A Match Made On Duchess Square (The Silver Duchesses #3)

Chapter One

Duchess Square

Mayfair, London

“He’s a beast, Gwendolyn! I tell you, an utter beast!”

The fragrant scent of roses filled the gentle air as James Milbury, Marquess of Milbury, stepped down from his barouche along with his sons onto Duchess Square on this pleasant afternoon in June.

The sun shone brightly on the charming enclave of neatly maintained homes that had grown familiar to him from his prior visits.

But his attention was on the residence belonging to Lady Gwendolyn Carstairs, the young woman who was about to box his ears.

And with good reason, he supposed upon hearing the angry voice emanating from Lady Gwendolyn’s open parlor window.

“He is heartless! Callous!”

James recognized the shrill voice as that of Lady Felicity Merriweather, who happened to be neither felicitous nor merry at the moment.

“An utter beast!” Felicity repeated, as though Gwendolyn had not heard her clearly the first time.

His fault, of course.

“You said Milbury was a gentleman! But he is a complete rotter!”

Unfortunately, Gwendolyn was the innocent recipient of Felicity’s ire despite her being completely blameless.

Indeed, James knew he was the one who deserved this set-down. Only a mild one, however. He had called upon Felicity three times, had never laid a hand on her, and ultimately decided she would not suit him or his boys.

He’d simply and quietly stopped calling upon her.

This was his vile crime, he supposed.

“Oh, Papa. You’re in big trouble now,” said his youngest son, Robert, a young man of remarkable perception despite his tender years.

He was only ten years old.

“I know, son.” James paused in front of the white stone house with an ocean-blue door and red roses climbing along trellises on either side of the doorway that made for a welcoming entrance.

The elegant residence was as appealing to him as its owner, Gwendolyn Carstairs, and a reflection of her charming disposition. He noticed the lacy parlor curtains being drawn aside and saw her frowning at him as he and his boys approached.

Ah, yes.

Those dark curls and lovely aquamarine eyes were unmistakable.

So was the tension in Lady Gwendolyn’s pursed lips that would have been smiling back at him were she not so peeved.

He turned to his sons. “Jordan and Robert, I need you to be on your best behavior.”

Both boys stared up at him with innocent eyes of moss green similar to his own. But his had a cynical darkness to them, while theirs had a softness that could deceive everyone into believing they were angels.

“We will, Papa,” his eldest, thirteen-year-old Jordan, said earnestly. “But you’re the one who’s got himself in trouble with Lady Gwendolyn, so you had better do the same.”

“Yes, Papa,” Robert agreed. “You’ll have some groveling to do now that you’ve rejected yet another of her candidates.”

“With good reason,” James muttered in his own defense. “Do you not hear Lady Felicity shouting?”

She had tried to hide her true nature from him behind a false smile and a pretense at sweetness, but he had not been fooled.

“She was nice to me and Robert the one time we met her,” Jordan said, casting him a chiding look.

James merely arched an eyebrow, for he did not want his boys to know what the woman had said about his children outside of their hearing.

They could be little devils at times. But they were his devils, and any woman he married would have to accept them wholeheartedly.

Nor did he like that Felicity had purposely encountered him and his boys “by happenstance” on a London street and proceeded to insincerely fawn over them.

He had been adamant about not introducing any of his marital prospects to his sons until he was ready to do so, and considered Felicity’s obvious attempt little more than a calculated ambush. “Whose side are you on? Have I not been a good parent?”

“The best,” Jordan said, “but we are not the ones you need to sway. We already love you. It is the ladies presented to you by Lady Gwendolyn that you ought to be trying to win over instead of dismissing them out of hand.”

Robert nodded. “Lady Gwendolyn has been ever so patient with you, but you’ve rejected all the young ladies she has put forward so far. One was too tall. One was too short. Another had a laugh that irritated you.”

“Well, she did,” James retorted in a grumble.

Jordan rolled his eyes. “Don’t forget the one whose hands were too big.”

Robert nodded again. “And another whose feet were too big.”

“Or the one you claimed wore too much perfume and made you sneeze.” Jordan wrinkled his nose. “Well, I cannot blame you for that one. But I think you are mostly making up excuses because you do not really wish to remarry.”

Perhaps his sons were right, for James had come up with the most paltry of excuses to dismiss several ladies who were considered ton diamonds in their day.

But did he not have the right of it with Lady Felicity? She was not yet finished railing at poor Gwendolyn. “He’s beastly!”

Got it.

I’m a beast.

Hence, Lady Gwendolyn’s frown as she watched him descend from his carriage and march up the front walk with his boys.

“Your Lordship,” her butler said, inviting him in while trying not to look distressed by the one-sided battle royale going on in the parlor. “Lady Gwendolyn is expecting you.”

“I’ll bet she is,” James muttered. “Thank you, Biggs.”

He was about to suggest his boys wait outside for the moment when the parlor doors suddenly burst open and Felicity sailed out in a tempestuous huff. “You!”

She knocked him out of the way, snarled at his boys, and stormed out.

Gwendolyn had not been far behind Felicity, but paused in the parlor doorway, her face slightly ashen after the dressing-down she had just endured. “Another successful match,” she remarked dryly, upon spotting James.

This was her polite way of indicating she was not amused and he was not likely to leave this visit unscathed.

James and his boys entered the parlor as she waved them in.

She stared at him with a look of impatience and folded her arms across her chest, which only served to accentuate the shapeliness of her bosom that was rising and falling with pronounced splendor in her agitation.

“What is it this time? She had a moustache? Cursed like a sailor? Smacked her lips while she ate? Too dull? Too lively? Laughed too much? Did not laugh enough?”

“Of course not.” He tried to ignore the heavenly heave of Gwendolyn’s bosom, but it was an impossible sight for any man with breath left in him overlook.

Not that his response signified anything.

He should not have been noticing. Why was he suddenly noticing how pretty she was?

She shook her head. “Then what could the reason be this time? You have used every excuse imaginable to find these perfectly lovely ladies unsuitable for you.”

He had no answer for this.

A gust of breath escaped her lips as she motioned for them to be seated. “Well, I suppose you had some cause about Felicity. She shouted at me for ten minutes straight before you arrived. Dear heaven. My ears are still ringing. We’ll discuss this latest fiasco over tea.”

James waited for her to take a seat on her blue silk settee before he sank into a blue-and-white-striped, cushioned chair beside her.

Robert scrambled to sit beside Gwendolyn, almost knocking over the tea cart laden with teapot, cups, cakes, and buttered bread that Biggs had just rolled in, in his zeal to claim that seat of honor.

Jordan grunted and plunked himself in the chair beside his own.

“Boys, would you prefer lemonade?” Gwendolyn asked with remarkable poise, pointing to a glass pitcher that was also on the cart.

James noticed she had set out hot cross buns, ginger cake, and maids of honor, three favorites of his boys, although they were growing by leaps and bounds and would likely devour anything placed before them that had the misfortune to move too slow.

“Yes, Lady Gwendolyn. I’d love a lemonade,” Robert said, casting her a loving glance. “And may I say what a pleasure it is to see you? You look quite lovely. Is that a new frock?”

The lad was laying it on a bit thick, wasn’t he?

James tossed him a look of caution.

But Gwendolyn did look lovely in her gown of rose silk that enhanced the light blush on her cheeks. He was pleased to see the color return to her face as Robert, in his own inimitable way, charmed her.

A soft laugh escaped her lips. She rolled her eyes at James, for she did enjoy his boys and seemed to have endless patience for them. “Thank you, Robert. Yes, it is new. How kind of you to notice.”

“I’ll have an ale,” Jordan said.

James gave him a light tap on the head. “Don’t be a smart mouth.”

Gwendolyn gave another lilting laugh. “Perhaps in another five years, Jordan. But I do admire your temerity in asking. Now, as for your father…”

James knew he was the problem and felt truly remorseful for this.

After all, Gwendolyn had agreed to assist him in his wife hunt as a favor to her dear friend Fiona, now Duchess of Durham.

She was not charging him a fee for her matchmaking endeavors, which only made him feel worse because she had been so generous with her time.

He hoped Felicity was the only marital prospect who had invaded Gwendolyn’s home and shrieked at her like a banshee. He dared not ask, for he already felt terrible about this incident and would feel worse if others had done the same.

He resolved to interrogate Biggs in a quiet moment to get his answer.

“I think,” Gwendolyn started, her lips pursed once again as she gave thought to his situation, “that we are failing in our quest because you are meeting these ladies here in London and not in your familiar surroundings.”

James accepted the cup of tea she now handed him. “What do you mean?”

“It is time for more drastic measures.”

“Such as?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as though knowing he was not going to like her plan. “You will be leaving shortly for your Milbury Hill estate, will you not?”

He nodded.

“Fiona tells me it is quite lovely, a perfect place to host a summer house party.”