Page 103 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
Yes, he’d do that. He’d go from here straight to Hanford Castle, where he’d take up residence. Maybe he’d become a recluse, never showing his face in London again.
That wasn’t feasible, though. He had responsibilities in London, not the least of which was his seat in the House of Lords, that he couldn’t shirk forever.
He entered the dining room where Winthrop already sat reading theTimes.
“Crest!” Winthrop said. “Pierre has made a delicious plum cake. Have some.”
Matthew’s stomach made a twisting response. He’d skipped dinner last night. Truth be told, he hadn’t much been in the mood to socialize with his host. Winthrop had seemed to understand this and had given him plenty of space to brood.
He hadn’t even told the man the real reason for his appearance, though Winthrop, finding Matthew on his threshold last week, had taken one look at him and concluded his marriage proposal had failed. Matthew had neither confirmed nor denied his suspicion.
Matthew went to the sideboard and dutifully took a slice of the plum cake before sitting across from Winthrop, who closed the newspaper and set it beside his plate. “Well. I was thinking of duck hunting for our dinner. Want to come with me, or would you prefer to continue skulking about my house?”
Matthew swallowed a bite of the cake, then pretended to ponder this for a moment. “I’d prefer to continue skulking. Thank you for the kind invitation, though.”
Winthrop shrugged. “To each his own.”
He handed Matthew some pages of the newspaper, and the two of them read in silence for a few minutes.
As Matthew studied an article about a new kind of turtle discovered in the West Indies, he felt Winthrop’s eyes on him. Finally, his friend asked, “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”
“No.”
Winthrop sighed. “Very well. I shall go with what I initially thought, then.”
Matthew couldn’t hide his curiosity, though he kept his gaze focused on the turtle article. “And what is that?”
“Miss Porter refused you.”
Matthew snorted. “No. Worse.”
That seemed to stump Winthrop. “What could be worse than the woman a man loves refusing him?”
“A few things, at least,” Matthew said.
Winthrop made a growling noise. “For God’s sake, man, just tell me.”
Matthew slapped the paper down and narrowed his eyes at his friend. “You wish for me to lay out my private business for the sole purpose of allaying your curiosity?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I wish,” Winthrop snapped back. “So hurry it up.”
“Fine,” Matthew said on a snarl. “Joanna Porter proved herself to be no better than Fanny Fleming.”
Winthrop reeled back, his surprise shifting rapidly into disbelief. “Nonsense. Miss Porter is nothing like Fanny Fleming.”
“You’re wrong. She’s exactly like her. Only worse, as she seems to have hidden her true nature from even you, who was so quick to warn me about Fanny.”
He remembered Winthrop’s letter, so long ago, when he’d written to tell him he was in love and planned to marry Fanny Fleming. Winthrop had responded with a plea for him to be cautious, that something about the Fleming family seemed disingenuous to him. Matthew had ignored him, of course.
“Miss Porter isn’t like Fanny,” Winthrop insisted. “Her character is the opposite of Fanny’s.”
“You don’t even know what happened.”
Winthrop smacked his hand on the table. “Thentellme, damn it.”
So Matthew did. He told Winthrop everything, from the first day he’d met Jo, to him confiding in her about Fanny and how he could never marry a woman with that kind of cold ambition, to him kissing Jo, making love to her, then admitting to himself that he loved her and wanted her to be his duchess.
Then, discovering the truth of how she’d manipulated the match between him and Harriet Cherrington for the Cherringtons’ financial gain. He finished with how he’d confronted her in her office.
