Page 6 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
No. She needed to keep him,andshe needed him to see the light.
“Hereis how it will go,” she began, her voice laced with steel. “We will meet several times, during which I will ask you questions that will draw a clear profile of the bride who will be compatible with you. The bride who will make you the happiest man alive, while you have the same effect on her.”
He shook his head. “I have no interest in—”
“Then,” she interrupted him—so rude per the rules of society, but so,sogratifying to watch his mouth snap shut—“I will create a list among the batch of eligibles this Season and set up introductions for you through the proper channels at various social functions. You will report back to me on those in whom you see potential—and you will find potential in most, I am sure. Then, you shall choose the one to whom you feel the deepest connection, and commence to court her. Oftentimes, this courtship results in a happy marriage. However, on the rare occasion it does not, we will start the process again, until you find the woman who is your heart’s desire.”
At the words “heart’s desire,” the duke’s mouth pinched as if he’d just taken a bite of a very sour lemon. When he finally managed to unclamp his lips, he asked, “How long does this ‘process’ take?”
“My clients have taken from three weeks up to a year to find their ideal matches.”
“Ayear?” He made it sound like a millennium. “It shan’t take near that long for me. Three weeks, at most.”
She raised a brow. She’d only known the man for a few minutes, but she doubted it would be easy to find a perfect bride for someone as haughty and stubborn as the Duke of Crestmont. It might even take longer than a year. “Three weeks is no time at all.”
“My minutes are valuable,” the duke said. “Three weeks full of them adds up to a great amount indeed. I will take no longer than necessary to locate a suitable duchess.”
Duchess, not wife. “I see.”
The man was approaching this very much like a pesky errand. He clearly did not consider love as part of the equation. Yet in order to preserve her flawless reputation as a matchmaker, Jo would have to find a way to make him see how necessary love was.
Actually, it would be wonderful to see this cold, austere man find true love for himself. It would be her most gratifying challenge yet.
“Therefore,” he continued, “it shall not take long. Find me someone suitable, and I will be satisfied. I intend to be married by the middle of July, at the latest.”
“Why July?”
“I always leave London directly after Parliament adjourns. Afterwards, I shall be relocating to my country house. My bride will join me there.”
She understood. He didn’t want his duchess inconveniencing him by altering his perfectly scheduled summer. Heaven forbid.
“That is quite a rapid courtship and engagement,” she said flatly.
“I wish for someone properly prepared to be the mistress of a great household. It seems to me that every chit of thebeau mondeis raised from birth to be such a lady. Hence, she should be quite easy to find and then propose to, etcetera. I demand nothing further…” His voice trailed off. It seemed he had something to add, but he clamped his mouth shut and threw another hard, meant-to-be-intimidating glare her way.
She prompted him anyhow. “But?”
His jaw flexed. “But nothing. That is all. I merely require someone who will make a perfect duchess.”
They might as well begin with this. But she would need to puncture that hard surface shell and discover what he truly wanted—no,neededin a bride. She’d better not push for it now. It would come later.
Hopefully.
“All right, then, Your Grace,” she said patiently, drawing out a blank sheet of paper and uncorking her inkpot. “Tell me all about the perfect Duchess of Crestmont.”
Chapter Three
Matthew felt the insane urge to loosen his cravat. Instead, he removed his hat, and when Mrs.—Miss?—Porter gestured to the green velvet monstrosity of a chair again, he sat.
Sir Harry had gushed so profusely about the wonderful Mrs. Porter, Matthew had developed an image of her in his mind—a matron of perhaps fifty or sixty, quite short, white-haired, and thick around the middle. In his imagination, she was motherly and doting and would offer him sweetcakes and tea while assuring him she’d find him the most perfect duchess in all the land.
This…this strangely businesslike young woman, with her clear voice and her simple blue dress covering her ample feminine curves, her smooth pink cheeks, dark-blond hair highlighted with streaks of shiny gold, gray eyes…
Dragging his own eyes away from her, he pulled in a breath.Well. She was not at all what he’d anticipated.
She’d been looking at him expectantly, and he scrambled to remember what she’d asked him. Oh, right. He was supposed to tell her about the perfect Duchess of Crestmont.
“Well,” he said, straining to think of something. “She’ll be a duchess. She’ll need to be…duchess-like.”
