Chapter 22

Jasper watched Eleanor scurry through a side door to Milthorpe Manor, seemingly unaware that the planet had just shifted off its axis.

Two weeks ago, if someone had told him that he would choose his future duchess because she offered to help him carry a muddy dog through the woods, he would have told them they were cracked.

But in the moment that Eleanor Weatherby offered to do just that, Jasper had realized something. Ever since his father died when he was sixteen, people had looked to him. The expectation was that Jasper, as the duke, would solve everyone else’s problems.

No one spared a second’s thought to who would help solve his.

Then Eleanor Weatherby had come along and offered to help him carry his dog, of all the ridiculous tasks.

But in that moment, he understood with sudden clarity that if he married Eleanor, he would not be alone anymore, quietly going about the business of helping everyone else while no one gave a second’s thought to whether he needed any help. Eleanor did not have it in her to sit back and leave an unpleasant task to someone else.

She would, for lack of a better term, help him lift the dog.

Which sounded slightly ridiculous. But it was true. Perhaps a better way to phrase it would be, when life cast troubles across his path, which life was bound to do at one time or another, Eleanor Weatherby would be a steadfast partner and helpmate.

Up until that moment, Jasper had not considered that this was something he should be looking for in his wife. Farmers and blacksmiths desired a wife who would serve as their helpmate. Jasper had been focused on the qualities prized by the aristocracy—breeding, beauty, wealth, and refinement.

But now that he thought on it, all of those traits paled in comparison to having a wife who would support him unwaveringly through difficult times.

The more he considered the idea, the more he liked it. Which was absurd! A mere twelve hours ago, they had been discussing how much they detested one another. While kissing, to be sure, but still.

But for someone he ostensibly hated, he liked an awful lot of things about Eleanor Weatherby. He liked her clever mind and her interest in Shakespeare. He liked the fact that she wasn’t cowed by him. Hell, he was coming to realize that he needed someone to tell him when he was acting like a great arse. Just look at how much his relationship with Felix had improved since he had conceded that she might have a point.

And he had certainly liked making love with her. As he had suspected, Eleanor was in possession of some very fine curves. Her passionate responsiveness and eagerness to give as well as receive pleasure were everything he wanted in a bed partner.

But on top of all that, it was such a relief to make love with a woman without having to ask, Am I crushing you? every two minutes, and the answer usually being Yes. Eleanor had specifically liked the feeling of his weight on her.

She would like the rest of it, too. He would make sure it was good for her.

She was simply his partner. Temperamentally. Intellectually. And physically as well. In every particular, they fit together like lock and key.

In fact, now that he had allowed himself to imagine life with Eleanor by his side, the thought of marrying any other woman of his acquaintance felt like a tragedy. Because they were meant to be together, for all that he was a duke and she was a Weatherby Wallflower.

Felix was never going to let him hear the end of this. But it would be worth putting up with his brother’s needling.

Because he would have Eleanor.

Thus resolved, he staggered up the steps of the back portico, feeling light in spite of the extra sixteen stone of dog he carried across his shoulders.

In spite of staying up late rubbing salve on Benedick’s injured paws, Jasper found that he tossed and turned in his bed and got little sleep. As dawn broke through the window, he decided he might as well rise early and head down to breakfast.

When he arrived, he saw that most of the guests were still abed. In fact, only one other person was present—Lady Francesca FitzSimon, who was standing at the sideboard, filling her plate.

They both froze at the sight of one another. Was there anything as awkward as standing before the woman you were ostensibly courting, after she had watched you haul another woman into your lap and all but seduce each other on stage? Jasper certainly couldn’t think of anything.

Jasper cleared his throat. “Lady Francesca, good morning.”

“Good morning,” she whispered, her eyes suggesting that there wasn’t anything good about it. Jasper wondered if her stilted response stemmed from displeasure at his flirtatious scene with Eleanor, or if she merely hated him.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”

“Of course not!” she cried, in spite of looking alarmed at that very prospect.

Jasper was careful as he filled his plate not to stand too close to Lady Francesca, or to give her any other cause for alarm. Once he had selected his breakfast, he took the seat across from her, not because he imagined that she wished to converse, but because to sit at the far end of the table felt rude.

As he accepted a cup of coffee from one of the footmen, Jasper cast about for a safe topic of conversation. “I enjoyed the scene you put on with Miss Clarissa Weatherby yester—”

“May I speak frankly, Your Grace?” Lady Francesca interrupted as soon as the footman withdrew.

“Please do,” Jasper said, startled.

She spoke in a rushed whisper. “My mother informed me that your purpose in coming here was to select a bride. She also told me that I was one of several candidates.”

Jasper rocked back in his chair. Lady Francesca had not been mincing words when she said she wished to speak frankly. “Your mother spoke correctly.”

“My mother wishes very much for me to be a duchess…”

She trailed off. Jasper tried to make his voice understanding as he said, “I sense that the word that is coming next will be but.”

Lady Francesca’s eyes were anguished. “I pray you will not take this as a personal slight, Your Grace. The thing is, I am the third of three sisters.”

“Oh?” Jasper frowned as he buttered his toast. “I had somehow formed the impression that you were the only daughter in your family.”

“I can easily see why you might have thought as much. My sisters were quite a bit older than I am, and both married more than ten years ago.”

Jasper frowned. “Were, Lady Francesca?”

She nodded, then drew in a breath as if steeling herself. “They both died in childbirth.”

He almost dropped his toast. “I… I am so terribly sorry.”

“Thank you,” she replied in a clipped voice. “Like most of my family, my sisters were extremely petite in their stature.”

All at once, Jasper understood why Lady Francesca found the prospect of marriage to him terrifying. “And you are worried that you would share in their fate.”

“Please understand that I have no complaints when it comes to your character. But…” She trailed off, eyes pleading.

Jasper inclined his head in agreement. “It is an eminently reasonable concern. If I may speak with equal candor, had I known that about your sisters, I would not have included you in my list of candidates. I was a ten-pound baby, you see.”

She shuddered visibly. “A ten-pound baby. My gracious!”

He gave a weak chuckle. “Indeed. I therefore agree that, although you have many qualities that I very much admire, not least of which are your keen intellect and your appreciation of Shakespeare, our stars, as the Bard would say, are crossed.”

“Precisely!” She bit her lip and her expression became serious, as if she were choosing her words carefully. “I don’t know that I shall ever marry, but if I do… Well, suffice it to say, I hope that it would be to someone who looks quite different from you. But my mother would never permit me to decline your proposal, were you to issue one.”

Jasper took no offense. “You may rest assured, Lady Francesca, that I will not.”

She looked palpably relieved. “Thank you so much for understanding, Your Grace.”

After that, they fell into conversation quite naturally. Lady Francesca truly was clever, and knowledgeable about Shakespeare as well, and Jasper enjoyed her commentary on the scenes they had witnessed yesterday.

She cast him an arch look as she stirred her tea. “I thought you and Miss Weatherby made a splendid Petruchio and Katharina.”

Jasper strove to keep his features neutral. “We do excel at arguing.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He could tell she was having none of it. “I felt there was more to it than that.”

“Did you?” He tried to feign innocence, but the corner of his mouth was twitching.

“I did.” She leaned forward, eyes sparkling as she said, “And we both know how that particular play ends, Your Grace.”

“I cannot imagine what you are suggesting,” Jasper said, a grin breaking out over his face.

And that was the moment the four Weatherby sisters walked into the breakfast room.