Chapter 8

Jasper swallowed thickly as he regarded Eleanor Weatherby in the dappled shade of the trees.

She was… not what he had expected.

He’d thought she would be shrewish and shrill. Instead, this penniless spinster radiated the confidence of a queen. Jasper was a large man, and he knew most people found him intimidating even without considering the fact that he was a duke.

But Eleanor Weatherby looked about as intimidated as a lioness squaring off with a fieldmouse. Jasper hadn’t felt like a mouse since… well, ever. He’d weighed ten pounds on the day he was born and had a deep bellow for a cry. He was given to understand that he’d been an imposing specimen even as an infant.

Yet when she had stalked up to him just now, he’d had to stop himself from taking a step back.

It was unheard of.

“Say it,” she repeated, her hazel eyes sparking, daring him to do just that.

He lifted his chin. “I will not.”

“Hmph.” She smirked up at him. “Then I’ll say it, because we both know what you were thinking.” She leaned in even closer, and it struck Jasper that if he lowered his chin mere inches, his lips would brush hers…

“You were going to call my sister a Weatherby Wallflower!” She jabbed him in the chest two times to punctuate the insult.

“I was,” Jasper acknowledged with a tilt of his head. “It was ill-mannered of me, and I apologize.”

Her expression was strangely triumphant, considering he had insulted her just as much as her sister. “You may keep your apologies. We both know you meant it. You would never countenance your brother marrying so far beneath him.”

“What I would not countenance,” he growled, “is my brother marrying someone who cares nothing for him and only for his money!”

She narrowed her eyes. “How dare you! You don’t even know my sister. You may say any awful thing about me, but Pippa is the kindest, most caring girl in the world, and I will not stand by while you cast aspersions against her!”

“And yet, according to Rupert Dupree, the lot of you care for nothing but ensnaring a rich husband.” He arched a sardonic brow. “And now she has miraculously developed a deep and abiding affection for my brother in less than twenty-four hours. Such a coincidence!”

“Rupert Dupree is a liar and a cad!” she shot back. “I know their acquaintance has been short, but Pippa’s feelings for your brother are sincere. Would you spend but five minutes in conversation with her, you would see that. But you won’t. You made your mind up about us Weatherby Wallflowers before you spoke a word to any of us!”

“If I made up my mind quickly, it is because I have seen your ilk so many times before!” he snapped.

Based on the fire that flared in her eyes, he half-expected her to slap him.

What she did instead was much worse.

She laughed at him.

“No, Your Grace,” she said, her smile triumphant. “You have never seen my ilk.”

She spun on her heel and strode off across the meadow, not once looking back at him.

Jasper found that he was breathing hard. Why, that infuriating woman! He was half-tempted to undress her—

Dress her down. He had meant dress her down.

Well… He watched her hips sway saucily as she made her way across the clearing. They were the kind of hips that gave a man something to grab onto.

Oh, all right. Possibly both.

Halfway across the meadow, Beatrice came loping up to her, a large stick in her mouth. Miss Weatherby stopped to scratch his dog behind the ears, a genuine smile stealing across her face. Beatrice dropped the stick at her feet and looked up hopefully. Jasper knew that stick would be a sticky mess. No dog could rival an English mastiff when it came to drooling.

But Miss Weatherby surprised him by picking up the stick without the slightest hesitation and hurling it across the meadow.

He had to admit, she had an entirely adequate throwing arm. He watched as she repeated the maneuver three times, after which Beatrice was ready for a rest, as such big dogs did tend to tire themselves out easily.

He watched his dog follow Miss Weatherby to the blanket where her sisters were sitting and plop down right in the middle of them. Benedick promptly trotted over and joined her.

Bloody annoying wench—she’d even stolen his dogs.

Gritting his teeth, he went off to look at the ruins while he tried to restore himself to good humor.

Jasper managed to calm down in time for the walk back to the house, which was fortunate as his hostess approached him with Lady Francesca FitzSimon in tow.

Introductions were made and Jasper bowed over her hand. His initial impression of Lady Francesca was that she was petite, but she seemed even smaller and frailer up close. She didn’t even come up to his shoulder, and her tiny hand disappeared into his meaty paw.

“I thought perhaps you might like to walk together,” Lady Milthorpe said.

“I should like nothing better,” Jasper said solemnly.

He offered her his arm. She was short enough that she had to reach up at an awkward angle to accept it. He almost suggested they each walk on their own, as it looked like it would be uncomfortable on her shoulder for any period of time, but he couldn’t think of a way to phrase the suggestion that didn’t sound ungentlemanly.

They fell into step. Jasper had to shorten his stride significantly to match hers. Lady Francesca kept her eyes downcast, and he noticed that her lower lip was trembling.

Something occurred to him. “Are you afraid of dogs?” He gestured to Beatrice and Benedick, who had come to his whistle a moment before. “They’re quite tame, but I can have my brother call them if they make you nervous.”

“No, I love dogs.” As if to test this, Benedick came up and sniffed her hand. The massive dog probably outweighed her by ten stone, but the corners of Lady Francesca’s mouth turned up and she scratched his neck.

“I see,” Jasper said. So, if Lady Francesca wasn’t afraid of the mastiffs, it followed that the thing that had frightened her was… him.

Delightful.

Benedick bounded ahead, and they walked in awkward silence for a moment. Jasper sifted through his brain for some item of conversation. “Their names are Beatrice and Benedick. The dogs,” he clarified at her confused look.

“After the characters from Much Ado About Nothing?” she asked.

“Precisely.” She still wasn’t looking at him, but this seemed to be as much of a conversational opening as he was likely to get. “Do you enjoy Shakespeare, then?”

“Very much so,” she replied softly.

“And what is your favorite Shakespearean play?”

She bit her lip. “A difficult question, when I like so many of them so well. But perhaps I’ll say The Tempest.”

Jasper almost sagged with relief as they fell into a conversation about Shakespeare. He knew that young ladies were often coached to parrot the interests of a gentleman they hoped to attract. He did not think that was the case here, however. Lady Francesca had a thorough knowledge of every play they discussed and could quote liberally from most of them. Her opinions were carefully considered, and she almost seemed to be enjoying the conversation.

Jasper said almost because every few minutes, just when he thought she was warming to him, Lady Francesca would look up at him. Her face would go pale, she would shudder, and the conversation would come staggering to a halt.

Thanks to Lady Francesca’s short stride, they fell a bit behind the group. Somehow, the topic veered into politics. Again, Jasper found Lady Francesca’s opinions to be sound and sensible.

As they came up to the house, Jasper mused that, intellectually, they were a good match. Lady Francesca was clearly intelligent, and they shared a number of common interests.

To be sure, she seemed terrified of him, but she would likely come around as she got to know him.

Yes, Lady Francesca was now his leading candidate to become the next Duchess of Norwood. It was a pity he wasn’t much attracted to her, but again, there were more important qualities to consider.

Jasper tried to summon up some excitement about having found his future bride as he took the mastiffs upstairs for their nap.

He was not particularly successful in this regard.