Page 30 of The Marquess and the Maiden

Harriet nodded.

“In the meantime, Claudine has suggested that they host a ball at their estate, Brookhaven, and you can invite prospective brides for him to meet. If his proposal is nothing more than a jest, as you suspect, then introducing him to other women should solve that problem.”

And if not… The unsaid words hung in the air as if living, breathing things. But she knew she was right. He’d had his chance to marry her, and he’d rejected her. Then he’d said plainly today that he could never love her. His proposal was a joke and nothing more.

“I’ll find him a wife.”

“And I believe you’ll find the love you are seeking. Do not give up yet.”

…

That evening, Oliver found himself back at Benedict’s. He’d stayed away from the gaming tables longer than usual because he’d attended so many balls and parties as of late. Tonight, he would also skip the cards, as he’d returned for more advice.

He waited in Benedict’s private offices, knowing his friend would find him eventually. As expected, it didn’t take Benedict long to enter the room.

“Hiding back here drinking my good Scotch?” He poured himself a drink and took a seat on the opposite end of the large leather sofa.

“I’m tired of people,” Oliver said.

“You have been far more social in the last few weeks,” Benedict said, nodding.

“It turns out finding a wife is damned hard business.” Oliver swirled the glass of Scotch, then took a swallow.

“I thought you’d already selected one,” Benedict said.

“I have. She said no.” He drained his glass. “In fact, she’s said no more than once.”

Benedict laughed a full belly laugh.

“I don’t see the humor.” He didn’t understand any of it. If he didn’t want Harriet so badly, he’d seriously consider retiring to the country.

His friend stood and grabbed the bottle of Scotch and brought it back to the sofa, pouring Oliver another two fingers. “What is your plan now?”

“Evidently, I need to court her.” Oliver leaned his head back and pressed his neck against one of the buttons stitched into the leather.

“She is worth the trouble?” Benedict asked.

“She doesn’t scream or flinch whenever I come near her. She’s intelligent, well read, appreciates the aesthetics of architecture. She’s so damned pretty that if she’s in the room, she might as well be the only one, as none of the other women come into focus.” He glared at the glass in his hand. “This Scotch is making me too damn sentimental. I want the chit in my bed. I know she wants me, too, but won’t admit it.” He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “What can you tell me about courting?”

“What the devil made you come ask me?” Benedict asked.

“You watch people. See more than most.” Oliver shrugged. “I thought it was likely you’d picked up on a few tried-and-true methods.”

“Oliver, you know all about courting. You have forgotten only because the bitch ruined it all for you.”

Oliver snarled. “I saw Catherine the other evening, from across a ballroom.”

“Forget I mentioned her,” Benedict said. “Have you taken your lady riding in the park? Or bought her any presents? Given her flowers?”

“I have done none of those. But they are all decent ideas and wouldn’t require too much of me.” Oliver considered his options. He could buy her practically anything she desired. “Flowers are a good starting place, I should think.”

Benedict held up a finger. “Do not be hasty with your flower choices; you know there is an entire secret language behind each damned bloom, some differentiate by color. It’s all quite tedious.”

Oliver nodded. Yes, he’d heard about the flower meanings. He’d be certain to send her a message she would understand quite clearly. “What about books?”

“If she enjoys reading. Confections is another respectable choice,” Benedict offered.

Oliver was silent for several moments.

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