Page 21 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“And then…pedigree.” She looked up at him, silver eyes snapping in challenge. “Can I ask what difference it makes?”
“Pedigree makes all the difference.”
“That is not an answer.”
That was because he didn’t have one, not really. The one he could think of was ever so important, but it also felt… Well, to be honest, it felt ever so stupid at the moment. For lack of something better, he voiced it anyway, bracing himself for her inevitable sarcastic response. “It makes all the difference in the eyes of theton.”
There was a brief silence as they gazed at each other, then her eyes narrowed. “Have you ever wondered why?”
“No.”
“I have.”
“And have you come up with any conclusion?” he asked her.
“My conclusion is that the elite need to cling to their status because, above all, they are petrified of losing it. If they open the doors to their exclusive club, if they expand it by marrying those of lower status, they also dilute it, and eventually, they will tumble from their position at the top of the social ladder.”
He tapped his chin. Her argument had some merit.
She continued. “Aristocrats don’t marry daughters of aristocrats because they are more intelligent, more attractive, or better able to bear them heirs. They marry daughters of aristocrats to keep their exclusive club small. To inform the rest of the world that it is not worthy of being elevated to their status.”
“What you say might be true,” he told her. “But it is not my reasoning for wanting an aristocratic spouse.”
“What is your reasoning then, Your Grace?”
“Marrying a woman with an aristocratic lineage will prevent me and my bride from being publicly mocked. My bride will be accepted into society circles without question. It will also bode well for our future as husband and wife.”
“How is that?”
“I told you earlier that I desire a perfect duchess.”
The edges of her lips canted up. “You certainly did.”
“Someone who was born into the aristocratic life will experience a smoother transition to the life I lead. She will find it easier to perform her various duties as the Duchess of Crestmont. Do you not agree?”
“I don’t disagree. But I’m also certain that many a commoner would adapt, and more quickly than you’d think.” She waved her hand dismissively, and beyond it, he saw that a pink flush had begun to crawl up her chest above the line of her bodice. “But I don’t wish to argue with you about it, Your Grace. You want a wife with aristocratic roots, so never fear, I shall find you a wife with aristocratic roots. The pedigree of your broodmare—I mean, better half—will be intact.”
There it was…her sarcasm. It made his heart beat faster. It made him want to—
Damn. He cut off the thought before his mind could form it into words.
“Well, then”—she straightened, the businesslike tone back in her voice—“now that we’ve established why none of the ladies at the Dickersons’ soiree are good matches for you, I have a few more questions.”
“More questions beyond those I already answered?”
“Yes, indeed. Several of them.”
Meeting with this woman was exhausting. She argued with every damn thing he said. It was a miracle she’d ever managed to make any successful matches at all.
He sighed dramatically, letting her know the extent of his impatience. He’d been more than forthcoming. What else could she possibly want to know? “Fine,” he said. “Proceed.”
She looked up at him with narrowed eyes, then her gaze caught on something beyond his shoulder. Her lips parted, and then she shook her head, frowning. “Well, look at that. The sun’s come out, Your Grace. You were right.” Then she turned back to him with an expression that looked like an odd cross between suspicion and admiration. “How did you know?”
Chapter Seven
Jo had stayed up for hours after she and Lilly had come home from the soiree, trying to conjure up a way for Lilly and Charles to be together. But she had nothing. When she’d finally fallen asleep early that morning, her dreams had been of all her clients coming back to her and telling her they had to separate. They were all miserable and brokenhearted. They should have married someone else. Someone perfect. Someone with money.
“Why?” Beatrice had sobbed to Jo in her dream. “Whydid you introduce me to Harold? He has left me for a diamond heiress. You are a terrible matchmaker. You have caused me nothing but pain and heartbreak. I shall never be happy again. Never!”
