Page 8 of Must Love Dukes
“Habersham was the last straw.” Father drew in a breath. “I have indulged you for far too long, allowed you to entertain your ridiculous thoughts of traveling to Florence to study art.”
“It isn’t ridiculous,” she insisted.
“You don’t even paint anything resembling a human being, daughter. Just outlandish portraits with caterpillars for eyebrows.”
“I was experimenting.”
“Todson will suit. You require a steady influence. A husband who will not tolerate your nonsense. Todson is well-respectedand of good family. He has told me of his need for a wife since inheriting the title, and we’ve come to an agreement. You’ll be quite happy, I’m sure.”
This wasintolerable. “When were you going to tell me that Lord Todson awaited me at the Savorton house party?”
“We hoped…to ease you into the situation over the course of the week. If you suit— ” Father said.
“And you will,” Nora declared.
“Todson will officially offer for you before we return to London. I think it a foregone conclusion,” Father finished.
No. No. No.
Muriel sat up. Squared her shoulders. There was only one way to stop thisinvasionof her life.
“I can’t possibly marry Lord Todson,” she declared. “My affections are already engaged.” It was the first desperate thought that popped into her head. “Surely, you wouldn’t force me to wed when I have found a suitor of my own.”
Nora and Father both stared at her for some moments before bursting into peals of laughter.
“Oh, Muriel,” Nora sputtered, dabbing at her eyes. “Goodness, but you can be amusing. You haven’t had a gentleman caller in ages, dear. At least, not one I didn’t somehow encourage to call upon you. I fear only that long dead Italian painter holds your heart.”
“It’s true,” Muriel insisted, refusing to back down.
“Then give us a name,” Father eyed her. “And I will call off the arrangement with Todson.”
Muriel turned away. “We are not ready to announce our intentions. My suitor is incredibly reserved and private in nature.”
Father snorted. “Just as I thought. Unless your mysterious?—”
“Nonexistent,” Nora thoughtfully interjected.
“—suitor appears out of thin air to court you, you’ll wed Todson. And I will forgive you for concocting such an outlandish tale.” Another laugh bubbled forth.
“He’s real,” she insisted. Pity Buxton wasn’t attending the Savorton house party. She was reasonably sure she could convince him to help her, but even so, Muriel would find a way out of this situation.
Somehow.
3
The Duke of Buxton’s coach rolled to a stop before Lord Savorton’s stunning residence, a feast of white marble, doric columns, and too many windows to count. The house sprawled out against a stunning display of well-manicured beds filled with all manner of flowers.
Footmen immediately descended, encircling the coach, shouting directions to each other as the door was opened.
Hugh took a deep breath and stuck one foot out of the door.
The instant his foot touched the gravel of the drive, a young lady dressed in pale yellow appeared, popping up like a squirrel positioned directly in front of the steps, blocking his path. There was absolutely no way to avoid an introduction unless Hugh leapt over her.
Good lord. It has already begun.
Hugh Lansing, the Duke of Buxton, was currently England’s most eligible bachelor, much to his dismay. He’d lost count of the number of young ladies who had attempted to compromise him—as ridiculous as that sounded. Only last week, at a ball, a girl had leapt out at him as he’d enjoyed a cheroot on the terrace, startling Hugh so much that he’d nearly tipped overthe balustrade. Luckily for Hugh, the scene had been witnessed by two other gentlemen, also enjoying cheroots, and the young lady’s aspirations at becoming a duchess had been squashed.
Lady Savorton, hands clasped before her, watched Hugh from the door. Amusement colored her pretty features, as the girl now blocking his path sank into a perfect curtsey. Obviously, his hostess would be of little help.
