Page 14 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

“You won’t tell anyone…” Macey gulped. “Your Grace, I beg you, forgive me.”

“Run along, I said.”

Macey ran along.

Leo shook his head and sighed. Not yet thirty and already addressing younger men as “my dear boy.”

It occurred to him, as he eased through the crowd, that if Miss Macey accepted his suit, he would assume some responsibility for her fool of a brother. Or not: The lad was twenty-one, which was old enough to tidy up his own mess.

Leo knew a lot about tidying up one’s mess.

The old feeling bit him: that sense of failure where Erika was concerned. Their marriage had been foolish, impulsive, reckless, but he had been well beyond caring at the time. At first, he and Erika shared similar tastes: They had both enjoyed getting drunk and indulging in raucous diversions. But by the time they returned to England, Leo was bored with endless entertainment, while Erika was bored by everything that wasn’t endless entertainment.

You misled me,she had said.About the sort of man you are.

His second marriage would succeed, he vowed. Not just for the Foundation, but for his title, his family, his future heirs. For his wife, for himself.

If he was fortunate enough to win Miss Macey’s hand, he would make their marriage work, whatever it took.

* * *

Susannah Macey,who knew balls as a bird knew trees, had come armed with a beautiful fan, which she spread wide as they spoke. It was hand-painted with yellow daffodils and green swishes, the perfect complement to the yellow flowers and vines embroidered over the bodice of her white gown, and the braided green-and-gold headdress tucked into her pile of sable-brown hair.

The fan served three purposes, as far as Leo could tell: to fashion a cooling breeze, to demonstrate her taste and wealth, and to inspire conversation.Hisconversation in particular, he suspected. Conceited of him, perhaps, but in his defense, he was a duke, and while his title was of no interest to, say, an artist, it would be very interesting indeed to the nineteen-year-old granddaughter of an earl.

“That fan is exquisite,” he said dutifully.

Though it, too, failed to spark his ardor. Perhaps it was simply his mood these days, and he could not blame a fan for that.

Besides, itwaslovely. Miss Macey had excellent taste. That was, her taste mostly aligned with his, and everyone knew the best taste was that which aligned with one’s own.

She turned the fan this way and that, twirling its emerald-green tassel between the gloved fingers of her other hand.

“I thought you might like it,” she said. “It is hand-painted by a very talented woman in Spitalfields. I had wondered…” She hissed in a little breath, then added in a rush, “If she mightn’t be a candidate for a grant from the Dammerton Foundation.”

He smiled. “Certainly worth considering.”

The fan snapped shut. “Last time we spoke, you mentioned plans to expand the Foundation’s work. More education, apprenticeships, and markets, I believe?”

“If possible, though it will require a very large sum.”

He looked at her. She looked at him.

Susannah Macey would bring to her marriage twenty-five thousand pounds. Leo knew she had twenty-five thousand, and she knew he knew, because not all gossip was useless.

“A gentleman as resourceful as yourself will no doubt find a way to secure that sum,” she said. “The Dammerton Foundation does such admirable work, I’m sure you’ll not have to look far to find someone willing to be part of it.”

She held his gaze for a stitch longer than was proper.

Well. That sounded remarkably like an invitation to make a marriage proposal. Worded very subtly, and as a business transaction, but Susannah Macey was surprising that way.

“Indeed,” she went on, more confidently now, “I have been thinking of other skilled craftsmen and women who might benefit. Forgive me for being forward, but I was so inspired as to make a list of criteria.”

“How fortuitous,” he said. “I too have a list of criteria.”

Her face lit up. “I do adore a good list. There’s nothing quite so satisfying as imposing order on the world, don’t you find?”

“Order,” he repeated. “That is itprecisely.”

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