Page 2 of The Unwanted Duchess

Samantha waited for her father to say something. She waited for him to explode, then drag her back to the carriage, and then somehow make the entire situation her fault.

He did not.

“I am sorry that you feel that way,” he said instead. “I understand that gentlemen in my position might be seen a certain way, Your Grace, but I intend to change that. I am simply here to see a partner in business, and my dear daughter enjoys socializing and so was overjoyed to receive an invitation. There is nothing more to it.”

Samantha should have been surprised by her father’s lack of anger, but she was instead preoccupied by the way her father had addressed the man. It would appear that she had seen him incorrectly in terms of title.

“Father, His Grace is right,” she nodded. “If that is his first impression of us, then he is quite within his rights to see us in such a manner.”

“Yes, of course,” her father agreed. “But you and I will change his mind with time, yes?”

“Yes, for we are not what he thinks.”

This was not quite true, of course, for her father did truly intend to find a match for her, but the supposed duke had insulted her family, and even if her father was going to stand for it, she certainly was not going to.

“It is a shame, though,” she continued, “that His Grace will not be capable of the same thing.”

“Are you suggesting that your first impressions of me will not change?” the Duke asked, almost sounding bored, as if he had had such a conversation before.

“They already have, given that with the way you carry yourself, I had assumed you to be a butler rather than a duke.”

At that, she seemed to have his attention.

“And let me be clear, Your Grace, that even if I were here to find a husband, I certainly would not be interested in you in the slightest. I prefer gentlemen that have even a hint of humility, even with titles that they value so much. In truth,with a countenance such as yours, you will dissuade even the most determined. If I were you, I would not be too concerned with ladies wanting to marry me and far more preoccupied with making myself seem more like a duke than a servant.”

Not all of her anger was towards the Duke. A rather large amount was that she had been dragged away for a party that she did not wish to attend, but the Duke had been the one to send her over the edge, and she could not truly feel remorse for her response.

“If you believe me to be a servant,” the Duke said quietly, gesturing to himself, “you either have an extremely high standard for your own servants, or you simply do not spend much time in the company of those with higher ranks, and I can quite easily assume which would be true.”

“Is that so? Because I shall have you know that my sister is a duchess herself, and her husband has never been mistaken for such a thing, nor have I ever doubted his position.”

“All the more reason for you to be here for a husband. It must sting to have a sister be so successful and be a failure yourself.”

“I am not a failure. I shall have you know that I —”

She cut herself off before she could reveal that she had rejected that same duke; it would only provide him with more reason to mock her family.

“I simply have other priorities,” she said instead.

“What other priorities could someone such as yourself have? Do not tell me that you are simply so invested in watercolors and pianoforte that you never thought to take a husband.”

“The more time spent around men such as yourself, the more the idea entices me.”

“Samantha!” her father snapped. “Do forgive her, Your Grace. She is overtired from the journey, that is all.”

The Duke raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief, and Samantha had to admit that he was right to do so. It was a weak excuse, and it clearly was not going to work.

“Ah, I suppose that makes sense,” the Duke said suddenly, but Samantha could see his wicked grin. “Lady Samantha, should you agree with your father, then I shall forgive you.”

She did not agree with her father, nor did she care for his forgiveness. In an ideal world, she would simply turn on her heel, return to the carriage, and take it all the way to Diana’s home and hide there forever.

Then again, she had learned her lesson about doing that.

Before she could respond, however, she saw the look in her father’s eye. He was warning her, instructing her to swallow herpride and apologize and placate, placate, placate so long as the Duke stayed happy.

“I do,” she said quietly, “agree with my father, that is. My apologies, Your Grace, for I am simply overtired.”

“Very well. I forgive you.”

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