A Duchess By Request (The Quinten Sisters #2)

Chapter 1

“Wanted: A lady of impeccable breeding, robust health, and practical temperament,” Lady Marlow gleefully read from the Morning Post’s latest matrimonial advertisements. “How interesting...”

Her voice rose an octave with each word as she peered at the newspaper, her spectacles sliding down the bridge of her nose. She and two of her granddaughters, Madeline and Portia, were in the drawing room, tending to their embroidery.

“The Duke of Huntington seeks a duchess of marriageable and procreational age, capable of managing a household and guiding children in need of firm direction. Applications to Mr. Langdon,” the Baroness continued, looking at the advert with such satisfaction that one would think she was considering applying.

“How unromantic!” Madeline Quinten, her eldest unwed granddaughter at one-and-twenty, curled her lips in distaste. “Of procreational age? That is the least appealing thing I have ever heard in my entire life.” She frowned at her embroidery hoop as she lost her train of thought.

Where was I again? She inspected her silk threads. Green. Red. All right.

“I do not see why. It is perfectly sensible,” Lady Marlow said, smoothing the paper over her knee with great satisfaction. “A man of his station has no time for romance. He knows precisely what he requires.”

“He looks for a wife in the same way some people look for a head butler. At least a butler can escape. A wife will have to stay and provide heirs in such a... sterile union,” Madeline retorted, a shudder rising from her. “Oh, why would anyone wish for—”

“He is a duke, Madeline,” Lady Marlow interrupted, her eyes gleaming with worrisome calculation. “And I find this to be the perfect opportunity.”

While their grandpapa had personally experienced the battlefield, their grandmama would have been a far better strategist, especially when it came to matches.

Madeline was afraid of that fact, one that had played out in full when her sister Cathy was roped into marrying the Duke of Baxter by their scheming grandmama.

It seemed that Madeline was turning into her next target.

“What does it matter that he is a duke if he is unfeeling?” Madeline asked, a little teasingly, smiling at her grandmother.

“Well, he owns forty thousand acres. He is wealthy and smart.”

How her grandmother could call the decision to post an advert in the Morning Post for a wife smart was beyond her.

“He might be all that, but he is not passionate,” Madeline protested, her voice going soft but no less determined.

She knew what she wanted in a marriage, and this duke did not have it.

“There should be a spark before a marriage, should there not? Two souls should feel like they already know each other upon meeting. The man I want to marry shall look at me as if he has never seen anyone quite like me, while I will feel safe and protected in his presence. Meanwhile, this man is merely looking for someone willing to agree to his terms and conditions. That is not romantic at all! What a woman needs is someone who would sweep her off her feet.”

“Sweep her off her feet?” Portia echoed, in the middle of a scoff.

Her eyes were still focused on her heavy book.

Madeline’s younger sister, aged twenty, had no plans to consider marriage.

Her biggest splurges were on books rather than on pretty dresses or ribbons.

She had often commented that she had not found a gentleman her equal in discussion.

“Most women would be so lucky if they were not swept into a ditch with someone like Papa.”

Madeline sighed. Although she was a hopeless romantic, she could not help but see the truth in her sister’s comment. She also feared finding love with a drunk, a gambler, or a rake. Their father had proved to be the first two out of the three, and that was enough chaos for the family.

“Do not mention this worthless Harleigh in my presence. Oh, your poor mother was just like you, God rest her soul. She used to go on and on about love and romance. And look where that got her. Married to that good-for-nothing oaf. If she had listened to me—”

“Grandmama,” was all Madeline could utter, her heart aching. She loved her father dearly, hoping that one day, he would completely change, but she knew he had hurt their family severely with his behavior.

“No, Grandmama is right,” Portia insisted, slamming her book shut. “Real life is not a lovely romance. It is nothing but a series of transactions. I suppose this Duke is wise enough to know this.”

“Still, it is something I could not live with,” Madeline murmured, tilting her chin up. “I believe in love, Portia. I want to find someone who will look at me for me, and not for my dowry, breeding, or ability to handle a household.”

“Oh, you will be looking for that person for a very long time,” Portia countered, shaking her head in disbelief. “Not everyone is as fortunate as Cathy, and she was not exactly in her first Season when she found him.”

“Enough, you two,” Lady Marlow cut through the sisterly bickering.

She smoothed the paper over her knee, almost reverently.

“We cannot afford to ignore an opportunity such as this. Your father is back to his old ways, not long after Cathy’s husband paid off his debts.

We need more security and protection. Lord knows what he will do next to drag our name through the mud! ”

Madeline loved her father deeply. It hurt her to admit that her grandmother might be right about him. She sighed.

“Grandmama, we are now related to the Duke of Baxter. Surely, that would shield us from... some of Papa’s proclivities.”

“Cathy marrying at all was a miracle in itself. However, have you truly heard of anyone experiencing two miracles in a lifetime? I doubt it would happen to us, but we need to secure another strong alliance. This post is a sign. Will either of you consider this marriage advertisement seriously?”

“Not me. I shall be in the library,” Portia announced, raising and hugging her book to her chest. “I will be there for the remainder of the Season. I have no intention of applying for the position even though I find the Duke of Huntington to be of a completely logical mind.”

“Then it must be you, Madeline,” Lady Marlow said, narrowing her eyes at Portia’s back as her third-oldest granddaughter made an exit. “You are the oldest unwed daughter of the family. You are of the right temperament and would meet his requirements. Here, take it and apply.”

“I will not do it, Grandmama,” Madeline argued, her voice trembling.

She took the Morning Post and crumpled the Duke’s advertisement.

She did it slowly, as if she could gently squeeze the possibilities out of it like water from a sponge.

It was not done with rage or rebellion, simply a statement of freedom.

“I want someone to be obsessed with the idea of me, Grandmama. The Duke of Huntington could not be that person, as he is willing to marry any woman who responds.”

“Not any woman,” Lady Marlow muttered. “He will choose from the best ones. Men who host or attend balls are no different. They expect women in the marriage market to attend, and they approach the ones who interest them. The Duke simply wants to save some time by being direct with his requirements. And obsessions about romance will not keep the roof over your head, Madeline. Please think of your sisters. This might be your fourth Season, but think of how this would boost Selina’s debut.

Think of your Grandpapa. The Duke is simply a man with specific requirements. ”

Lord Marlow wandered into the room as if he had been summoned. He walked aimlessly, tufts of hair standing, and his cravat askew. He blinked at his wife and granddaughter, a smile spreading across his kindly face.

“Did someone mention retirements? Were you two ladies talking about me? They say I am retired, but I daresay I would not decline being sent off back to battle, despite my weary knees!” he declared with a big grin.

“We were discussing the requirements of the Duke of Huntington, Norman,” Lady Marlow corrected, sighing.

“Will he require me to be of service?” the elderly baron asked, his eyes twinkling with hope.

Madeline bit her lip to keep herself from smiling. Her grandfather always found ways to make the situation lighter, though she was aware it also meant he was getting older and that his hearing was worse. Such a reminder, though, highlighted the need for her to take care of them.

“It is quite all right, Grandpapa,” she said loudly, patting his arm. “You can rest your weary knees for now. His Grace is not looking for men, at least not at this time. He is... looking for something else.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see her grandmother narrowing her eyes at her.

It was at that very moment that Napoleon, Lord Marlow’s beloved ginger cat, leaped from a sideboard to the table.

His slitted eyes were fixed on the crumpled remains of the Morning Post’s advertisement.

With his lightning-fast paw, he swiped it away.

“No, Napoleon!” Lady Marlow cried as the cat pushed it around as if it were a ball of yarn.

It was too late. The cat’s claws and teeth tore through the advertisement as if it had personally insulted him. Soon, shreds of the paper flew through the air until nothing was left of it but confetti of random words.

“It looks like Napoleon agrees with me. It is a good thing that someone else is sensible enough to know that is all this advert is good for,” Madeline laughed, her chest feeling much lighter.

“It was our only copy of it!” her grandmother exclaimed, her face contorted with horror.

“Then I believe it was fate at play, Grandmama,” Madeline said. Then, she rose from her chair and planted a kiss on Lady Marlow’s cheek.

“You... you! Where are you going, young lady?”

Madeline was already at the door when she paused to grab her bonnet and a light shawl. “I am headed for the park to meet some of the ladies for tea.”

She was also hoping to meet someone there. Someone who did not post adverts in the Morning Post, looking for a wife. Someone who would be looking for love, just like she was.

“What is this? Do I not get a kiss?” Lord Marlow asked, exasperated.

Madeline smiled as she rushed to plant a kiss on her grandpapa’s cheek as well. “I am sorry, Grandpapa. I was in a hurry. I am running late, and the ladies will be expecting me.”

“Will you take long?” her grandmother asked, her tone no longer angry.

That, along with her sly smile, should have been a sign that something was afoot, but Madeline’s mind was in the clouds, eager to meet her friends and share in the latest gossip.

“Perhaps not, but perhaps just enough to find the love of my life,” she murmured, heading out the door.