Page 22 of Finding Hope
“True, except here there is no escape.”
“Thankfully, there is no ultimatum, simply something I am considering to please my father. I am not a martyr, however.” He selected a glass of punch from the footman.
“To me, the choice is obvious.”
Max followed Carew’s gaze to where Hope Whitford was laughing with—his father? He jerked his head back because he had been staring. His friends were also laughing—at him.
“As always, I am delighted to provide your entertainment.”
“What is your hesitation?” Freddy asked. “You do not need to marry an heiress and Miss Hope is a great gun.” That was the highest compliment Freddy could pay anyone.
“I have my reasons. Besides, it takes more than being a ‘great gun’ to be a duchess.”
“Does that really matter? Are you looking for a replica of your mother?” Carew asked, rather too perceptively.
“You know that is the last thing I want.”
“Good, because some of your father’s friends look rather interested in Miss Whitford for themselves.”
Max did not doubt any of the men there would be interested in one such as Hope.
“Wasn’t Summerton looking for a younger wife?” Montford asked.
Max scowled. “He is. He is still hoping to find a young wife to give him an heir.”
“It might be a good match, then—if you do not want her, of course. She would be a rich widow before too long.”
Max held up his hand. “Enough, all of you. I have my reasons for doing things this way.”
“Come now, you cannot blame us for being curious about certain reasons,” Freddy said. “Especially when you invite the likes of Lady Wilton’s chits and Lady Alice.”
Fair point. He was now wondering what had come over him as well. He would have to endure a fortnight with all of them for his sins. “Frankly, I could not think of any other eligible ladies.”
His friends looked at him with a mixture of pity and shock.
“I thought I should look at each of them objectively to make certain I made the right choice.”
“He must be feverish,” Freddy said, looking at him with concern.
“You’ve had years to assess who is available, Rotham,” Montford said with a shake of his head.
The Duke’s laughter rumbled loudly, and Max could not help but steal a glance. Hope was the loveliest female he had ever laid eyes upon. And she was a great gun. He could not imagine his mother ever being described as such, but was that a good thing? What did he want in his wife and duchess?
Carew let out a low whistle.
Max turned to see what had elicited such a response.
With a poisonous gleam in her eye, the Duchess was heading straight for where the Duke was speaking with Miss Hope.
Max’s blood began to simmer. He had warned her not to interfere. He forced himself to wait and see what his father would do, but did not think the Duke would tolerate the Duchess being rude to an invited guest.
He wanted to go to Hope and avert any embarrassment, but he knew he could not. He watched, waiting for the disaster to unfold.
“You will break that glass if you do not relax,” Carew said, and Max deliberately eased his grip and strained to hear what passed between his parents.
As expected, the Duchess completely ignored Hope and spoke directly to the Duke. “Davenmere, do you not think it time you rested?”
“Why ever would I do that when I have such pleasant company? I can rot in my room as well as I can sitting here on the terrace.”
