Page 84 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“Yes.” Jameson nodded sagely. “It’s Miss Porter.”
Matthew sucked in a breath. “How the hell did you—”
Jameson leaned forward. “You’re having a liaison with her, aren’t you?”
Matthew blinked. A liaison? Was that what he should be calling it? He’d had those in the past. What he had with Jo didn’tfeellike a liaison.
“So, what is the problem?” Jameson asked. “It is clear you like her more than you like Miss Cherrington. Marry her instead.”
“Marry her—What?”
“You wish to marry, against all reason,” Jameson said. “You might as well marry someone you like.”
“But…I can’tmarryMiss Porter,” Matthew sputtered.
“Why not?”
Matthew shook his head and stared at Jameson. You’d think, despite his childhood, after spending all these years associating with theton, Jameson would know the rules they lived by.
“Surely you know why not,” he said.
“Because she’s not an earl’s niece?” Jameson’s voice was mild, but his jaw had grown hard.
“Well, yes. That, among other things. She’s in trade, for one.”
Jameson rolled his eyes. “She’s not intrade, fool. She’s a matchmaker.”
“Sheworksfor money,” Matthew said stubbornly.
“Good God. Who cares? So do I.” Jameson threw back his brandy then rose to fetch himself more. Matthew sat still, feeling sick to his stomach. He truly didn’t believe that working for her money made Jo lesser. He didn’t even believe that the fact that she had no titles in her family tree made her lesser. Butmarriage?
It just wasn’t done.
Before Jameson had mentioned it, it hadn’t—not once—crossed Matthew’s mind that he mightmarryJoanna Porter. Men like him didn’t marry women like her. They just didn’t.
“Fine, you idiot. Just marry Miss Cherrington, then,” Jameson snapped as he sat back down. “I hear she works, too—at playing the piano and drawing pretty pictures and singing—but she makes no money from those endeavors, of course, so that makes her acceptable for some illogical reason I shall never understand.Andshe’s the niece of an earl. Unlike poor, common Miss Porter, she’s worthy of your hand. She’ll make a perfect duchess.” He glowered at Matthew, who stared right back at him, lips pressed tightly together, his stomach churning like an angry sea.
“So stop dithering and just ask the chit.” Jameson waved his hand impatiently and took another angry sip of his drink. “I daresay her brother will be ecstatic to welcome a venerated duke into his family.”
Jameson’s annoyance was no longer comforting. Instead, it grated against Matthew’s nerves. He was right, damn him. If Matthew was going to ask Harriet Cherrington, he should do it. Get it over with. Get the wedding over with. Get the procreating over with.Thenhe could get on with his life.
Propose, wed, then bed. Break it down into three steps. He could accomplish those things. That was his plan, and this time, he needed to follow through, as difficult and painful as it might be.
Jo was also right. He had to let her go. He could still admire her as he’d never admired any woman. He would always be able to hold on to the memory of this afternoon. But they both needed to move on. Until he married Harriet Cherrington and she bore him a son, his uncle would continue to be his heir.
“It’s not as easy to propose as you might think,” he said dully.
“I imagine it’s not,” Jameson said.
“It’s nerve-wracking,” he said.
“Especially when you don’t love the woman you’re about to propose to.”
“How many marriages begin with love, do you think?” Matthew challenged.
“Few, in your exalted position,” Jameson said. “One of the many shortcomings of the aristocracy.”
Matthew cast his eyes heavenward. “I’m sure you recall what happened the one time I thought I loved a woman.”
