Page 6 of Distracting the Duke

As the door closed on his guests and Hicks began the task of rendering him fit to be seen, Marcus tried to make sense of the myriad thoughts flying about his mind.

He was a duke now. A duke must marry and produce an heir. His own parents hadn’t married for love—his wealthy mother had married for the title, his father to ensure the Albemarle succession and the family finances. Consequently, they’d fought frequently over money. Marcus’s father had wanted to save it, to the point of obsession. His mother felt that, having brought wealth into the family, she should be entitled to purchase nice things for herself. Lots of them.

Marcus had absolutely no intention of allowing his own marriage to be a battleground, hence his interest in only the most docile of women.

A sharp pain at the side of his nose brought him back to the present.

“Have a care, Hicks!”

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I think you’re clean enough to change shirts now.”

As Marcus raised his arms to have the old shirt peeled off, he recalled his earlier conversation with Snetty.

Yes, a duke must choose his duchess wisely and well. Marcus craved domestic felicity after the cold and distant upbringing he’d endured. No child of his would ever suffer as he had.

And he planned to sire many children. Princess Charlotte’s death in childbed had brought home to everyone the fragility of human existence, and had, Marcus was certain, inspired other gentlemen like himself to speed the process of settling down and producing offspring to manage their estates after them.

As he let Hicks help him back into his evening coat, Marcus’s thoughts moved closer to home. Snetty had been talking about a friend of his, Lord Ansford, whose wife had died young, turning the heartbroken fellow into a recluse. She’d clung to life just long enough to produce an heir, even if it was only a female.

The clock was ticking, Marcus thought as he tugged at his fresh cravat and examined himself in the looking glass held up by Hicks. His thirtieth year was fast approaching, and the Albemarle finances were probably secure enough for him to settle down and start work on his nursery. An heiress would not do any harm, either, but she’d have to be very different from his mother.

Tucking a clean handkerchief into his pocket, Marcus thought about Clara Tinniswood. His opinion of her as a bluestocking hadn’t changed. She was too clever and too forthright and would never make anyone a comfortable wife. No wonder Lord Tinniswood had gained such a reputation for drinking and whoring, with a harpy like Lady Clara awaiting him at home.

Miss Eleanora Soper, on the other hand, would certainly be worth coming home to. He tested out the name as he strode back down the passageway. Eleanora, Duchess of Ulvercombe. It sounded good.

He smiled as he entered the ballroom, to the audible relief of all the match-making mamas. He would see Miss Soper on Saturday and would relish the challenge of finding a way to get the young lady alone.

Because, thus far, he hadn’t even managed to dance with her. There was so much he needed to know before pursuing her openly.

Did she, for example, smell pleasant? He’d encountered several females who smelled like foxes when they perspired. Had she good teeth and sweet breath? He needed to get close to find out. Was her skin naturally clear and her complexion healthy, or was she covered in face powder? He must also establish if—God forbid—the blond hair was actually a wig.

Right—it was decided. He would greet the Westons in the atrium beneath the oculus, the spot that afforded the best light in Kessington. He’d get a good enough view of Miss Soper to answer some of his questions. He suddenly remembered the camera obscura located on his roof. It was just large enough to fit himself and one other person. That would bring him into perfect proximity with Miss Soper.

He might even venture a kiss…

Right, all he had to do was get through the rest of this damnable evening and try not to be jealous of all Miss Soper’s dancing partners.

And it might be wise to stay away from the belligerent Philip Weston and his censorious sister, Clara Tinniswood. Especially her. The woman was trouble. She unsettled him in ways he didn’t understand…and didn’t want to think about.

Yes, he must avoid Clara Tinniswood at all costs, if he were to keep his equanimity. And his plans to court Miss Soper.

Chapter Five

Marcus smiled warmly at his pretty guest. “So, Miss Soper, what do you think about this so-called Bill of Pains and Penalties?”

“I…I c-can’t say I have an opinion,” the girl stammered uncertainly.

Excellent.

This was a good start to the visit he’d waited for on tenterhooks all week. A woman with few opinions would make a splendid duchess.

“I don’t suppose our opinions much matter,” said Weston gloomily, cutting into a tart of cured pork and cranberries. “Not being of the nobility.”

“But you should be able to influence your local representative, Mr. Weston,” Marcus suggested, feeling a twinge of annoyance. A man, unlike a woman, should take pride in his views and his knowledge of important matters.

“Unfortunately, I detest our M.P.”

“Ah.”