Page 1 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
Chapter One
Spring 1817
Joanna Porterlovedlove.
She believed in love. In the air rushing from a person’s lungs when they laid eyes on their beloved. In how lovers’ hearts pounded in unison when they felt each other’s touch. In the way two souls could come together to create something unique, brand-new, and absolutely complete.
Jo dedicated herself to ensuring her clients were not only happy, but floating on that cloud of bliss. She made people believe in everlasting love. After her work with them, they became romantics, poets, lovers.
And she adored every second of it.
Of course, as a spinster firmly tucked high upon the shelf,she’dnever experienced any of those things. Nor, most likely, would she ever. But her faith in happily ever afters was renewed again and again by the happy couples who walked out of her office.
Jo’s newest client, Flavio Pellegrini, grinned widely, his hand clapped to his chest as he gushed, “You are a genius, Mrs. Porter! An absolute genius! You travel straight to the heart of the matter.”
“I try to,” she told him as the heat of a flush crept over her cheeks. “Finding a perfect match does involve one’s heart, after all, not only one’s attractive physical characteristics—”
“Quite true, quite true!”
Smiling, she looked down at the pages strewn across her desk, each of them covered with writing—his answers to her in-depth questions. He’d been effusive, long-winded, and thorough, which had given her an excellent mental picture of the woman who would be his perfect bride.
She couldn’t wait to find him his match.
“I think those are all the questions I have for you today, Mr. Pellegrini. I shall compose a list of potentials for you in the next few days. Shall we meet again on, say, Tuesday?”
“Brilliant!” he said. “I cannot wait to lay my eyes on the name of my future bride.”
She showed him out of her tiny office, then hurried upstairs a few minutes late.
“Sorry, sorry!” she exclaimed to the small group of ladies assembled in the parlor. “Did I miss anything?”
“Of course not,” her dearest friend, Lillian Appleby, said. “We were waiting for you.”
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to wait.” Lowering herself beside her mother, Jo poured some tea from the fancy china teapot Mrs. Ferguson had brought out for the occasion. Sitting on the sofa across from Jo and Mama, Mrs. Ferguson was a petite woman with gray-streaked auburn hair and boundless energy. She poured love into everything she did, and over the years, she’d become far more than a servant to Jo and her mother.
As Jo stirred some milk into her tea, Mrs. Ferguson patted the hand of the petite, pink-cheeked and freckled young woman who sat beside her. “I cannot believe you are twenty, Bessie. My dear little lass—all grown up.”
“That’s how I have felt each and every day since Jo turned twenty,” Mama said. “It all happened so quickly. It is as if I woke up one day and my sweet little girl turned into a lovely young woman.” Her smile was radiant.
Her mother was being very kind—or blind—because “lovely” wasn’t a word people used to describe Jo. She wasn’t pretty like her mother. She was tall and thick-boned rather than petite, gray-eyed rather than blue, curvy rather than slight, her hair neither blond nor brown, and skin that instantly tanned golden brown in the sun.
“I turned twenty ages ago, Mama,” Jo reminded her. Seven years ago, in fact.
“Yet it feels like yesterday.” Mama turned her smile on Lilly. “And I watched our dear Lilly become a woman, too, and now she is about to become a lovely bride.”
Lilly had lived with Jo and her mother since they’d moved to London from Nottingham, after Jo’s father’s sudden and tragic death. They had lived here for nearly nine years now, subsisting for the past handful of those years solely on the income Jo made from her matchmaking.
Lillywouldbe a lovely bride, Jo thought. She was willowy and radiant, with silky black hair and long, dark lashes over changeable hazel eyes. But what would really make her lovely was how happy she would be to proclaim her devotion to her beau, Charles Cherrington.
Lilly clasped her hands under her chin. “I cannotwaitto become a bride.”
Hopefully Mr. Cherrington would propose soon. He’d been courting Lilly for half a year now, and they had all but promised themselves to each other. All that was missing was a formal agreement.
All five women sipped their tea in silence, and Jo was certain all of them were conjuring the same image she was: Lilly looking lovely at the altar, Mr. Cherrington standing beside her as they repeated their vows, love shining on both their faces. It was going to be perfect.
Lilly set down her tea. “Back to your special day, Bess.” She bent down and tugged out a bulky package wrapped in tissue paper and a red ribbon from beneath her chair. She handed it to the younger woman. “A little something Jo and I made for you to celebrate this happy occasion.”
“Happy birthday, dear Bess,” Jo said. It was generous for Lilly to say Jo had a hand in making the gift, since it had mostly been Lilly who’d secretly labored on the embroidery while Jo had been downstairs working in her office. Though, Jo supposed, her income was what had paid for the fabric and thread.
