Page 39 of Dukes Do It Better
“Of course not. Choosing a partner is always a better option than taking one on out of necessity,” Agatha said.
“Don’t you…want him?” Adelaide asked.
Emma made a sound that was part laugh, part sigh. “Of course, I want him. He’s amusing, and handsome, and wickedly intelligent…”
“And a duke,” Lottie said.
Emma felt compelled to defend their situation, although she’d rather not delve too deeply into why. “It’s not about the title. I like the way he looks at me. I feel safe, and…wholly myself. I’m not pretending or worrying over manners or being perfect when I’m with him.”
“And he’s a duke,” Phee repeated with a teasing gleam in her eye.
“Does he make you laugh when you’re in bed?” Agatha asked.
A warm bubble of happiness rose at the memory. “Yes. He does. It’s rather wonderful, actually.”
“So what is wrong with him?” Adelaide asked.
At that, the bubble popped. “Nothing, if we’re being honest. There’s nothing wrong with Mal.”
His family had served the king and had borne their coronet without scandal for generations. Unlike her family, who historically had been the main course for every hungry gossip in London. She’d certainly contributed to the notoriety of their name, and if anyone found out all the myriad things she was hiding, her parents’ picadilloes would fade in comparison. The previous Lord and Lady Eastly may have hopped through every bed in Town, but to her knowledge, they’d never killed anyone.
No, there wasn’t anything wrong with Malachi. I’m the problem, not him. He deserves better. No matter how downright magical their night might have been, or how heady thoughts of him were, those were the facts. No man would want her if they knew the truth.
The rhythmic footfalls of boots hitting the marble floor made the women straighten like soldiers coming to attention.
Lady Agatha turned toward the interloper—an innocent bystander who didn’t realize what he’d stumbled upon as he wandered into the gallery. The silence grew heavy and the footsteps faltered under the intense gaze of the older woman.
A confused expression crossed his face, and Emma nearly giggled. The poor man had no idea what he’d done to earn such a look. Some primal self-preservation instinct made him stop in his tracks. He bobbed his head, murmured, “Ladies,” then turned around and left.
“Smart man,” Emma said, turning back to her friends.
Adelaide gazed at Lady Agatha with huge eyes. “I want to be you when I grow up. Such a look. Masterfully done.”
Lady Agatha sized up Adelaide with an inspection from head to foot and then back to head before she nodded. “You shall be. Eventually. One word of advice, Miss Martin. Simpering women do not get what they want. They may think they do. But anything easy is rarely satisfying. Complacency will get you nowhere, child.”
Adelaide’s lips twitched as if she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to smile or if she was supposed to smile.
“In other words”—Emma grinned, setting aside her bittersweet thoughts of Mal—“next time Lord Marshall is nearby, let out your inner coquette.”
Adelaide bit her lip. “I don’t have an inner coquette.”
“Every woman does,” Lottie said. “It’s the part of you that wants to stare when he enters the room or that thinks the naughty thoughts you don’t have the courage to say. Those pieces of you are real, and they deserve some time in the sun—with the right partner, of course. It can be as simple as letting him catch you staring and giving a little smile to say you aren’t sorry he caught you. If it’s Lord Marshall you want, then we shall certainly do our part to give you a chance at catching his attention.”
“Lord Marshall?” Phee scrunched her face a moment, then smiled. “Wait. Dark skin, perfect jaw, works in government?”
“Indeed. He dragged Adelaide out of the refreshment room to dance with her the other night,” Emma bragged for her friend.
“Then you are halfway there already. Flirt, and be done with it,” Lady Agatha said.
“I can’t flirt!” Adelaide wailed, then froze when the sound echoed off the walls.
“Nonsense.” Lady Agatha’s voice bounced off the marble as well, but the older woman didn’t appear concerned about it. “If you knew your every word and touch would be welcome, would you be bolder?”
Adelaide shifted from one foot to the other. “I suppose so.”
“Well, there you have it.” Lady Agatha clearly thought that was enough explanation.
“What my darling godmother means,” Lottie said, “is if Lord Marshall is to fall in love with you, you need to let him see the real you. You’ve caught his attention. If you want more, you’ll need to signal you’re open to his advances. Let him meet the person you are with your close friends.”
