Page 40 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“No, not at all,” he interrupted. “It was a lapse of judgment on mine.”
She forced a smile, though she feared it looked more like a gruesome twist of her lips. They were in agreement, then. It was a lapse of judgment on both their parts. “It shouldn’t happen again, however.”
“I agree,” he said.
Excellent. Perfect. They were in agreement on that as well. Where was the relief she ought to be feeling? She dug around for it, but it was nowhere to be found.
“Right, then.” She cleared her throat.
His stiff demeanor had returned, settling over him like armor. She should be grateful for it.
She wasn’t.
She ground her teeth together so hard, it was a miracle they didn’t crack. She’d force herself to be relieved that they were in agreement, that the duke had returned to his closed-off self. That was how it should be. That was how shewantedit to be.
Even if she didn’t want it, she’dmakeherself want it.
There. Better now.
She rotated the paper on her desk and pushed it toward him.
“Here is a list of five young ladies, all of whom would make excellent duchesses for you.”
She’d curated the list carefully. Harriet Cherrington was by far the preferred candidate, and she was certain that the duke would agree. The other four were in their first or second Seasons this year. They weren’t necessarily improper, but she’d chosen them deliberately to highlight Harriet as the most ideal candidate.
She’d never done that before—create a list for a client with a favorite in mind for him. She hoped it worked.
Itwillwork, Jo. It has to.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It must be because of the awkward moment they’d just shared, because sitting on her green armchair was like floating on a cloud.
The urge to squirm overwhelmed her, and she shifted in her seat as well. This was ridiculous. Unable to bear a second longer in this tiny, stifling room, she rose suddenly. Ever the gentleman—except, apparently, when he kissed her—the duke rose an instant after her. “It’s a lovely day outside,” she said, then looked sharply at him. “I trust it will remain so?”
“It will,” he said warily.
“Then I propose we go for a walk.”
He raised a brow. Of course, it wouldn’t be proper for her, an unmarried woman, to walk with someone such as him out in the open, but Bess could chaperone them. She’d served that purpose before with Jo and her clients. “Don’t worry,” she said. “My maid will accompany us, of course.”
“Your good friend, the maid.”
“Exactly.” She shot him a saucy look, her mouth curved up at one corner. “Mydearfriend.”
He shrugged, stolid mask firmly in place. “Very well.”
“The fresh air will do us some good, I daresay,” she said, “and as we walk, I can tell you more about the potentials on my list and about our plans for the next step. I’ll go fetch Bess.”
She hurried inside, finding Bess in the parlor patching an old coat. The younger woman was more than happy for the opportunity to spend some time outdoors. She quickly pulled on her pelisse, while Jo donned her black velvet bonnet and matching spencer. Arm in arm, they walked back into the office, where the duke was waiting, cravat retied—though somewhat less meticulously—hat and gloves on, walking stick in hand. After Jo introduced him to Bess, the younger woman dipped into a curtsy. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
The duke took a moment to study Bess, then opened the door, and the three of them stepped outside. Jo and Crestmont pulled slightly ahead as they left the mews and turned southwest toward Mayfair—the location of the duke’s London residence. She knew better than to parade them through Hyde Park, where they’d be seen—and gossiped about—rather keeping them to busy streets where people were too busy with their own troubles to pay them much heed.
The duke allowed her to lead the way, seemingly uncaring of the route, which she appreciated. Many of her clients questioned her when they walked together. “Don’t you think we’ll avoid the mud if we take Park Lane instead?” etcetera. Whereupon, she’d have to patiently explain that she’d perfected routes through London that would keep them out of the keen observations of the rumormongers.
As they walked, she told him the details of the ladies she’d chosen for him to meet. There was Miss Islington, second cousin of the Earl of Derby and granddaughter of the Marquess of Winterhaven, who was in her second Season and had already turned down three marriage proposals. She was poised and well-bred, but a bit haughty and not as pretty as Harriet.
Miss Gainsborough was the second daughter of Viscount Gainsborough, the patriarch of an influential and highly respected family of thehaute ton. She was rather young, in her first Season, and prone to fits of the giggles.
Then, there was Harriet. “I do think you’ll like Miss Cherrington,” Jo told the duke as they walked along the edge of Cavendish Square. The sun blazed overhead, the white clouds like cheerful puffs of cotton. “She is one-and-twenty, in her second Season, and she is an accomplished artist and pianist.”
