Chapter 2 #3
Until she noticed him looking. Goosebumps rippled down her arm as a flush raced up her cheeks.
Alexander’s own neck was uncomfortably warm as he broke his gaze and began mumbling incoherently.
“A basket,” he said. “It’ll be sent to your room at once. And a small blanket to put in the basket. And a bowl of water. And a bone—”
At the word bone, the puppy leapt from Miss Finch’s arms and darted off through the well-dressed crowd.
Lady Gertrude vanished after him, with Miss Finch right on her heels, leaving Alexander babbling about his supply of bones to the empty air.
He closed his mouth with a click just as Oswald swung the front door back open.
Her Grace, the Duchess of Nottingvale swept into the cottage.
“Thank God,” Alexander said.
His mother exuded proper decorum from every pore. Her presence would ensure respectable comportment by all parties.
“Oh, Vale,” she said as they exchanged cheek kisses. “How I apologize for the horrid delay.”
“Perfectly understandable,” he assured her. “I arrived this morning, and we’re still missing half of the guests.”
Three-eighths of the guests, to be exact. He’d been checking them off in his head as they crossed the threshold.
“And your sister?” his mother asked. “I presume she’s been an exemplary hostess in my stead.”
“Yes,” he replied without elaborating.
There would be plenty of time later for and she had a torrid affair with my tailor, to whom she’s now betrothed.
Much, much later.
At least, he hoped there was time to find a bride and prove himself utterly above reproach before the scandal sheets tore his family apart.
Mother would be appalled when she learned Belle had prioritized love over her reputation. Mother was the one who had taught Alexander the trick of following society’s rules, no matter what. It was how she had learned to be a duchess, and how he had learned to be a duke.
Entire books had been written on proper comportment, and Alexander had memorized every one. He expected no less from his future duchess.
Mother surveyed the growing crowd. “I suppose you think a fortnight won’t be long enough.”
Yes. That was exactly what he thought.
It was like having to select the right goldfish from a fishbowl of identical goldfish. There was nothing wrong with any of the goldfish, which wasn’t the point at all. A duke was meant to select the best.
Somehow.
By observing two dozen polite, pretty debutantes in an unnatural environment over the course of fourteen days.
“It’ll be easy,” Mother assured him. “You’ll know by Epiphany.”
He certainly prayed for an epiphany.
“They know I intend to announce the betrothal at the Twelfth Night gala?”
“Yes. Choosing your young lady for the first dance will make a lovely statement,” Mother agreed. “She can spend the rest of the ball by your side, as your hostess. Have you anyone in mind?”
“The first carriage just arrived an hour ago.”
“Plenty of time to whittle down the choices.” Mother narrowed her eyes at the milling crowd.
“The Twittington girl is slouching. You don’t want a slouchy duchess.
The Whittleburr chit won’t stop twirling her hair.
I absolutely cannot abide a hair-twirler at the dinner table.
And that one over there...” Mother frowned. “Who is she?”
He turned to look. “That’s Lady Gertrude.”
“Excellent posture,” Mother said, impressed. “She’s neither twirling her hair, nor running on at the mouth like some of these vapid chatterboxes.”
No, Lady Gertrude did not seem the sort to talk a man’s ear off.
“We’ll see,” said the duchess. “Whomever you choose—”
“—must be a credit to the title,” he finished. “I know my duty.”
Alexander had many privileges, but a love match was not one of them. He had a dukedom to consider. A family, whose reputations would be impacted by his choice. Heirs of his own one day, who should be afforded every advantage Alexander could provide.
If having a sister had taught him anything, it was that women could be as strong and as stubborn as any man… and just as scandalous. Alexander had to take great care.
He needed a nice, safe, sweet, predictable bride. A wife he need never worry about, because she would always do the right thing.
“Who is Lady Gertrude with?” asked his mother. “Good heavens! Please tell me the poor dear’s ‘chaperone’ isn’t Miss Cynthia Louise Finch.”
“For the next fortnight,” he answered bleakly.
Or weakly.
He was looking at Miss Finch’s bare arms again and trying not to wonder what her skin would feel like beneath his fingertips.
All he had to do was avoid her.
It shouldn’t be a difficult task. Miss Finch had a long history of sneaking off from his party after Christmas Day to take part in the village’s many festive activities. She appeared to believe no one ever noticed her sly absences.
Mayhap no one did.
No one except Alexander.
He was glad she was such a rude guest. Her disinterest in his company was a boon to them both.
While she was ice-racing or setting off fireworks from the castle turrets, he would be right here selecting the perfect future duchess.