Page 10 of His Accidental Duchess

Theodore took a long sip of his brandy and eyed his friend over the rim. “Come on, then. Tell me. You have a point to get at, don’t you? So, let’s hear it.”

“Well, I was reading one of the gossip columns the other day…”

“Oh, good Lord. The high and mighty Duke of Blackwood, reading agossipcolumn? This won’t do anything for your reputation as a haughty and unpleasant young rake, you know.”

“Stop it, you fool. I read the column in private, and anyway, they’re remarkably good for getting information about London. All that stuff in the columns isaccurate, you know. But that’s not the point. There was a great deal about us two, you know.”

Theodore took another sip from his brandy. “So what? We’re single, young, good-looking dukes. Of course, London is interested in us. More to the point, ambitious parents and their grasping young daughters are interested in us. Or, more specifically, in being the next Duchess of Langdon and Blackwood. I have no intention of letting them have their way.”

“I always knew I’d have to marry one day,” Stephen admitted. “But our legacies matter, don’t they? If we have no heirs, our fortunes and estates will be passed on to strangers. And that’s the best-case scenario. If there are no heirs, our titles will become extinct. Of course, when it comes to marriage,youhave many more things to consider. Kitty, for a start.”

“That seems to be worrying you a great deal more than it worries me. Perhaps because you’re the one who pores over all those history books and dusty old genealogies. I myself prefer tolivelife, you know.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “I simply do not know why I try to talk to you about serious matters, Theo.”

Theodore grinned, draining his brandy glass.

The two men had been friends for years. Decades, likely. At the age of thirty—almost!—he had been the Duke of Langdon for nine long years. Stephen had inherited his dukedom on the same night. Their fathers had been close friends and were killed in the same carriage accident. Perhaps that was why Society connected the two so often.

Physically, they were opposites. Stephen was very tall, at least six and a half feet, and he was slim and elegant. He had broad shoulders and a tapering waist, white skin, blue-black hair, fine slate-gray eyes, and the sort of face one might see on a Grecian statue.

Theodore considered himself a moreearthyman. He was tall, just a hand shorter than his friend. He had dark red hair, a deep auburn that could be considered a reddish brown in most lights. He had freckles, but only in the summer, and the body of a farm laborer rather than a duke.

His eyes were blue—the most common color in all of England, it seemed—and his face might have graced the sculpture of an unenthusiastic dilettante. He didn’t enjoy dressing well, and his hair always seemed to be a little too long and unkempt for Society’s liking. At the moment, for instance, it curled down to his collar and was pushed back from his forehead and behind his ears in quick, rough gestures, entirely without pomade or styling.

He couldn’t even remember if he’d brushed it that morning.

“Why are you not at Henry’s wedding, Theo?”

He flinched, the question taking him by surprise. It wasn’t wholly unexpected, though. Stephen knew the story, and they’d all heard the wedding bells that morning.

“Why should I go?” he responded, eyeing his now-empty brandy glass.

Stephen quirked an eyebrow. “Because he’s your younger brother, and he is getting married today.”

“He’s marrying a penniless fool of a girl. He’s bending to the pressure from Society, and no doubt fancies himself a knight in shining armor.”

“The gossip papers could talk of nothing else,” Stephen remarked, getting up to refill their glasses. “The two had apparently been friends for years, and Society gave up all hope of their making a match of it. It seems to be rather sweet. Have you met the girl?”

“No, I have not. You know how I avoid meeting people.”

“True,” Stephen acknowledged, sitting down. “But you ought to take a leaf out of Henry’s book, truly. Kitty is… she’s such a sweet girl, but little girls need their mothers. She’s growing up fast, and I know that raising her has been difficult for you. You need somebody by your side. She needs amother, which means that you need a wife. If I were you, I’d choose a bride this very Season.”

Before Theodore could respond, there was a discreet tap on the door. The butler entered, looking uncharacteristically ruffled.

“Your Grace, there… there is awomanhere to see you.”

Theodore arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“She’s in rather a state, Your Grace. I only admitted her at all because she is… well, you will see.”

“What? For heaven’s sake, Timmins, tell me.”

The butler let out a long, slow breath. “She appears to be abride,Your Grace.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Stephen let out a hoot of triumph. “Well, that’s a sign if ever I heard one! Send her in, Timmins, send her in!”

The girl—thebride—arrived like a whirlwind.

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