Page 6 of The Duke Meets His Match

“I wasn’t referring to your age, Susan, and I won’t have you making light of yourself. You are my beautiful, clever daughter, and Lady Walmsley will enjoy spending time with you—of that I have no doubt. When I spoke of nonsense, I was referring to your unmarried state.Youknow as well as I that it has been of your own choosing. You’ve had suitors—”

“You would like Lady Walmsley,” Susan said, cutting Mama off before she could go too far down that particular conversational path. “She has an abundance of vitality for a woman of her years that I find admirable. Much like yourself.”

“None of whomyou gave the slightest encouragement,” Mama continued undeterred.

Susan sighed. How many times must they talk about this? “Mama, I know you mean well, and perhaps this invitation from Lady Walmsley has raised yourhopes, but, as I have told you on countless occasions, there is nothing that soundsmore unappealing to me at present than marriage merely for marriage’s sake.”

“Can you look upon your brothers’ and sisters’ happiness and not yearn for what they have?” Mama asked.

“I am exceedingly grateful that my married siblings have found love andhappiness. We had the best examples of that growing up, you know,” Susan said, giving Mama a hug. Susan herself had yet to meet an honorable man who could hold her interest for longer than five minutes—certainly none of the suitors she’d had during the first years after her come-out had done so, except for—well, she wouldn’t think about that single near disaster that had been Lord Frome. Howwas she to tolerate a lifetime of being shackled to someone who was her intellectualinferior? The answer was simple: she wouldn’t. As an unmarried woman, she was still her own person, not some man’s property to do with as he pleased. “I cannot help it if all of the gentlemen I have met have left me cold.”

An image of fiery dark eyes flashed across her mind and then was gone.

“What’s the matter?” Mama asked, looking at her with concern.

Susan shook off her reaction to the image. “Nothing. I’m fine,” she said, smiling with what she hoped looked like reassurance. “Now, believe me when I tell you that I am perfectly content to live my life here with you and Papa and play the doting daughter, sister, and aunt.”

“I can still hope, for your sake, can’t I?” Mama said.

“I cannot stop you, but I’m afraid your bluestocking daughter is only enthusiastic about London because of the history being made. I doubt there is any gentleman in Town who will be able to compete with that.”

“I shall pray you are wrong,” Mama replied.

Susan chuckled. Mama was such an optimist.

Susan, however, was not.

***

A slight knock on his library door interrupted the work George was doing with his private secretary, Benjamin Henshaw. “Come,” George said, still perusing the documents Henshaw had placed before him.

The door opened. “Mr. Dutton is here to see you, Your Grace,” George’s butler, Talbot, said.

“Dutton?” George said, finally looking up. “I wasn’t expecting him. Did he give a reason for his visit?”

“No, Your Grace,” Talbot said.

As annoying as Dutton could be at times, the family solicitor didn’t normally show up on George’s doorstep willy-nilly like this. He glanced at his secretary.“That’ll be all for now, then, Henshaw.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” Henshaw scooped up the documents, bowed, and left the library.

“Show Dutton in, Talbot,” George said.

Talbot bowed and left.

George inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. The past several months had been trying ones, and Dutton’s showing up like this portended more of the same.

“Mr. Dutton, Your Grace,” Talbot announced, preceding the attorney into the room.

“Have a seat, Dutton,” George said, gesturing toward the chair Henshaw had previously occupied. “Apparently, you have something of import to share; otherwise, you would not be here.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Dutton said, sitting as instructed. “And you are correct.”

Talbot exited quietly and shut the door.

George watched as the man opened his leather case, removed a folder of documents, and began riffling through them. “I’m waiting,” George said in a soft tone not intended to be soothing.

“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” Dutton said. “I know your time is valuable.”He handed George one of the papers from the file. “As you are aware, for awhile now, I have had my clerk researching your family line, in the hopes of locating your heir—your presumptive heir, that is, should you—”

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