Page 35 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
But frustration wasn’t the emotion that struck her. It wasrelief.
It made no sense.
Jo met with Frances the next day. She was identical to Martha in looks but not in personality. While Martha was passionate about Egypt, Frances seemed passionate about…nothing. She was quiet and looked down at her lap instead of looking Jo in the eye as they conversed. Her voice was soft and serious, and she was so bleak, Jo just wanted to hug her and tell her everything would be all right.
“An excellent hostess,”Crestmont had decreed.“Engaging and witty in conversation.”
Sadly, Frances wouldn’t do.
That left Harriet, who arrived at Jo’s office on Wednesday afternoon.
Jo sucked in a breath upon seeing her. She looked very much like her twin sisters, though she was a little prettier, and she was the tallest of the five sisters, though still a hair shorter than Jo. Her dark brown hair was thick and rich, a few strands of it curling around her cheeks, her skin milky pale but with a blush of health. She was poised and polite, far more composed than Esther, livelier and more energetic than Frances, less devout than Mary, and possessing none of Martha’s singular obsession with Egyptology.
When Jo asked her about things she enjoyed, she said, “I play the piano, and sometimes I sing.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Jo said. “Do you enjoy playing and singing for others?”
Harriet flushed. “I like to play, but singing… My family says I should sing for others, but seeing people staring at me… Well, it flusters me. When I’m playing the piano, I can gaze down at the keys instead of at people’s faces, and that keeps me from losing my nerve.”
“I can understand that.” Jo couldn’t imagine getting up in front of a large group of people and performing anything. And a bit of modest reserve wouldn’t hurt in a woman who was to be a duchess someday. Harriet seemed just pleasant and outgoing enough, and not even close to being brash or ostentatious. “What else do you enjoy?” Jo asked her.
“I adore drawing portraits of my family.”
“With pencil?”
“Yes, and sometimes I dabble with watercolors.”
What a perfectly ladylike occupation.
“And I love parties and other social events,” Harriet said. “I adore meeting new people and learning all about them.”
They talked more. Harriet and her sisters were all proficient in French, thanks to a French governess their father had employed prior to his plunge into drink and debauchery. During that time, they had also been visited weekly by a dancing master, a drawing master, and a music master, but Harriet was the only one of the sisters who’d taken a liking to, or had a talent for, the two latter pursuits.
Harriet was perfect.
She and Jo shared a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, chatting throughout, and afterward, Harriet said she’d be amenable to meeting the duke at Lady Campbell’s spring ball, which, upon approval from Harriet’s brother, Jo would attend as her chaperone.
By the time Harriet left Jo’s office, evening was encroaching, and Jo knew she needed to go up to dinner. Instead, she sat in her chair, her mind a whirl.
She should be ecstatic.Shouldbe. She’d found the perfect candidate for the duke, in the perfect family that, if successful, would bring Charles and Lilly back together.
Instead, Jo felt hollow. She kept thinking of Crestmont, of his hard eyes and stubborn outlook. His belief that love wasn’t an element of a successful marriage.
He could love Harriet, certainly. Goodness, after an afternoon with the beguiling young woman, Jo was nearly in love with her herself.
And it made Jo feel…well, not sad, exactly, but something close to it. She wished she could be Harriet right now, ready to meet with a potential future husband. And not just any potential future husband. With Matthew Leighton, the Duke of Crestmont.
Jo squelched a small shiver, thinking of his proud nose, the press of his lips, his narrowed eyes, and raven black hair. The way his eveningwear had clung to him at the soiree. His pride, his distrust, and how it had softened for a while the last time he’d been sitting across from her here. His rare smile and even rarer laugh not only brought her satisfaction that she’d elicited such a response from him, but also made her want to smile and laugh in return. The light brush of his arm against hers as they stood at the window discussing—of all things—the weather, and the heat that fabric-covered contact sent sparking through her body.
She’d never had these feelings about any of her previous clients. And she needed to stop. Not only would she be a highly improper match for the Duke of Crestmont, but he also wasn’t at all interested in her. She rather thought he despised her, trusted her little, if at all, and was using her only because he felt his other options were more distasteful than dealing with her.
Jo sighed and pushed back from her desk. She needed to thrust these silly thoughts away. Sheneededto be ecstatic. She was going to match the Duke of Crestmont with Harriet Cherrington, and not only were they going to live happily ever after, but Charles Cherrington and Lilly would live happily ever after, too.
That should be enough to make Jo happy. She’d been able to will herself to happiness for twenty-seven years, and she’d keep doing it.
So Jo hid away that secret kernel of longing inside her. She locked it up tight and buried the key under all her hopes and dreams for those she loved.
Chapter Ten
