Page 10 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
Jo had rushed in late to tea yet again, this time vexed and flustered thanks to the didn’t-deserve-to-be-as-handsome-as-he-was Duke of Crestmont. Now that she had gulped back one cup of tea and poured another, she settled back in her chair, running a finger over the lip of her teacup. “If it works out, this new match will be my most illustrious one yet.”
Though she was still pale and heartbroken, Lilly was rallying. She’d started by reopening her notebooks—she had dozens of them filled with architectural designs—not only for homes, but for churches and theaters, too. Her designs were classic but also original, appealing to the senses and sparking the imagination.
Jo’s father, who had been a trained architect, had mentored Lilly in architecture when she was a child, but from the age of fifteen, she had been self-taught. She had no living mentors and was unknown in the field, but her talent shone off the pages of her notebooks. For the past two days, Lilly had been working on a brand-new design—a grand palace that drew inspiration from the architecture of the Far East and India. Jo’s mouth had dropped when she’d first seen the sketches—the design was intricate and striking, but nothing like anything Jo had ever seen, from Lilly or anyone else.
Today, she was joining the household for tea and finally engaging in conversation about something other than the loss of her beloved. But that fact did not soften Jo’s desire to meet face-to-face with Charles and give him a stern dressing-down.
“Whoisyour new client?” Lilly asked now.
Jo looked at each of the women one by one, heightening their anticipation. They were going to love this. “The Duke of Crestmont.”
There was a moment of dead silence in the room. Then, all four women spoke at once.
“What?” Lilly gasped.
“A duke?” Mrs. Ferguson’s blue eyes went round as she pressed a hand to her bosom.
“Oh my goodness!” Bess exclaimed.
“That horrid man?” Mama asked. “Impossible!”
Jo turned to her mother, smile slipping. “Did you say horrid?”
“I certainly did.”
“Why? What did he do?” Frankly, Jo could easily conjure a few reasons why someone might call the Duke of Crestmont horrid. He was a pompous prig. But her mother, like most of society, was generally forgiving of those annoying traits that so many men of the aristocracy possessed.
“He abandoned Fanny Fleming at the altar.”
Lilly frowned. “Who is Fanny Fleming?”
Jo recalled Fanny, if not very well. The young woman had been older than her, and she had left Nottinghamshire before Lilly had joined the Porter household. “She and her family were members of Papa’s parish.”
Jo remembered Fanny as haughty and condescending—even worse than the duke she’d met today, though Fanny had no title to defend her behavior as he did. She was the daughter of a wealthy country gentleman, and she had not only been quite lovely, but she also radiated ambition.
“When I was eleven years old,” Jo continued, “Fanny married into an outlandish amount of wealth, and we never heard from her again.”
“That is true,” Mama said. “She married a copper magnate and relocated to Cornwall. But prior to that, the young Duke of Crestmont had been courting her.”
“Really? I never heard about that.”
“It was the talk of the aughts, my dear, but far too scandalous for your innocent young ears. The duke and Miss Fleming were both quite young—only seventeen or eighteen years of age, I believe, and Crestmont had only recently come into his title. All of a sudden, and to everyone’s surprise, they rushed off to Scotland to be married. Everyone throughout the county was chattering about it. But days later, Fanny returned from Scotland alone, ruined and brokenhearted, because just as they were about to repeat their wedding vows, the duke changed his mind and simply rode off.”
“My heavens,” Bess breathed.
“But she did marry,” Lilly said, “and you said she married well. It seems the scandal didn’t run that deep.”
“She went from nearly marrying a duke to marrying a man of little consequence in society,” Mama said.
“Yet she married into one of the richest families in England,” Jo said.
“Some might say that’s a poor tradeoff for a title.”
“Some might believe that,” Jo said. “Iam not one of them.” She well knew the value of money. It kept food on their table and clothes on their backs. Those things were much more valuable than that feeling of superiority a title afforded. She didn’t need to feel superior to anyone. She just wanted her family—these women surrounding her—to thrive and be happy and fulfilled.
Lilly nodded. “I don’t believe it, either. Money is far more important than social status.”
“I agree,” Bess chimed in.
