Page 2 of The Duke's Match
But when Matilda, her last ally in spinsterhood, had been forced into a marriage of convenience that had become a union of love, it had knocked her to her very foundations. She still was not certain she had recovered, though shewashappy for Matilda and her husband, Albion. It just hurt to be the last spinster in The Spinsters’ Club. And it hurt all the more, considering she was the only one of them who had never actually wanted to be a spinster in the first place. That had been a matter of shyness and circumstance.
“I think I am beyond such hopes,” Anna confessed, adding with a laugh, “It would never be what my heart desires, either. I have read too many romantic novels and love stories to settle for anything less. I have poisoned myself with my own passions. However, my brother could certainly use the talents of this Matchmaker.”
Beatrice sipped her tea, amusement dancing in her honey brown eyes. “Ah, whatever shall we do with dear Dickie? Always falling in and out of love. I suspect he secretly read some of your treasured books when you were younger, but missed the part pertaining to one powerful love, forever.”
All Anna could do was chuckle at that, for she had long ago decided it did not serve her to keep despairing over her brother’s rakish antics. She had tried to scold him, Max had tried to rein him in, but he had ignored both of them and done as he pleased anyway. It did not help that he was endlessly entertaining and charming, so it was impossible to stay angry at him.
“Apparently, he has changed his ways,” Anna said, flashing her friend a pointed look. “He announced to me and Max at breakfast the other day that he fully intends to find a wife this season. I suspect it has something to do with Max’s recent inheritance, and a few brotherly threats that he will not petition the Royal Court if he doesnotchange his ways.”
A distant relative had died a few months prior, leaving no heirs aside from Max. Having already inherited the title Earl of Greenfield from their father, Max had thought it rather too greedy to be both a Duke and an Earl, and had promised to petition for the title of Earl to pass to Dickie. Of course, it had come with a few stipulations, but society had already heard of what might be unfolding, making Dickie one of the most eligible bachelors in the country.
“I doubt he will struggle,” Beatrice said. “Not with the matching part. The marriage part might be slightly more difficult than he is anticipating, but at least he will have a title and a beautiful residence to soothe his sore eyes when they begin to wander. Nevertheless, I pity his wife, and he has not even met her yet.”
Anna nodded. “As do I. Although, we might be surprised. He might meet his match in more ways than one.”
“That would be a fine thing.” Beatrice grinned. “And what of Maximilian?”
Anna tilted her head from side to side. “Reluctant.”
Just then, the carriage clock on the mantelpiece chimed out three o’clock in the afternoon. The last softtingmade Anna sit straighter in her seat, a prickle of panic shooting up her spine.
“Oh, Beatrice, it has happened again! I swear, time moves too fast when I am here,” she cried, getting to her feet. “Goodness, Max will be cross with me. I am supposed to be back at the manor by four o’clock for the party.”
It was at least two hours from the Grayling Estate to Max’s new residence of Harewood Court, and as it was Max’s first garden party since accepting the title of Duke, she had promised she would be there.
“Your brother could never be cross with you,” Beatrice assured, rising from the settee to lead Anna out. “Will I see you at the Westyork Ball next week?”
Anna nodded, quickening her pace. “I would not miss it.”
“Nor would I.” Beatrice pulled Anna in for a swift embrace as they reached the grand double doors of Grayling House. “Journey safely, dear Anna, and enjoy the garden party. I always think it is best to make a late, dramatic entrance anyway.”
Anna chuckled. “I would not know how to be dramatic, even if I were shoved upon a stage.”
“You could borrow a gown?” Beatrice’s brown eyes twinkled with mischief.
“For Westyork, perhaps. Something red and bold.” Anna snorted at the very idea of herself in one of Beatrice’s striking ballgowns, dripping with jewels. “But I shall make no promises. It has been a delight, as always, but I really must hurry.”
Beatrice followed her out to the carriage, acting as footman to open the door, much to the shock of the actual footman. “Will our old nemesis Percival be there? It is summer again, after all.”
So jarred by the question that she nearly missed the edge of the squabs as she sat down, Anna’s face contorted into a grim look. “I shall hope and pray that he is not, for the entirety of the journey.”
Over the recent years of their unexpected friendship, she had told Beatrice everything about Percival, and had been endlessly grateful to have the older woman’s support in her hatred of the man. Mainly, during the times when she did not want to—or could not—bother the rest of the Spinsters’ Club with her complaints.
“If heisthere,” Beatrice said, “remember all I have taught you about such men. Make him rue the day he was born.” She flashed a wink and closed the door, banging on the side to let the driver know he could move away.
As the carriage began to rattle down the lengthy driveway, Anna slumped into the velvet squabs and clasped her hands tightly together, praying with all her might that she would be granted just one summer without a single glimpse of Percival Sinclair.
CHAPTERTWO
“Still have trouble telling the time, Catchweed?” Percival’s voice greeted Anna like a blade on glass.
She had barely made it onto the wide terrace that bordered the immaculate lawns, barely managed to steel herself for the party, barely managed to shake off the fear that he would be there, and yet there he was, standing in front of her with a smirk on his lips.
At social gatherings, she had been forced to listen and simmer with irritation at other young ladies commenting on his remarkable good looks. She, however, could not see it. Yes, he was tall and possessed of an athletic physique, with broad shoulders and exemplary posture. Yes, he had silky chestnut brown hair that framed his chiseled face in gentle waves, and striking, dark green eyes that might have been considered beautiful, but all she saw was ugliness whenever he opened his mouth.
“Still have trouble circulating at parties?” she retorted, feeling the heat of the past two hours stuck in a carriage upon her skin. “Whyareyou always on the periphery, lurking as you do?”
It had been a year since she had last seen him, and it appeared nothing had changed.
