Page 48 of My Secret Duke
“And very unlike him,” Lexy added.
Their mother was quick to her son’s defense. “Nonsense! Ivo was always a kind boy.”
“What if her chaperone decides he is going to marry her?” Adelina asked mischievously.
Her mother’s face changed. “No, he is not marrying her,” she said sharply. “I know her family, and they are as poor as church mice.” Then, remembering the company she was in, “I’m sure he is just being kind.”
There was an awkward silence. Olivia was well aware of how debt-ridden Ivo’s family was, just like hers. Another reason for her to never allow herself to accept a proposal from him, even if he asked her again. Which he wouldn’t. That was over. But it brought up the question of Ivo’s choice of wife. He needed to marry someone wealthy, just as she did.
And yet, as she turned to watch Ivo dance, charming the young girl into conversing with him, Olivia admitted that if matters were different…I do not plan to always be poor.
The dance had finished, and Ivo returned his partner to her chaperone. A glance about the room found his family and Olivia, and he made his way toward them. He had barely reached them when his mother launched into a warning about the wallflower’s lack of fortune.
“Good heavens, Mother, I was dancing with the chit, not marrying her,” he said, with a sideways glance at Olivia.
“Viscount Marchant’s daughter is free,” his mother pointed out. “She has a large dowry. Dance with her, Ivo.”
Ivo sighed. “I have danced with her. She giggles at everything I say, and then I run out of conversation.”
“You should consider the dowry rather than the conversation,” his mother said firmly.
It soundedcold. Olivia wondered if her grandmother’s conversations to her about marriage and moneysounded just as cold. More than likely. But then, marriages among members of the ton were business arrangements, something she needed to keep reminding herself.
“I did not reject the Duke of Grantham because of his lack of conversation,” Grandmama jumped in, as if reading Olivia’s mind. “One did what one was told. These young people read too many silly books about love and romance.” She stopped and frowned, no doubt remembering that her own granddaughter-in-law had been the author of just such a book.
Ivo’s mother tried very hard not to smile. Adelina and Lexy exchanged glances. Ivo caught Olivia’s gaze and raised his eyebrow. A friend of his sisters’ had come up to chat with them, and he took the opportunity to lean into Olivia. “How is your brother and his wife?”
“Busy,” Olivia replied. “Grantham keeps him constantly occupied, and Vivienne is in charge of the younger girls, as well as learning to manage such a large house. I do not envy them.”
“Are you not trained in the art of housekeeping? I can imagine you inspecting the furniture for dust and poring over menus.”
Olivia wondered whether she dared to tell him what she really thought about that, but it was Ivo, so she did. “I was never trained in any of the tasks a wife is supposed to be trained in. Most of my time was spent running wild with my sisters, or trying to find ways to entertain them so they would not realize how horrible our lives were. And when I tried to cook, I usually burned whatever it was I was trying to make palatable.”
His eyes had widened. “Good God,” he said quietly, “you put me to shame, Olivia. Are youtryingto make me feel guilty? I feel like I should have some dreadfulstory of my own to share, but the truth is my childhood was quite pleasant. I had my parents and my sisters, who spoiled me terribly, I admit. Which is one of the reasons I plan to do everything in my power to be a good duke and make their lives more comfortable.”
“Ivo, you shouldn’t apologize for—” she began earnestly but was interrupted.
“What are you two whispering about?” Her grandmother’s voice was sharp. “Olivia, here is Mr. Scott come to claim his dance.”
Olivia realized it was true. Mr. Scott was standing, patiently waiting. She apologized as she went to meet him, trying to ignore his woolly eyebrows. He was twenty years her senior, and she suspected he had learned to dance by counting his steps, but then who was she to talk? Her dancing was all very well now, but that had not always been the case. During their last encounter, he had told her about the assemblies he attended in Bristol.
“There is always some amusement or other. London is all very well, but give me Bristol any day,” he had said.
Mr. Scott was the dowager’s latest marital hope for Olivia. He was a shipping company owner, and although he had not a trace of blue blood in him, he was wealthy. That he was a far cry from Prince Nikolai just showed how desperate her grandmother had become.
“He needs a wife.” The dowager seemed to know everything about him. “He isn’t too picky about a dowry. He wants someone pretty and biddable.”
“I doubt that’s me. Everyone knows about—”
“Let him know you are grateful for his attentions. And think about your sisters! He will have wealthy friends. Justina and Roberta can partake of your good fortune and find husbands of their own.”
As she danced and conversed and was as charming as Grandmama wanted her to be, she tried to like Mr. Scott, she really did. And he was pleasant enough, rather grave when stating his opinions, and although he listened to hers politely, Olivia didn’t feel as if he was really listening. She was so much younger than he, so his being dismissive was understandable, she supposed. And there were good points to him. Her grandmother’s plan was a sound one, but when she imagined herself being married to him… She was not filled with elation. Instead, she felt a twisting anxiety in her stomach, a sense that she would be making a terrible mistake if she gave away her life, her future, to a man she could not love.
It was the final straw when he told her he did not really enjoy parties “and the like” and would prefer his wife not to gad about. “Home is where a wife should be,” he told her firmly. “I would expect my dinner on the table at the same time every day.”
Olivia only just managed to bite back her retort, but by then, her mind was made up. She did not care how wealthy Mr. Scott was. She didn’t want to marry him. She didn’t want to marry any of the men who had so far shown an interest in marrying her. And the ones who had had no intention of offering her marriage but seemed to enjoy her company were of no use to her either. She was growing tired of rejecting one suitor, only to have her grandmother bring forth another. Why did the Season have to be all about her marrying? Why couldn’t she just enjoy herself and think about the future later?
The dance finished, and the first thing she did was look about for Ivo. He was standing with his family, watching her with a sympathetic expression. As if he had read exactly what she was thinking and concurred.
