another.

"Fertile."