Page 4 of The Icy Duke Claims a Bride

If Lord Sedgehall had his way, Jemima would have been married off to the first rich man who asked for her hand last year. Thankfully, in Catherine’s eyes, Jemima was a hopeless romantic who wished to marry for love. With or without his coalmine, the boorish and distinctly unromantic Sir Arthur stood no chance.

Despite her father’s best efforts, Jemima had been equally unpersuaded to entertain the widowed and elderly Duke of Solforth or the rakish Lord Edward Fitzsimons, who was known to keep a string of mistresses from the demi-monde.

“Husbands are rather more important than plays, Catherine,” Lord Sedgehall persisted. “I’d like to know how Jemima found today’s callers. There are things she should know about their backgrounds if any of them are serious prospects. She should marry sooner rather than later, for the sake of my finances as much as anything else. Your dowries might be worth even less next year.”

“What Jemima needs to know is that all men are beasts and that all wives are likely to be at least moderately unhappy in life,” Catherine countered coolly and dismissively, taking no notice of the way her father winced at her words. “Our role is surely to help her make the least bad choice of husband.”

“Don’t be such a misery-guts, Catherine.” Jemima smiled, coming to perch on the arm of her older sister’s chair and patting her shoulder. “You might be five-and-twenty, but there’s still time for you to fall in love, too. One of these days, you might meet a man who changes your mind about marriage. You might even be happy about it.”

“You’re too old to believe in fairytales, Jemima,” Catherine answered but with a smile of true affection for her youngersibling. “Just don’t let Father pressure you into anything you don’t want.”

“Pressure her? I’m trying to smooth her path in the world—and yours, too, Catherine,” Albion retorted crossly, at odds once again with his eldest daughter. “What would your mother have said…”

“Don’t you dare talk to us about Mother!” Catherine snapped, sitting forward as though she would leap from her chair.

It would be more than she could bear today to hear her father talk about their mother as if he had really ever known or cared about her. Catherine knew the truth about their marriage, even if Jemima did not. She was not prepared to absolve her father of his past, even if he pleaded good motives in the present.

Lord Sedgehall quickly held up his hands in surrender, recognizing that he had touched a sore point for his oldest daughter, although he didn’t understand the anger in her green eyes. Then, he turned abruptly back towards the window with a puzzled frown.

“Is that another carriage drawing up? Good God, who is it now?”

“It’s another suitor,” Jemima noted excitedly, stepping up beside her father. “I wonder who?”

“Not another one!” Catherine groaned. “Send him away, Father, whoever he is. Surely we must have some time to ourselves today.”

“He’s wearing a black coat, and his top hat is pulled down,” Jemima continued. “I can’t quite make out his face. Oh! He’s wearing a mask of some sort, I think. How intriguing. I really don’t know who it could be. Do you know, Father?”

Lord Sedgehall shook his head at his youngest daughter and squinted again through the glass. “So many of these young men look the same to me, Jemima. You may focus on their physiques, but I am more interested in their assets. Together, we will find you the right match, I’m sure.”

Catherine made a further sound of derision as she reluctantly slipped her feet back into her shoes and stood up again.

“Your hair, Catherine!” Jemima suddenly exclaimed, realizing that her older sister’s locks were tumbling around her face in utter disarray.

“Oh, never mind my hair,” Catherine replied. “It’s you all these men are here for, after all. My disheveled state will simply make you look all the more elegant and composed by comparison. And if this latest caller is put off by my appearance, perhaps we can finally get some peace in this house.”

Lord Sedgehall frowned at his elder daughter and pointed to the door, signaling that Catherine should be quiet now, lest the visitor in the hallway overhear her words. For Jemima’s sake,she nodded in agreement and waited in silence as footsteps approached the drawing room.

A moment later, their butler, Elford, opened the door and presented Lord Sedgehall with a card on a silver tray. While Albion still appeared puzzled, he nodded to the butler, who then showed in a tall, well-built young man with a shock of dark hair and deep blue eyes.

As Jemima had observed, their latest visitor was indeed wearing a half-mask of black silk on his face. While there was a smile on the man’s lips, it seemed somewhat forced, and his jaw was tense.

“The Duke of Redbridge,” Elford announced and then backed out of the room with a bow, closing the door behind him.

“Lord Sedgehall, I am sorry to call on you without prior notice, but I am rarely in London and might not have another opportunity for some time.”

The newcomer’s tone was stiff and formal as if delivering a prepared speech, and his manner was no more personable, in Catherine’s view. He certainly did not look or sound like a suitor. More like a particularly stern mourner at a funeral.

“You are very welcome here, Your Grace,” Albion assured, ringing the bell for tea to be brought. “I recall that my father and your grandfather were as close as brothers once upon a time. I am only too glad to see these ties continue into the youngergenerations. May I present my daughters, Miss Catherine Wright and Miss Jemima Wright.”

Catherine and Jemima both curtsied at their father’s cue and then returned to regarding the Duke of Redbridge with silent curiosity. After a cursory glance and a nod to each of them, the Duke’s eyes flicked straight back to Lord Sedgehall.

This evident sign of disinterest piqued Catherine’s curiosity, despite her wish for peace from visitors. Wasn’t Jemima the prettiest and most lovable girl in London? Didn’t her white muslin dress enhance her figure to perfection, just as her ringlets set off her sweetly dimpled face? Her younger sister deserved more than a passing nod from this arrogant nobleman, regardless of the purpose of his call.

“How is your grandmother faring, Your Grace?”Albion inquired, motioning for the Duke to take a seat. “I saw the Dowager Duchess of Redbridge at a Haydn recital last week but did not have the chance to speak with her.”

“My grandmother is very well, Lord Sedgehall. As ever, she has the energy of four women half her age.”

“Ah, you should have seen her in her prime, Your Grace. Your grandfather always said that he wished he could take her to war with him to scare away the enemy.”

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