Page 29 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
She glanced over at Bess, brows raised.
“Should I answer it?” Bess asked.
“No, that’s all right. Finish up here. I’ll see who it is.” Jo grabbed the rest of the loaf of bread—it might be a beggar asking for scraps from their dinner. She couldn’t spare much, but she could certainly spare a bit of bread.
Picking up the lantern, she went through the narrow door of the kitchen then down the two steps that led to the onetime scullery that she now used as her office. She set the lantern on her desk so that she could crack open the door.
“Yes?” she said, peering through the small opening.
It wasn’t a beggar—it was a liveried servant. “I’ve a message for Mrs. Porter,” the young man said.
“Oh.” She opened the door wider, then realized she was still clutching half a loaf of bread. She smiled ruefully down at it. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
The man’s eyes flicked down to the bread, then back to her, his face carefully devoid of expression. Obviously, he was quite a well-trained servant. He held out a folded letter with a very proper-looking seal of stamped wax. “Mrs. Porter?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She took the letter, he bowed, and she closed the door. She wandered back to her desk to look more closely at the letter under the lamplight. The seal belonged to the Duke of Crestmont.
She closed her eyes, clutching the letter briefly to her chest. He was probably dismissing her.
It would be a fitting cap to a perfectly wretched day.
She pushed her thumb under the seal and read the missive in the flickering light.
Mrs. Porter,
Forgive my abrupt departure earlier this afternoon. As I mentioned earlier, I had an urgent appointment on the Thames.
I should like to meet with you later this week to discuss your list of potentials. If Friday afternoon at two o’clock is not a convenient time for you, please advise.
Respectfully,
Crestmont
Jo blew out a relieved breath.
Thank goodness. He’d decided to give her a chance. And though she hadn’t asked him all the questions she usually asked of her clients, she knew him well enough to start the hunt for his bride.
She thought she did, anyhow.
The Duke of Crestmont. Stern and stiff, but with a sense of honor. A man who didn’t know he needed—or wanted—love. A man who’d mourned his loving parents, suffered the treachery of an uncle, then had something even worse happen to him. Something he wouldn’t—perhaps felt hecouldn’t—speak of.
He thought he wanted a perfect duchess. Jo could easily find him that—it was the rest of it that would be the challenge. His wife would need to be someone strong and humble, someone with the ability to understand his complex layers, to penetrate his thick outer shell…someone who could stand up to him yet give him room to breathe when he needed it.
Jo gathered the lantern and the bread and made her way back into the now-quiet kitchen. She wrapped the bread and put it into the cabinet, then went into the parlor, where her mother sat in her favorite chair under the glow of a lamp, reading.
Mama smiled up at her, closed her book, and set it to the side. “How was your matchmaking today? You met with the Duke of Crestmont, didn’t you?”
“I did…and, you know, he’s not horrid—not really. I think there might be more to the Fanny Fleming situation than meets the eye.”
Mama looked intrigued. “Really? Did you ask him about it?”
“I did.” Jo flopped on the sofa and leaned back to stare at the plain white of the ceiling. “He became angry and walked out of my office.”
She could almost hear her mother’s resulting cringe. “Oh dear.”
Jo sighed. “I just wanted to know what happened. So I can ensure a successful match for him.”
Her mother was quiet for a moment. Then, “Are you sure your curiosity doesn’t run deeper?”
