Chapter 2

"Harrington. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Ottersby strode decisively into his sitting room. His jacket was, as always, impeccably pressed across his broad shoulders and his cravat in perfect order. No one could see him and not know he was Lord Woodbury's son. He walked like a soldier even though he'd never been one. "I hope Patience hasn't caused you any trouble."

"Patience?" Nicholas shook his head. "No."

Ottersby gestured toward a sofa in front of the fireplace, and Nicholas marched forward and sat down. In front of him was a small table, upon which rested a few books and a wooden duck. This one looked as though it came from India, a contrast to the matching pair on the mantel. Ottersby waited for him to sit before taking his own seat on the opposite corner of the table.

What exactly had Nicholas come here to say? Ottersby's father had told him to give his problem time, that people would eventually come to respect him. But Nicholas had been the Duke of Harrington for three years already without much headway, and the people in Ireland didn't have time. Ottersby cleared his throat, but what could Nicholas say? I am a joke. A duke who no one feels they need to listen to. And on top of that, the constant singing in my own home is going to send me into an early grave. Nicholas smoothed his lapel even though it was clean and starched to perfection. His valet knew how important making a good impression was. Maybe he should start with the less pressing of his issues. "I'm thinking of moving Mother into the dower house."

Ottersby's eyebrows rose, though he didn't say anything. He was a good man, but he was only talkative when Patience was around. Or perhaps Patience was talkative enough for the both of them.

Nicholas swallowed. "I need one place where I have some control, and since it is looking like Parliament isn't an option, I'd like at least to be able to feel like my home environment is governed by me."

Ottersby nodded. "And so, you plan to marry? I'm not certain that is the best way to have more control over your household. Mine was set on its head the moment Patience placed a foot in it. And she was a maid at the time."

"No, I don't plan to marry. What makes you think that?"

Ottersby raised an eyebrow. "That is typically the cause for moving a mother into a dower house, is it not?"

"You don't think she would agree to it otherwise?"

"I don't think you would ask her. The two of you aren't exactly stellar at conversing."

Nicholas tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa. Ottersby was right, of course. If he was better at speaking to Mother, he could simply ask her to stop singing so much. Or keep her singing to times when he was out of the house. But he couldn't do that. She was still hurting for Father, just as much as he and Patience were, even if he hadn't realized it when she'd gone to Paris four years ago and left her two children alone to mourn him.

Ottersby tugged on his sleeves and then matched Nicholas's rhythmic tapping on the arm of his own chair. After four taps, Ottersby looked up. "Unless you were to marry."

Nicholas waved his hand in Ottersby's direction. "Controlling Mother's singing is hardly a reason to marry."

Ottersby tipped his head to one side. "Have you no other reasons, no desire to marry?"

Nicholas gritted his teeth. He should have led with his Parliament issues. This conversation was spiraling out of control. Over the past few years, he'd been overwhelmed with the task of keeping all of his estates running and making certain the ton knew he was his father's son and nothing like the Dukes of Harrington before Father. He wasn't certain how long it would be until he felt settled enough with that title to take on the title of husband as well. Not to mention, he would have to court a woman in order to marry. His fingers stopped tapping, and he clenched the fabric of the sofa in his hand. Courting was a prospect he didn't allow himself to think about. It was more uncomfortable than Mother's singing would ever be. "I'm certain someday I will need to fulfill that duty, but I hardly think this is the time."

Ottersby cleared his throat. "Patience would disagree. She has been worried about you."

Worried? Why would Patience be worried about him? Did she think him not capable of managing his own affairs? "She and I don't have a long history of agreeing about things."

Ottersby chuckled. "Why don't you think you should marry?"

"I think I should marry... someday. But now is not the time." How often had he overheard whisperings when people didn't realize he was nearby? "Nicholas Kendrick? A duke? Can he even grow a full beard?" He could. He simply preferred to be clean-shaven. His influence in Parliament and, blast, even Lady Plymton returning to London weighed heavier on his mind than Mother's singing. "I've only been the Duke of Harrington for four years. I'm still adjusting to that. I'm not ready for more change."

"My marriage came only three months after receiving my title. Having a wife has proven to be a wonderful benefit. She handles all of our social functions, and she speaks to the other lords' wives and even to the lords. Patience has done a better job of establishing my position than I ever could have done on my own."

That was simple for Ottersby to say. He had married Patience—a lady of extreme influence, the sister of a duke. And Ottersby had wanted to get married.

Nicholas didn't have time for women. When he'd been younger, his interest in women had done him no favors. The letter in his wastebasket was a testament to that. He'd mostly avoided them since his time serving under Lord Woodbury.

But Ottersby did have a point. Nicholas had been attending all the social events of the Season with the intent of solidifying friendships among the ton. He had spent his time speaking to men and avoiding women. Four years into his dukedom, and he was still seen as an untested upstart.

If he married, Mother would move into the dower house, and he would gain an ally in his work. At twenty-five, most lords considered him too young and inexperienced to truly wield the power of dukedom. But if he had a wife... Not just any wife, but the right wife... Perhaps more of the peerage would listen and respect his ideas.

He rubbed the back of his neck. Was he actually considering this? Would a wife somehow help him get the aid he had been fighting for? "Ottersby, before you met Patience, didn't you have a list of women you were considering marrying?"

Ottersby's face was suddenly flat, emotionless and bland. His eyes darted to the door as if Patience would suddenly walk in. "That was a long time ago."

"But you still have it?"

"Do you think Patience would allow me to keep a list of women I considered marrying?"

Nicholas smiled. It was hard to know what Patience would allow. "I think she would enjoy looking over that list and telling you how fortunate you are that you ended up with her instead of any of them."

Ottersby's face softened into a smile. "We may have done that a few times. But I don't have it anymore. It was a ridiculous thing to have in the first place."

No, it wasn't ridiculous; it was logical. Extremely logical. If Nicholas did decide to pursue marriage, he wouldn't leave the selection of a wife to chance. And instincts? His were bullocks. If he were to marry, he would do it as his father had—with purpose and clarity. Above all, marriage was a contract between two people. He simply needed to find a woman who would fulfill her end of the contract in a way that would be satisfying to both of them. "Do you remember who was on it?"

"Are you asking me to name the women on that list for you to consider as marriage partners?"

Nicholas didn't answer. Ottersby was a smart man. He knew exactly what Nicholas was asking.

Ottersby grimaced. "You do understand that I was very painstaking in detail to my position in Society when making that list? No one who would've made a good match for me would make an advantageous match for you."

"What were your criteria, then? Perhaps we can reproduce a similar list, specific to me."

Ottersby pulled at the cuff of his sleeve again. "That list almost had me married to Miss Morgan. It was a terrible idea."

"Miss Morgan wouldn't have been so terrible. She has a solid standing in Society." Miss Morgan was one of the few women in London Nicholas had regular interactions with. He had to. She and her family knew about Patience having lived in Ottersby's home as a maid before they'd married. "Perhaps I should consider her. It would at least ensure her silence about certain matters. And I have no doubt she would agree to marry me."

Ottersby paled. "She tried to force me to marry her after my father received his title. And her influence is nothing in comparison. She would be a bad choice, Nicholas, in every regard. I was extremely fortunate to escape her grasp. She doesn't even compare to Patience."

"No one compares to my sister, which is fortunate for everyone."

"I won't agree to help you if Miss Morgan's name ends up on your list."

"Don't put her on the list, then. You're right. I need someone with a title, at least."

Ottersby shook his head, but he stood and walked to the writing desk. Before pulling out a sheet of paper, he looked back at Nicholas. "Patience won't like this."

Nicholas waved his hand in the air. "You said she was interested in me getting married."

Ottersby tipped his head and sat. "Yes, but not like this."

"I'm comfortable with this method, and that is what matters." Nicholas stood and positioned himself over Ottersby's shoulder. "I don't need a love match. I need someone to help me solidify my place here in London." And he needed to keep his head, especially with Lady Plymton returning. Finding someone to court before she even arrived would be ideal. Ottersby's idea was sounding more and more fortuitous. Why shouldn't he get married? Especially if he courted and married properly and didn't allow his emotions to rule his actions.

Ottersby lifted the end of his pen to his nose and cleared his throat. "And someone whose company you enjoy?"

"Of course. But most ladies make for enjoyable company, don't they?" Nicholas patted Ottersby's shoulder. "That part should be simple enough." Ottersby made a strange coughing sound in the back of his throat. "The tricky part will be finding just the right woman to exert her influence on Society."

Ottersby sighed and grabbed the paper and lifted it into the air. "Let's make the list in my study. I have my rulers there, and I think we may need them in order to properly categorize the women."

Nicholas wouldn't argue with that. The idea of an almost mathematical formula calculated to choose the perfect woman for him to marry felt... miraculous. Armed with such a thing, choosing a wife could be done without tempting his weakness for a beautiful face and soft skin. He followed behind Ottersby, but the man had suddenly taken to walking very slowly. How did one go about hurrying someone from behind? Couldn't he sense Nicholas's urgency? This was no ordinary day.

This was the day Nicholas Kendrick, Duke of Harrington, would find himself a wife.