Page 19 of Miss Ridley and the Duke

“Eager, you say?” Filminster’s narrow face lit with poorly concealed delight. “It is a rare pleasure to host a man of your standing. Why, only last week, I read about you in The Gentleman’s Magazine. A fortuitous meeting indeed!”

Philip allowed the man’s obsequious nature to wash over him as he followed him to a seating area beneath the wide mullioned windows. Annabel had warned him of her father’s fixation on status, a trait Philip found both useful and deeply aggravating. The baron, it seemed, was more concerned with the trappings of rank than the substance required to maintain it. Annabel’s life under such a man must have been one of suffocating neglect, the full extent of which Philip could only imagine.

Taking the proffered seat, Philip concealed his irritation as the baron fussed with his own position. He shifted and resettled, crossing and uncrossing his legs, as though rehearsing for an imagined portrait of importance.

Finally, Filminster cleared his throat and fixed Philip with a hopeful gaze. “Your visit is most unexpected, Your Grace. Do I gather that you have a specific purpose in calling upon me?”

“I do. I was recently at the Ashbury ball near Saunton, where I had the great pleasure of meeting your daughter, the Honorable Miss Ridley.”

“Annabel?” The baron blinked, clearly startled by this turn in the conversation. “Delightful, you say?”

“Indeed. I found her utterly captivating.” Philip’s tone was firm, leaving no room for doubt. “In fact, I have come to offer for her hand in marriage. I am prepared to be generous in all respects.”

Filminster’s mouth opened and closed in rapid succession, his astonishment evident. “Generous, you say?” He struggled to regain composure, his fingers twitching against the armrest.

Philip continued, his voice measured. “This would be my second marriage. I have no children or sisters to provide for, which means you would retain her dowry in its entirety. Moreover, I would secure her—and any children we might have—a considerable settlement from my own funds.”

Filminster’s eyes gleamed with naked avarice before he masked it with a poorly executed expression of concern. “Your Grace, this is an exceedingly generous offer, but … Annabel is already betrothed.”

“To my cousin, Lord Saunton, who will not oppose me. I am a duke, Lord Filminster, and my position outranks his in every regard. Aligning yourself with my house would only elevate your standing and that of your son, particularly when the time comes for him to find a suitable match.”

The baron hesitated, his brow furrowed. “Your Grace, you must understand—it is most irregular to break off an engagement, especially so close to the wedding day.”

“Have the banns been posted?” Philip inquired smoothly.

“No! This is a household of standing and we will not be posting banns,” Filminster retorted, flustered. “Saunton intends to secure a common license as soon as he returns from London.”

“Then no harm is done,” Philip replied. “No one need know the full circumstances. Let us move swiftly to secure the appropriate agreements, and all parties will benefit.”

“But Saunton⁠—”

“I will handle my cousin,” Philip interrupted, his tone sharpened with finality. “You have my word that neither you nor your family will suffer any fallout. Quite the contrary—you will gain a direct connection to one of the most respected titles in the realm.”

The baron hesitated, his greed and cowardice warring visibly. “And … when would you propose this wedding take place?”

“This Saturday. I shall return with a special license in hand.”

Filminster gawked. “So soon?”

“Time is of the essence,” Philip said firmly. “My solicitor will arrive this very afternoon to finalize the settlements. You will have ample reason to celebrate your good fortune.”

The baron’s expression shifted as he reached a decision, the lure of status tipping the scales. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall summon my solicitor at once.”

Philip could not help the wolfish grin he felt spreading his lips. He smelled victory, and it was triumphantly sweet. How quickly one’s life could change. His past had taught him it would change for the worse, with little or no warning. Fate had now intervened to show that it could change for the better in an instant if one were open to seizing the opportunity.

* * *

Annabel stood outside the study door with her ear pressed against it. She should feel guilt over her blatant eavesdropping, but it was the only method of discovering what her father was up to. The baron was not a sparkling conversationalist, despite any inflated ideas of self he might indulge in.

Philip had warned her on the carriage ride that he would have to negotiate to win her, and had apologized for any tactics he might need to employ. He had been concerned that she should not feel disrespected by what he may say. Annabel was warmed by the thought that the Duke of Halmesbury was willing to go to such lengths on her behalf. She had not been the subject of so much single-minded interest since her mother had passed on. An actual duke battling for her hand—she was not sure what to think of it other than … she liked it. She had no qualms about any strategic maneuvering the duke might use to gain the upper hand.

Annabel heard heavy footfalls echoing on the wooden floors behind her and turned to find Mrs. Harris heading her way. The housekeeper’s round face lit in delight at finding her home. Annabel quickly pressed a finger to her lips to shush her. She gestured to the woman to step closer.

“I will find you shortly and update you on all that has happened,” she leaned in to whisper.

The housekeeper gave a quick nod and turned away. She motioned toward the kitchens, then made her way back the way she had come, doing her best to dampen the sounds of her footsteps. She looked like an untalented performer playing a thief in a bad pantomime, taking exaggerated steps and holding her arms awkwardly. Annabel shook her head in fond amusement at the older woman’s antics before pressing her ear back against the study door.

* * *