Page 2 of The Duke Meets His Match

Soon enough—all too soon—he was dressed impeccably and descendingfrom his carriage at Cantwell Hall, the estate of Christopher “Kit” Osbourne, Earl of Cantwell, who had married Lady Elizabeth Spaulding this very morningand whose wedding festivities George would be joining at the invitation ofCantwell’s brother, Phillip Osbourne.

For George and Phillip had business of the Crown to discuss, and doing it under the guise of a country wedding had been deemed the best approach.

***

Susan Jennings had attended enough weddings to last her a lifetime—yet, here she was, once again, attending another one. But, really, she had only herself to blame. With her wits entirely intact, she had agreed to travel to Oxfordshire with her brother, Lucas, and his wife, Lavinia, to attend the marriage of Lucas’s friend Lord Cantwell to Lady Elizabeth Spaulding.

Susan had grown to love her new sister-in-law, Lavinia, ever since Lucas and Lavinia’s own wedding the previous summer. She was clever, and Susan enjoyed their lively conversations. Lavinia was currently expecting the couple’s first child,and Lucas had thought Lavinia would appreciate having Susan as a femalecompanion for the long journey. Agreeing to accompany them from their home in Lincolnshire to Oxfordshire had sounded to Susan like an agreeable diversionfrom the routine of country life.

However, now that Susan had sat through the wedding, which, she conceded, had been lovely, and had sat through the luncheon that had followed, whichhadbeen delicious, and had mingled and chatted a bit with the many and variedguests, she was ready for a different type of diversion, one that provided peace and quiet away from the crowds and noise and conversations about nothing and everything.

She liked socializing with people well enough, but she had her limits.

Looking about to make sure she wasn’t being observed, she slipped out of the ballroom. She had made a note to herself of where the library was located when she and Lavinia had been taken on a tour of Cantwell Hall after arriving and settling in at Ashworth Park earlier in the week. They had been told by none other than Lord Cantwell himself that he hoped they would make themselves at home during their stay in Oxfordshire and were welcome at Cantwell Hall at any time. Since they’d been in the library when he’d made his pronouncement, she had decided to take Lord Cantwell at his word.

The library was the place Susan would feel most at home anyway.

Its location wasn’t far from the ballroom, where all the wedding celebrationswere taking place. Susan walked down the corridor, her slippers making nosound on the lush carpets. She eventually reached the library, opened the door, and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

She leaned against it and closed her eyes, breathing in the wonderful scent of leather and paper and ink. Her father’s library wasn’t as large as this one, his collection of books modest by comparison, but it held the same familiar smell she was breathing in right now—one that spoke of years gone by, battles fought, science and mathematics and languages, fantastical tales of heroism and romance all written painstakingly on the pages of the tomes within these walls.

She took in a great lungful of air as though it alone would rejuvenate her and then pushed herself away from the door. It was time to wander the shelves and peruse the titles to find a book or two that would pique her interest for the afternoon, until it was time to return to Ashworth Park.

To her immediate right were four comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs cozily arranged with a few small tables where one might place chosen books. Directly in front of her and to her left were rows of bookshelves placed back to back, creating small aisles between them, and the walls of the library were lined with bookshelves as well. It seemed a veritable feast.

Susan started with the row nearest to her.

The first row held science books, and she quickly learned that the bookswere arranged alphabetically by topic and title: primarily agriculture and animalhusbandry, but alongside those were books on astronomy, botany, physics,physiognomy, and the like. Since those subjects, while interesting, weren’t quite what she was in the mood for at present, she continued on.

The next row of shelves dealt with history and appeared to include everythingfrom the Trojan War forward, unless she counted the Bible that she’d spottedsitting on a bookstand near the door, which technically took them all the way back to Adam and Eve. But she had had enough news about the war with the French that she was not inclined to pull any histories from the shelves. And she already studied her Bible on a daily basis.

She continued on through the rows of bookshelves, eventually locating asmall section dedicated to literature, which delighted her. After thumbing throughseveral, she eventually decided upon the novelEvelina, a delightful discovery,and a book of poetry by William Blake and then settled into a small upholstered chair in a back corner of the room—completely hidden and wonderfully solitary. She removed her spectacles from her pocket and put them on and then allowed the words of Blake to weave a soft, musical rhythm in her head.

***

George made it past Cantwell’s butler merely by handing the man his callingcard and glaring at him. From there, it was obvious where the wedding luncheonwas being held simply because one needed only to follow the sounds of theguests coming down the main corridor.

He eventually arrived at the ballroom, not surprised to realize he knew manyof the people present—the Duke and Duchess of Atherton and Lord Bledsoeand his wife appeared to have made the journey from London. George discreetlyavoided the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworth, who were neighbors ofLord Cantwell and were the parents of Lady Louisa, the woman to whom George had been betrothed eight long years ago. He was well over whatever attachmenthe had formed to Lady Louisa, but as he had important work to do today, hedidn’t need the distraction that would come from potentially rehashing events of the past.

Eventually, he spied Phillip Osbourne and subtly caught his attention. Osbourne excused himself from the guests with whom he was speaking and came directly to George.

“You’re here,” Osbourne said.

“As you see,” George replied. “Where do you suggest we talk?” he added in low tones.

“The library,” Osbourne said. “It’s the first door on the left when you take the corridor that runs parallel to this one.”

Before Osbourne could say any more, however, the bride and groomapproached them, and George could tell by the expression on the new LadyCantwell’s face that she was surprised to see him—as, of course, she would be, having not invited him herself.

Lady Cantwell was the image of loveliness and gentility. She was undoubtedlythe most beautiful woman George had ever seen. Her features were as though painted by a Renaissance master: alabaster skin, shining blonde hair, and eyes of the deepest blue. He doubted there was a man alive who, upon beholding her, would not have become her instant admirer. George certainly had. But alas, she had been off the marriage market since childhood, promised to the Marquess of Ashworth’s heir until recently. George had seriously considered marrying Lady Elizabeth when she’d returned to London this Season, despite the disrepute of her father, the Duke of Marwood. But George had taken his eye off the prize—and Cantwell had been the victor.

He nodded to Lord Cantwell and bowed over Lady Cantwell’s hand. “Please forgive me for intruding on your special occasion as an uninvited guest,” he said to her. Cantwell was studying George a bit too closely for his liking.

“He is not entirely uninvited,” Osbourne said in response to his brother’s unasked question. “I extended the invitation to him, you see, and as I’m the brother of the groom, I presumed I could invite a guest if I wished.”

“Aylesham is always a welcome addition,” Lord Cantwell said, still studying George.

George’s fingers instinctively sought out his quizzing glass. “Many thanks,” hereplied. “Lady Cantwell, may I offer my congratulations to you andLordCantwell on your nuptials,” he said. “However, I would be dishonest if I didn’tsay that I am disappointed—or perhapsenviousis a better word. He is anextraordinarily fortunate man. I hope he knows that.”

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