Page 68 of Dukes for Dessert

“That you are in search of a wife.” She gave him an exasperated look. “Well, you are.” Frowning at him, she took an irritated sip of madeira.

“And that somehow led to an invitation to a house party that I have no desire to attend.” He made a sound low in his throat before taking another drink of brandy.

“Don’t growl. It’s so off-putting.”

“I don’t growl.”

His mother arched a thick, dark brow, then shook her head, apparently deciding that was a battle she didn’t care to wage. “You should accept the invitation. You do need a wife, and I should think finding one at a small house party in Warwickshire would be far more appealing than attempting the Marriage Mart in London come spring.”

Dare shuddered. He couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do less. His mother was, unfortunately, correct. He did need a wife. Furthermore, he’d been lamenting how he might find one given that he hated, as his mother had put it, social situations.

What if there wasn’t anyone at the house party he would consider marrying? He scrutinized his mother and gave her the credit she was due. “What is the young lady’s name?”

She looked at him in surprise, as if he couldn’t guess she was scheming a particular match. Faint pink brightened her cheeks, but the color was fleeting. “Lady Marina Fellowes, eldest daughter of the Earl of Wetherby. I’m sure you know him.”

They worked together in the House of Lords. Wetherby didn’t care for idle chatter and always got right to the heart of things. Dare hadn’t even realized he had a daughter. Or a family, for that matter. Perhaps his daughter wouldn’t be the typical prattle basket that most young ladies were.

“What’s she like?” he asked cautiously.

The vigor with which his mother answered almost made him sorry he’d expressed even the slightest interest. “Very pretty and quite accomplished at needlework.”

“That tells me nothing. Is she a featherbrain or not?”

“I doubt it.”

That was not a promising answer. Perhaps his mother didn’t know her. “Has she even had a Season?”

“Yes, just this past one.” His mother’s features brightened. “You should like this bit. She returned to the country early. I’m not sure London—rather, the social whirl—is to her liking.”

“You should have started with that,” Dare muttered. If Lady Marina was cut from the same cloth as her father—and why wouldn’t she be?—this house party actually had potential. “I’ll go to the party to meet Lady Marina.”

“To see if you will suit?”

Dare glowered at his mother’s obvious glee. “Yes.”

She laughed. “You always try so hard to be brusque, even when presented with an opportunity that could help you achieve your aims without suffering that which you find utterly bothersome.”

Loathsome was a better word. Shopping for a wife made him itch.

Some of his mother’s enthusiasm dimmed. “Should I come with you? I think I sh—”

“No.” He didn’t let her finish. If she accompanied him, he’d go mad under her attempts to see him betrothed.

She glared at him, but only for a moment. “So dour,” she murmured. “Can you at least try to be charming? Perhaps smile a little?”

Smiling was for insincere people. When Dare smiled, he meant it. “Why pretend to be someone I’m not? My future wife should know precisely whom she’s marrying.”

His mother exhaled. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She paused, rallying her troops once more before she entered the breach. “If you can’t be charming, you’ll need to be…something. You can’t expect to win Lady Marina’s hand if you don’t engage her somehow.”

“I suppose I’ll have to dance with her.” He detested dancing.

“You could promenade. I’m sure there will be plenty of activities. Perhaps you can go for a ride together.”

“That would be acceptable.” He would appreciate a wife who enjoyed riding. He imagined her touring the estate with him, speaking to the tenants, and offering assistance and support.

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

He shrugged. “Although, being a duke is likely enough to win the chit’s—or anyone else’s—hand.”

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