Page 2 of A Duke for Stealing
“If you did not want to be married, why did you pursue her?” Dominic asked.
A sudden pain ebbed from Everett’s chest, and he suddenly felt uncomfortably sad sober despite joy and copious amounts of whiskey.
“I have to, you know,” Everett said quietly, bowing his head. “Out of respect for my brother…out of respect for what I inherited from him. It is…” he paused, sighing woefully, “It is my duty as the new Duke of Stapleton.”
A silence fell over the five friends as the sad reality of Everett’s new title weighed over him. What he had lost to gain the new rise in aristocracy was devastating to many.
“A toast to Everett,” Tristan said, his tone sincere as he broke the silence. “To the new Duke of Stapleton. May his reign be long and prosperous.”
This time, there was no snickering or chortling as the four friends raised their glasses toward Everett. A genuine smile curving on his face, Everett lifted his head and his glass toward his friends.
“To the new Duke of Stapleton,” they said in unison.
Same night
“Oh, no,” Rose whispered, her blue eyes going wide.
“Rose?” Ophelia, Rose’s dearest friend, asked, then followed her line of sight. In a matter of moments, Ophelia’s eyes widened as well, and she echoed Rose’s “Oh no.”
She plucked the glass from Rose’s hand.
“Go,” she insisted. “Go now.”
Wasting no time, Rose walked briskly through the crowded ballroom and straight to her mother and the poor young gentleman she had cornered.
“Mama,” Rose called.
The terrified young gentleman, obviously too polite for his own good, turned his eyes from the dowager Countess, who had him pinned, and looked visibly relieved to see Rose.
“Dearest, do not interrupt,” Betty said, her tone sweet as she kept her eyes on the young gentleman, “Can you not see I am in deep conversation with the young Mr. Brimsley?”
“Forgive me, Countess Lightholder,” Mr. Brimsley apologized, taking the moment to move away from the older woman, “But I see my father beckoning me. A pleasant evening to you both!”
Before Betty could stop him, Mr. Brimsley dashed into the crowded ballroom, no doubt putting as much distance between himself and Betty as possible. Slumping her shoulders and pouting, Betty turned to Rose.
“See what you have done?” She asked, the usual odor of gin rolling off her breath. “You ruined a perfectly wonderful conversation between that handsome young man and me!”
“Young, being the imperative word here, Mama,” Rose replied, trying her best not to sound too scolding. “It’s his first season away from his mother’s apron strings.”
“Which is the best season to catch a young man?” Betty sighed. “While they’re impressionable and easy to control.”
Rose flinched at her mother’s words, not liking them at all. Betty had never quite been the same after her husband, Rose’s father, died. She had not so much as mourned her husband’s death, but rather secretly- and at times rather impatiently- anticipated the day she could return to society as an eligible lady. That was seven years ago now, and Rose had hoped that as the years passed, Betty would return to the proper, ladylike version of herself that Betty had once been while married. Instead, she seemed to age backward to a startling time of immaturity and brazenness.
“What of you?” Betty asked, straightening herself, “Have you found yourself a suitor?”
How could I when I am too busy watching over you?
“Not yet, Mama,” Rose only replied.
Betty tsked her tongue as she shook her head.
“You really must stop wasting time, child,” she chastised, “You are aging out of the marriage mart as we speak. Soon you’ll either have to marry one of the older gentlemen who has no careor become a spinster! And you know how very disappointed I would be if that were to happen.”
“Yes, Mama,” Rose sighed wearily, “I am quite aware.”
“So take your eyes off of me and turn them toward the many eligible men here, girl,” Betty commanded, grabbing Rose’s shoulders and whirling her around to face the ball.
“I can take care of myself. Now go find yourself a husband!”
