Page 2 of A Virgin for the Duke of Thorns

And now, her father meant for her to secure a match within a week? He had to know that was impossible!

But looking at her father, as frail as he had become, she was all too familiar with that steely resolve in his blue-gray eyes.

“A week then,” she murmured, hanging her head. She lovingly traced the blue veins that were now so prominent on his frail hand. “I shall secure an offer within a week. If not, then I shall rely on you to select a kind husband for me.”

“That’s my brave girl.” Her father smiled at her before a fit of coughing wracked his thin frame once more.

She pressed her lips into a grim smile. “I shall not fail you, Papa.”

“I know you will not, dearest. Now that we have dispensed with that, I think I shall rest,” he rasped, giving her hand another squeeze with none of the strength he possessed just a year ago. “Let your mother know that whatever you require, you may have it.” He smiled at her fondly. “I look forward to your good news, my dear.”

“You shall have it within the week, Papa,” she assured him.

She pressed a soft kiss to his papery cheek and quietly left him to rest. Once she had closed the door behind her, she leaned against it and closed her eyes.

There was nothing like illness to remind a man of his mortality. When her papa fell ill early that spring, they had thought that he would recover in no time, as he always did.

Now, it was not the case.

Her father was right—they were all running out of time, and Alice, as much as she hated to admit it, had probably squandered most of it herself.

Securing a good match for herself would significantly buoy her father’s spirits as well as pave the way for her sister.

The only question was, where was she supposed to find this fabled man that she could tolerate being married to?

* * *

Alice slotted the book onto the shelf with an expression that was a curious mix of irritation and desperation. She had tried reading it for the better part of an hour and gleaned nothing at all from its pages, speaking to her great distraction ever since her father made his demand that morning.

“So, if I am to understand all of this, you must find a suitor and have him ask for your hand in marriage, or the Marquess will select someone for you?” Her best friend, Scarlett, wrinkled her nose. “That does seem worrying.”

“Tell me all about it!” Alice groaned, leaning her forehead against the bookshelf in abject misery. “If I cannot find a man tolerable enough to marry in two years, how will I ever find one within the week?”

“That does sound absolutely Herculean,” Alice’s younger sister, Phoebe, remarked. “And quite unusual for Papa, if I may say so myself.”

The three of them—Alice, Phoebe, and Scarlet—were in the library of Brandon Estate, discussing Alice’s current dilemma.

“Well, Mama tells me that the Viscount Wiltshire has just entered the marriage mart,” Scarlett supplied helpfully. “And according to her, he is possessed of one of the finest estates in all of England, has a rather impressive income, and is exceedingly handsome to boot.”

Alice glanced at her best friend warily. “And why is it that you have not set your sights on him yet if he is as wonderful as you claim him to be?”

The redhead simply smiled sheepishly. “I find him dreadfully boring, you know. Oh, he is a wonderful man, I am sure, and he will make someone very happy, but?—”

“And there is always a but.”

“But he is just not who I see myself with a decade down the line.” She gave a little shudder. “I daresay he would drive me mad within a month. A fortnight, even!”

Ever since she had made her bow three years ago, Scarlett had been the most sought-after young lady in all of London. Her residence in Grosvenor Square had suitors lining up all the way down the street, and every mama bewailed the fact that her daughter could not be half as popular as her.

Fortunately for most of the marriage-minded young ladies of the ton, Scarlett possessed no desire to marry at all and was glad to entertain suitors but never encourage them—or their delusions, as she liked to call them.

Alice had no doubt that if her best friend was ever of the mind to marry, she would be most likely betrothed within a week.

“Well, it is absolutely impossible for me,” she sighed in resignation. “I just hope that whoever Papa selects is someone I can tolerate for the rest of the foreseeable future…”

The three young ladies collectively sighed, but none of them felt the dread more than Alice did.

“Well, you know what that means, then.” Scarlett pursed her lips. “That means that you have one week—exactly one week only—to do everything that you want. To be all that you want before you turn into a boring Society Lady.”

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