Page 62 of To Break the Rules

But.

She felt nothing for him. He was everything she’d hoped for, and yet….

Nothing.

It wasn’t the fact he was a Cit, either. She wasn’t a snob in the least. In fact, she admired him. Any man who could overcome the circumstances of his birth and make such an astonishing success of himself deserved accolades and acknowledgment. The ranks of the ton ought to welcome him with open arms, and their disdain made her furious. No. It wasn’t that.

Her eyes drifted to the orchid sitting on her dressing room table. The dratted thing was impossible. No one seemed to know what to do to care for it and she felt certain she’d end up killing it. It was so damned perfect, she thought with a sudden burst of fury. If it died, she’d be mortified. She ought to have sent it back the moment it had arrived. She’d meant to, only… only she’d seen nothing so beautiful in her life before and she’d wanted it for herself.

She could ask Montagu, of course, except that she’d rather bite her own tongue off.

Why did he do this to her?

There was Mr Burton, the perfect gentleman, doing everything right, and there was Montagu.

He was rude, insulting, arrogant, and—not to forget—the reason no gentleman of status could contemplate marrying her.

Mr Burton was offering her marriage.

Montagu was offering to ruin her completely.

Yet his inconsiderate gift of a stunningly expensive plant that was doomed to die in her care had affected her far more than any of Mr Burton’s far more practical and plentiful bouquets.

She put her head in her hands and groaned.

“You’re such a fool, Matilda Hunt.”

A knock at the door jolted her out of her dark musings and she hurried to answer it.

Lucia was there, flushed and a little dishevelled, her face alight with happiness.

“Oh!” Matilda squealed, clapping her hands together.

“He proposed,” Lucia said, sounding a little stunned.

“And?” Matilda demanded, hardly daring to breathe.

“And… I said yes.”

Chapter 18

St Clair,

I wonder if I might trouble you to attend me Monday afternoon. You see, I am to be married and find myself in need of a best man …

―Excerpt of a letter from Rt. Hon. Silas Anson, Viscount Cavendish, to Rt. Hon. Jasper Cadogan, Earl of St Clair.

1stAugust, 1814.Cavendish House, The Strand, London

Silas tutted as he watched Fred preparing to shave him. The fellow hadn’t been able to stop grinning since Silas has confided his news on Saturday.

“Good heavens, man. You’ve had a day and a half to get used to the idea, must you keep smirking like that?”

“Reckon so, my lord,” the fellow said, chuckling as he mixed up a nice thick lather. “I mean, I don’t like to say I told you so, but—”

“Oh, you can laugh,” Silas said, letting out a breath and tilting his head back to allow Fred to slather the foam over his face and neck. “Honestly, I’m too happy to care.” He paused for just a beat before adding, “Besides which, rumour has it you and Mrs Winston are walking out together. Reckon you’ll be following in my footsteps with my housekeeper in a matter of weeks, don’t you?”

To his delight, Fred went a quite remarkable shade of red before flipping open the razor with a little more flourish than was necessary.