Page 1 of Must Love Dukes
1
Miss Muriel Bell looked out the coach window at the passing countryside, barely listening to her stepmother’s stinging rebuke. Nora was fond of listing Muriel’s faults, of which there were many.
“Are you listening?”
“I am, Mother Nora, and I will take your advice to heart,” she replied without turning her head. “I need to be pleasant. Refrain from espousing my opinions overmuch. Try not to be odd.”
“Invitations to a house party, hosted by Lady Savorton, are highly sought after,” Father said from beside Nora. “It took a great deal of maneuvering to be asked to attend. You might be somewhat grateful.”
The only purposes of a house party, a gathering of those in society somewhere in the countryside, were to either find a match or enjoy a dalliance. Muriel wasn’t interested in either prospect.
Muriel pressed her forehead to the window, wishing fervently she was not trapped in this coach. “I am not overly fond of house parties, as you know, Father. I can count the numberI’ve attended on one hand. I find them pointless and somewhat boring.”
“You see, Allred?” Nora threw her hands up in exasperation. “She spends her days creating those atrocious paintings or with her nose in a book. She shows little interest in paying calls or even attending balls unless forced.”
Paying calls on those who cared little to share tea with her was the very epitome of tedium. Balls were simply another way to parade a young lady about in hopes of obtaining a suitor. “My art is incredibly important.” She turned to face her father. “And what is wrong with being well-read?”
“Well-read?” Nora sputtered. “It is either the rather gory history of the Renaissance, filled with the Monducci?—”
“Medici,” Muriel corrected. “I grant you they were rather bloodthirsty.”
“It does not matter.” Nora threw up her hands. “You are at a crucial point in your life, Muriel. If action is not taken, you might well become a spinster.” She turned to Muriel’s father. “Aspinster,Allred.”
As if that was the worst fate Muriel could ever face. She could think of many others, starting with a marriage to a man whom she did not like merely to satisfy societal expectations. This argument wasn’t new. Nora merely rephrased things on occasion. “I am barely in my third Season, Nora. Hardly a spinster.”
“Barely. In. Your. Third. Season,” Nora repeated. “Do you hear yourself? We are on theprecipiceof disaster. Though you’ve done nothing to attract suitors at all this Season, there will be at least a handful of interesting gentlemen at the house party. I’m sure one will gain your admiration.” Nora exchanged a look with Father.
Muriel’s stomach pitched along with the coach as it rounded a curve in the road.
As of late, the steady stream of suitors Nora had paraded by Muriel had slowed to a trickle, and she’d assumed, incorrectly, that Nora had given up. Perhaps Muriel’s pleas to be sent abroad to study art had finally been heard. She would be allowed to travel to Florence, the very cradle of the Renaissance, and absorb a wealth of knowledge. Visit museums. Paint. Learn to sculpt, perhaps.
I should have known when I saw the invitation to the house party.
Not that the Allred’s didn’t attend house parties, it was only that Muriel rarely went with them. Add to it that Lord and Lady Allred were barely acquainted with the Savortons and their lavish estate, and this had all the makings of a planned introduction.
She eyed her stepmother and father.
Nora appeared…smug. Father seemed worried but triumphant.
“What have you done?” she asked.
“Nothing at all,” Nora sniffed. “I only wish to point out that many young ladies meet their matches at a house party. The atmosphere is ripe for courting.”
Which is exactly why Muriel usually avoided such gatherings, given Nora’s desire to see her wed. Her marital prospects had never been what anyone would call extraordinary. Few offers of marriage had come for Lord Allred’s youngest daughter, even when the suitors had been staunchly steered in her direction by Lady Allred. The lack of interest had thus far been blamed on Muriel’s contrary nature?—
I merely have my own opinions. I think for myself. I’m not a cow.
—her general lack of interest in marriage?—
I’m quite happy on my own. There is nothing wrong with solitude. I relish such a state.
—and her eccentric artistic endeavors.
Which I have no desire to give up, especially for a husband.
There were likely other reasons. Her general lack of skill at charades, making her unpopular at parties due to her awkward flopping about. She didn’t care for lamb, which always drew a glare from any hostess. Made faces at sipping ratafia because of the sweetness. And during her first Season, Muriel had dropped her new fan into the punch bowl at a ball. Terribly embarrassing.
“I don’t require a husband,” she stated firmly. “I’m quite happy as I am.”
