Page 21 of The Duke’s Bargain

A sharp knock interrupted his latest headache.

"Enter." Arthur commanded.

Mr Ellis stepped inside before bowing.

"You wished to see me, Your Grace?"

Arthur set his glass down with deliberate care.

"What on earth were you thinking?"

"Your Grace?" Mr Ellis blinked.

"I gave you three requirements."

Arthur rose slowly from his chair.

"Plain—or positively ugly."

He counted each requirement on his fingers.

"Desperate."

"And of childbearing age."

He stopped directly before his valet. "What requirements, pray, does the new Duchess of Buckingham satisfy?"

Mr Ellis neither shuffled nor faltered. It was one of the qualities Arthur had always admired in the man. At present, it was profoundly exasperating.

"Your Grace," Ellis replied calmly, "there is no man's word more trusted in Windleham than Vicar Didley's. The Duchess is of child-bearing age. Her circumstances were sufficiently difficult that she accepted your proposal despite every convention."

Arthur folded his arms.

"And..." Ellis chose his words carefully. "She is not considered a conventional beauty."

Arthur's brow furrowed.

"Society prizes pale skin, delicate colouring and fair hair."

Mr Ellis hesitated before pressing on.

"Her Grace possesses none of those qualities." That was true. Yet she carried herself with effortless grace, and she was striking. That was considerably more troublesome; polite society would rear its ugly head at anything that dared to stand out.

Another knock disturbed the room. A young footman appeared in the doorway.

"Colonel Radnor and Lord Benedict, Your Grace."

Arthur closed his eyes briefly. The two buffoons masquerading as gentlemen did not even wait for Mr Ellis to be dismissed before inviting themselves inside the sanctuary he had built himself. Laurence immediately claimed one of the armchairs while Radnor leaned against the edge of his desk.

"He's survived battle," Laurence declared dramatically, drumming upon the mahogany leather of his chair.

"He survived the old dogs at Eton," Radnor chimed in.

"The French," Laurence continued.

"The beasts of the North," Radnor added.

Laurence pointed triumphantly at Arthur.