Page 3 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
My sincerest affection will remain with you. Always.
-C
By the time she finished the letter, Jo’s heartbeat was a dull thud against her chest. She couldn’t believe it. Charles Cherrington had been utterly devoted to Lilly. What on earth could have caused him to withdraw his affection like this?
Dropping the letter slowly, she gazed at her friend. Poor Lilly’s eyes were still squeezed shut, but tears were finding their way through, dampening her lashes in clumps against her cheeks, and sobs wracked her body.
“Oh, Lilly.” Jo drew her friend close. “Shh,” she murmured into Lilly’s silky hair as she rocked her. “Hush now…”
They remained there for a long while as Lilly spent her tears, but all the while, Jo’s mind churned.Why?How could Charles Cherrington do this to Lilly? To himself?
She needed to talk to him. Trap him alone somewhere, drag the truth from him, and discover a way—any way—she could change his mind and save Lilly from experiencing this kind of pain.
“What am I going to do?” Lilly sobbed in her arms. “I cannot go on, Jo.”
“Of course you can,” she murmured soothingly.
“I cannot. I cannot live without him.”
“I know it feels that way right now, but you can, Lil. You will.”
But she wouldn’t have to if Jo had anything to say about it. She had absolutely no inkling as to what she could possibly do, but she did know how happy Lilly had been with Mr. Cherrington. How deep her feelings ran for the man. How excited she’d been about their future together.
And it had all been shattered in the few lines of a letter. What a cad.
Jo closed her eyes, her mind whirling. How could she find him? How could she manage to speak with him alone?
And then, all of a sudden, she knew. She opened her eyes and gritted her teeth, determination tightening her arms around her sweet friend.
Next Thursday, at Mr. and Mrs. Dickerson’s soiree.
Chapter Two
The days leading up to the soiree progressed as if Jo were pushing through a vat of honey, slow and sticky. Lilly kept to her room, the rest of them heard her weeping into her pillow late at night, and all of them were heartbroken for her.
Jo just wanted to pin Charles Cherrington down, understand what had made him write that awful letter, and mend it. She was a matchmaker. Surely there was something she’d be able to do.
After sharing her list of potential brides with Mr. Pellegrini on Tuesday afternoon, Jo sat at her desk rubbing her fingertip over the names “Mr. and Mrs. Jeffery Worthington.” She tucked her thumb under the seal of the letter she’d just received from them and broke it open.
Dear Miss Porter,
Words cannot describe how ecstatic we are, now that we have wrapped ourselves fully within the heavenly bonds of matrimony. We have just spent amostexquisite honeymoon on the delightful banks of Lake Windermere, and it was the most wonderful and joyous month of our lives. All of this is due to you, dear, kind Miss Porter, and we will never be able to thank you enough for bringing us together and ensuring our lifelong happi—
Jo’s attention snapped up as a sharp knock sounded on the door.Who on earth?She hadn’t scheduled any more appointments today. Rising, she smoothed her skirts, crossed her tiny office, and opened the door. A man stood on the threshold, his impressive height made more pronounced by a tall hat.
She looked up…and then up some more. Past the elegant black-gloved fingers wrapped around the glossy knob at the top of his walking stick, the deep blue tailored coat of the finest wool, a row of five cloth-covered buttons, broad shoulders, the crisp white of a cravat under the points of a starched collar. The clean-shaven, strong chin and square jaw, the slope of a proud nose bisecting chiseled cheekbones. Her gaze finally came to a stop at the narrowed, light brown eyes that gazed coolly down upon her.
Not just a man. A gentleman of the aristocracy who not only dressed in the height of fashion but whose clothes fit his form so cleanly, she was fairly certain they’d been sewn onto him.
A beat of silence passed, then Jo cleared her throat. “May I help you, sir?”
“You may.” The words came out clipped and brisk, like the spring air.
Another beat, during which she observed the imperious expression on his face. And his dark hair, most of it hidden under that fashionable hat, though the ends curled softly at his shoulders, perhaps the only thing that might be considered “soft” about this man.
She cocked a brow at him. Waited. Then finally said, “Andhowmight I help you today?”
“I should like to speak with Mrs. Porter.”
