Page 3 of The Icy Duke Claims a Bride

“Read that,” she instructed as she poured the tea. “It’s an agreement made twenty-five years ago between your grandfather and his best friend, the previous Viscount Sedgehall. My maid found it in the drawer of an old desk. I suspect both men were in their cups when they wrote this, but the intention is clear, and from what I know of the Wright family, such an arrangement would still be welcomed.”

With his mask and usual dour expression, it would have been hard for anyone to gauge Hugh’s reaction to the contents of the document. Rebecca waited unblinkingly for his reaction.

“You honestly think that any modern young woman would agree to this arrangement?” he asked finally, looking up at his grandmother’s expectant face.

“Why not? As I’ve already told you, you’re the Duke of Redbridge and a good catch for young ladies in high society, regardless of your oddities.”

“My oddities? My face, you mean…”

“No, I do not mean your face, Hugh Vaughan. I mean your peculiar behavior and contempt for Society. Now, your grandfather and Viscount Sedgehill made a sworn agreement that men in the direct line of descent of either family could claim a bride from the other family if they reached the age of thirty without finding a wife and there were unmarried ladies of marriageable age available.”

“You’re pointing out that I’m now thirty years of age and should claim a bride from the Wright family? This isn’t some Gothic novel, Grandmother,” Hugh scoffed, returning to his tea. “What next? An advertisement in theTimes? Duke in need of a wife…”

“Real life is stranger than any Gothic novel, my boy. You of all people should know that. Well, you are indeed thirty years of age, and there are two unmarried girls in the Wright family. I know for a fact that their father is keen to see them well and safely married. Introduce yourself with this contract, and you could be married to a good woman by Christmas.”

This time, Hugh offered no immediate answer. He was staring off into the distance, or perhaps into the depths of his mind. Wherever he was looking, Rebecca did not wish him to become lost there.

“I believe that both young girls are rather beautiful, and the eldest is reputed to be quick-witted and somewhat outspoken—a good match for any man of intelligence and character.”

“What are their names?” Hugh asked finally.

Rebecca tried hard and just about succeeded in keeping the triumph from her expression as she began to rattle off the two girls’ names and virtues.

“The elder is Miss Catherine…”

CHAPTER TWO

“Goodbye, Lord Skelton. You were most kind to call on us this afternoon. Do not let us detain you any longer,” Catherine Wright said, with only a hint of impatience showing in her clear green eyes.

“Yes, very good to see you, Skelton. Give my regards to your father, won’t you?” her father, the bluff grey-haired Albion Wright, Viscount Sedgehall, added. “I do hope we’ll see your parents at Ascot.”

“Of course,” the slim, fair-haired young man with the face of a choir boy replied. “I also look forward to seeing you at Ascot.”

While he appeared to be responding to Catherine and Lord Sedgehall’s farewells, Lord Skelton’s eyes were actually fixed on the third member of the trio escorting him out of the drawing room of the family’s residence in Mayfair.

Twenty-year-old Jemima Wright smiled brightly at him as he adoringly gazed back at her dimpled face, blue eyes, and golden-brown ringlets.

Catherine almost laughed, knowing that Jemima always smiled that brightly at any personable young man, but then composed herself, not wanting to influence her sister or offend Lord Skelton.

At least Lord Skelton wasn’t staring at her younger sister’s bosom like Sir Arthur Mellish, the third suitor who had called on them that day…

With a sigh, Catherine sank back into the comfortable armchair and closed her eyes as her father and Jemima went to the window to watch Lord Skelton’s carriage depart.

“Let’s hope that was the last of them for today. I’d be happy never to see another eligible bachelor, as long as I live!” Catherine declared.

As she spoke, she kicked off her heeled shoes, loosened the ribbon at the neckline of her cream muslin dress, and removed the pins from her hair. She let the dark blonde waves fall around her shoulders and then shook them out.

Lord Skelton was their fifth caller since eleven o’clock that morning, all of them gentlemen and all of them patently only interested in Jemima, despite declaring they were calling on Lord Sedgehall. They had been studiously polite to Catherine, some even seeming a little scared.

Soft, sweet, vivacious Jemima was as popular in her second Season as she had been in her first the previous year. In contrast, Catherine knew that she was considereddifficult. She took pride in her ability to unnerve the young gentlemen of the ton and ward off any unwelcome suitors.

“Catherine, there’s no need to inflict your peculiar attitudes on your younger sister,” Lord Sedgehall protested wearily, glancing at his pocket watch. “Young women must marry. It is the way of things.”

“I do want to marry, Father,” Jemima piped up. “But I want to marry the right man. Lord Skelton is very sweet, for example, but I’m not sure I could fall in love with him.”

“Lord Skelton comes from a good family and makes six thousand pounds a year. I think he’d make an excellent husband, although if your sister carries on the way she has, you’d better aim for ten thousand. I can’t afford a large dowry for either of you, after all. How did you find Sir Arthur? He has a very profitable coal mine.”

“Oh, let her be, Father,” Catherine said. “Surely we’ve had enough talk about marriage for one day. Can’t we speak about something else? The new French play coming to the Theatre Royal, for example.”

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