Page 13 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“You know what that’s like,” Matthew agreed. Winthrop was an earl, after all.
“I do,” Winthrop said.
Jameson rolled his eyes. “Oh, you poor, poor lads. Those blasted titles. Making your lives unbearable with the prettiest ladies in London dogging your steps, fluttering their eyelashes at you, soaking up your every word, drowning you in compliments—”
“Trust me,” Cole said, “it’s worse than it sounds.”
“It doesn’t sound bad to me,” Jameson said.
Jameson had been a scholarship student at Eton. From an impoverished London family, he’d been plunked right in the middle of the lives of the wealthy and privileged, but he had never tried to insinuate himself into the good graces of another student for access to their favors. That had probably been what had drawn Matthew to him in the first place.
“The bad part of it,” Cole explained, “is that you have to endure their flirting and flattery, and then you can’t do a deuced thing about it.”
“True,” Winthrop agreed. “Asking one of them for a kiss is equivalent to asking one of them to clasp a shackle ’round your ankle.”
“Dangerous, is what it is,” Cole said. “Merely touching a well-bred lady—beyond the gloved fingertip brushes of a country dance—could mean a lifetime of misery, if it turns out you’re ill-matched. Which you usually are.”
Matthew thought of the ladies whose hands and waists he’d so lightly touched at so many dances, balls, and celebrations this Season. The young, fresh faces who’d gazed at him so adoringly. But those ladies didn’t adore him. They couldn’t. They didn’t evenknowhim. They did know about his title and his fortune, however, and they all wanted those.
He sighed. “That is exactly why I’m considering abandoning the quest. Those ladies aren’t the slightest bit interested in me—they are interested in who I am and what I can give them. I think it might be impossible to find anyone who isn’t instantly enthralled by the title.”
Except yesterday, Miss Porter hadn’t seemed enthralled at all.
Hopefully he’d find someone like her.
Well, notlikeher, of course. Miss Porter could never be an appropriate duchess. Just…someone who met his conditions but who also wasn’t so damned besotted with the title.
Jameson began to rinse his buffing cloth, and the rest of the men threw theirs into the bucket as well. The sweat from the earlier row was making Matthew’s shirt cling to his body, the spring chill in the air seeping through to his skin. He took his coat from the peg near the open door of the boathouse and shrugged it on.
“There’s someone out there for you, Crest,” Winthrop said. “I know it. You should attend Cole’s sister’s rout with him tonight.”
“Why?” Matthew demanded. “So you will enjoy my tales of torture next time we meet?”
“Not at all,” Winthrop said. “But you won’t find The One if you never meet anyone new.”
“‘The One’?” Jameson made a choking noise. “I think we’re losing him, lads. Evan Locke, the Earl of Winthrop, has succumbed to the romantic notions of our generation.”
Winthrop shrugged. “The man desires a bride. He might as well hope to find an amiable one.”
Amiable indeed, Matthew thought.
A-m-i-a-b-l-e.
Chapter Five
At first, Lilly had refused to attend Mr. and Mrs. Dickerson’s soiree, though she and Jo had planned to go for weeks and both had been looking forward to it.
Jo understood her friend’s hesitance—Charles Cherrington was going to be there.
“Please, give them our regrets,” Lilly had begged yesterday. The three young women had been gathered in Jo’s bedroom. Lilly was sitting on the bed, one of her notebooks open in her lap, Jo was mending the hem of one of her dresses, and Bess was folding linens and returning them to the wardrobe.
“That’s rude, though,” Jo said. “They might never invite us to one of their events again.” Jo had developed a warm relationship with Beatrice and Harold Dickerson after having matched them two years ago. She and Beatrice shared an interest in reading novels as well, and they met monthly to discuss their latest reads.
“Thenyougo,” Lilly said, then sniffed. “Tell them I have come down with a cold.”
“Lilly, you know that’s impossible. I cannot attend by myself. It would be…” She’d shaken her head, unable to imagine it. A young woman attending a party on her own. An utter embarrassment was what it would be. A scandal, even.
Last week, she’d merelywantedto go to the Dickerson soiree. But now, sheneededto. It would be her only opportunity to draw Charles aside and make sense of the wedge he’d driven between himself and Lilly.
