Page 63 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
But all those thoughts showed how far Jo had gone ahead of herself. Before all that happened, the duke would need to consider her worthy of marriage. Something he’d never do.
She was plain, humble Joanna Porter. And sheworkedfor a living. Though she did something she adored, something she never wanted to give up, the aristocracy disdained those who worked. Considered them inferior.
So…what to do? All her clients married for love, but could she really survive it if Harriet and the Duke of Crestmont fell madly in love?
Maybe she shouldn’t push for love between Harriet and the duke. She knew well enough there were some marriages—not the ones she encouraged, of course—that succeeded without passionate ardor.
Even if she did work her considerable powers on them, Harriet and the duke might not actually fall in love. The Duke of Crestmont was far more determined and stubborn than any of her other clients had been regarding matters of the heart.
The Duke of Crestmont was aduke, after all. Dukes—good ones, at least—were known for doing their duty. For marrying well and siring heirs. They weren’t known for loving their spouses to the ends of the earth.
Maybe the duke would be happiest if hewasn’tin love with his wife.
No.
That was a selfish, horrible thought. One Jo needed to remove from her consciousness permanently. The faces of her clients passed through her mind’s eye. That look they had when they realized they were in love, when they told her of an accepted proposal, or when she encountered the couples afterward, holding hands, gazing at each other with such devotion it made her own heart overflow.
If there was one thing she had to do, it was follow her heart. She sold her services through her clients who’d fallen in love, and every one of them had. How would she explain her matchmaking services in the future if she let Crestmont marry someone he considered merely “adequate”?
“Ah, yes, sir, my clients do fall in love on occasion. I guarantee you might be happy. Or not. It is rather hard to tell.”
The reality was if the dukewasgoing to fall in love with Harriet Cherrington, he likely would have done so by now. They’d met several times, and while their conversations had been perfectly pleasant, they didn’t love each other. Jo could tell.
Surely she could find Crestmont someone else. Someone who trulywasperfect.
But that would ruin Lilly’s dreams.
Was the future of two young people who wanted each other beyond measure but were forced apart thanks to the grim realities of their situations less important than finding the Duke of Crestmont a duchess he was madly in love with?
She rubbed her temple as the answer came to her. Slowly. Painfully.
No.
Because the Duke of Crestmont didn’t want love. He didn’t believe it, didn’t care about it. He’d told her as much, more than once. And while it would sadden her to never have the opportunity to prove to him that love truly did exist, he’d specifically requested a match for himself that had absolutely nothing to do with love. Matching him with someone who fit his specifications in all ways wouldn’t hurt her business, because she would have given him exactly what he claimed to want: Harriet Cherrington, perfect duchess.
She couldn’t rip true love away from a young couple who believed in it and wanted it with all their hearts, only to bestow it on a man who neither believed in it nor wanted it.
Jo believed in love. Shewantedto stand by it, but in this case, she couldn’t. She had no choice. She would have to sacrifice one potential love match for another that was already true and real.
“I’m sorry, Matthew,” she whispered under her breath.
She couldn’t account for the way tears stung her eyes.
…
“Come on, man,” Cole said. “It’ll be amusing.”
Matthew’s lip curled. “Really?”
It was a warm day, and all four men were stripped down to trousers and shirtsleeves, their shirts spotted with sweat. It had been an excellent row, though Matthew had been so overheated, he had been tempted to splash river water over the back of his neck. He didn’t, though—the stuff would have cooled him off, but it was full of excrement and every other foul thing imaginable, and on warm days like today smelled particularly disgusting.
Bending over a bucket of clean water to scrub hands that were covered in grease from rifling around the tool shelf, Matthew sighed. “Well, the weather will be fine, for once.” The Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens had the reputation of bringing torrents of rain whenever it was opened. “And Miss Cherrington mentioned going there tonight, as well. Perhaps I should propose at Vauxhall.”
He grabbed a cloth and wiped at the area between his fingers. How the hell had grease found its way there?
After scrubbing his hands thoroughly, he realized that none of the men had spoken for several moments. He glanced up to find them all gaping at him. “What?”
“Who the hell is Miss Cherrington?” Jameson snapped.
