Page 104 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
When he was done, Winthrop shook his head slowly. By then, they’d adjourned to the drawing room and were drinking brandy—it was early in the day for as much brandy as he’d imbibed, but what the hell.
“She made a mistake,” Winthrop said. “At the beginning she surely couldn’t have known what happened with Fanny and how you’d feel about it.”
“Are you defending her?” Matthew snapped.
“Hear me out,” Winthrop said.
“She knew about Fanny almost from the beginning,” Matthew said. “I told her before I even met Miss Cherrington.”
“All right, but still, I don’t think her motivation was for financial gain.”
Matthew threw his hands up as if to say, “What could it have possibly been, then?”
“She wouldn’t have personally gained financially from you marrying Miss Cherrington. Not a penny.”
Matthew pressed his lips together. “Perhaps not, but the Cherringtons would have. And Lilly Appleby—”
“—also wouldn’t have gained a penny,” Winthrop interjected. “She would only have been free to marry the man she loves.”
“What are you saying?” Matthew said.
“I’m saying that you’re wrong, friend. Fanny Fleming wanted your money and title. Joanna Porter wanted no such thing. She couldn’t have anticipated you would fall in love with her, nor ever propose to her, for God’s sake. She simply wanted to bring happiness to her beloved friend. That’s a far different motivation from Fanny’s.”
Matthew gazed at the light sparkling through the amber liquid in his glass. He shook his head, knowing he looked damned stubborn. But there was a valid reason behind his feelings. “She still manipulated me.Liedto me.”
“Yes, she did,” Winthrop said quietly. “But I don’t think she was lying when she apologized to you about it. And when she said she loved you, Crest, I don’t think she was lying at all.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Cole and Jameson arrived at Pleasant Hill late the next morning. Matthew didn’t know whether Winthrop had asked them to come or they had just decided to, but he was grateful for their presence. They didn’t speak of the debacle with Jo at all; instead, while they ate a dinner of duck with orange sauce—delicious, thanks to Winthrop’s excellent hunting skills and his French cook’s mastery in the kitchen—they made plans to go hunting, to ride the countryside, and next week, to ride to the River Lea waterfront for a row.
As they were finishing their meal, the butler entered the dining room. “Pardon me. You have a caller, Your Grace.”
“Me?” Matthew looked between his three friends—they were the only people he’d ever expect to call upon him anywhere.
“Yes, sir.”
He frowned. “Who is it?”
“Miss Lillian Appleby, Your Grace.”
Matthew stiffened. He couldn’t imagine what Lilly could possibly have to say to him. He glanced at Winthrop, who shrugged, seemingly just as confused as he was.
“Show her to the drawing room,” he said to the butler. “I’ll be there presently.”
It came out automatically, a result of long-ingrained politeness. He didn’t want to see Lilly Appleby, though. He stared at the door the butler had just closed and wished he’d sent her away. God, what was this about? Was she here to lambaste him for what he’d said to Jo? Was she here to beg him to marry Harriet so she could marry Charles Cherrington?
He wanted to run, suddenly, just like he had run from London. But he couldn’t run anymore. He needed to face Lilly Appleby and get on with his life.
He looked at each of his friends in turn, first Cole, who raised his brows, then Jameson, who gave him an encouraging nod, and finally Winthrop, who murmured, “Good luck.”
They sat in silence for another few minutes, until Matthew decided he’d made the lady wait long enough. He rose, nodded to his friends, and left the dining room.
He opened the door to the drawing room to find two young women standing there, not one. Lilly had brought Bess Ferguson with her.
“Miss Appleby. Miss Ferguson.” He bowed to each of them in turn.
He straightened to find both women gazing at him before remembering themselves and curtsying with curt greetings of, “Your Grace.”
