Chapter 3

Arthur Desmond might have been the Duke of Windhill, but right now, he didn’t feel like it. A duke ought to be commanding. He ought to be in control of a situation. That was what Arthur’s father had taught him when he was growing up. That was why, ever since his parents’ deaths all those years ago, Arthur had worked hard and done all he could to set matters right. He had tried to find the man responsible for the murders so that he could take his revenge. So far, he had been unsuccessful in that.

Arthur did not like surprises.

Hearing the rumor that he was engaged to marry had certainly been a surprise and a displeasing one at that. Arthur had no time for marriage.

But as he had stewed on the fact that someone was claiming to be his betrothed, it had occurred to him that this might be an opportunity. This might be his chance to obtain a marriage without having to do any of the work that ordinarily went into a courtship.

And so, he was here, sitting opposite the Viscount of Cliffrows, who was obviously beyond excited to be in his presence.

“Your Grace,” the Viscount said, beaming happily, “thank you for visiting with us today. What brings you here?”

There was no sense in beating around the bush. “I’m here to claim my bride,” Arthur said.

It was blunt, he knew, and very forward. But then, she had been telling people that they were engaged. That was what he’d been told by that gossipy Miss Ginger. And if that was the case, she could hardly complain about it now.

Lord Cliffrows looked stunned. “You’re—you’re here for a bride?”

“Oh, Father!” The young lady behind him lit up with excitement. “Just imagine—me, a duchess!”

Arthur looked at her. “Who are you?” The lady he was looking at didn’t match the description he had been given. He had been told to expect someone with dark hair and a mole on her cheek—an ugly mole, Miss Ginger had said righteously. But the lady he was looking at now was fair-haired and plump with ruddy cheeks that contained no moles.

“This is my daughter, Your Grace,” Lord Cliffrows explained. “Miss Rosalind. Of course, she’ll be thrilled to be your bride! Neither of us knew that you were searching for a marriage, but we’re so honored that you chose to come here.”

“Miss Rosalind?” Arthur frowned. “No, this isn’t the lady I’ve come for. I’m looking for Miss Isabella.”

Miss Rosalind gasped. A look of fury crossed her face. “Isabella? You don’t want her, Your Grace.”

“According to everyone in town, she and I are engaged to be married,” Arthur said. “I had to meet the lady who has apparently so captured my heart. If we are to wed, it seems only right that I should know who she is—don’t you think?”

“Oh my—” The Viscount’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment and anger. “Isabella! I know you’re listening outside the door! You had better get in here and explain yourself at once!”

There was a pause in which nothing happened. For a moment, Arthur wondered whether Lord Cliffrows was wrong, and Miss Isabella wasn’t outside the door at all.

And then she came into the room.

He knew at once that this was the lady he’d come to meet. She fit the physical description. Or rather, she sort of fit it. She was slender with the dark hair he’d been told to expect, and she did indeed have a mole on her cheek. But Miss Ginger had told him again and again how ugly she was, and that wasn’t true at all. His eye did go to the mole on her face, but he found it distinctive, not ugly. It was an interesting feature to look at, and he didn’t mind it at all.

And as for the rest of her appearance—well, if he was being honest, he found her rather lovely. She had big green eyes with long lashes, soft, pale skin, and high cheekbones. He thought she was very appealing.

She’d do,he thought to himself. If I decide to take a wife, she wouldn’t be a bad one at all. I would be able to take her out in public, and people would admire her and think well of me for having found someone so lovely to marry.

There was the matter of her parentage, of course. Miss Ginger had made sure to let him know about that as well. But what difference did that make to him? He was a duke, and his wife would be a duchess. Perhaps there would be talk about who her mother had been for a few weeks, but that would be forgotten as soon as the next scandal took place. He didn’t need to worry about it. And he certainly didn’t care himself.

Lord Cliffrows rose to his feet. “Isabella, did you make up a lie and spread it around at last night’s party?” he demanded. “The Duke is here telling me that you’ve claimed to be engaged to him.”

Miss Isabella looked unabashed. It was as if her father had asked her whether she had had tea with her breakfast. “Yes,” she said, “I did that.”

Arthur had to admit, he was impressed. He hadn’t expected her to be so ready and willing to own up to the lie she had told.

Her father simply looked flabbergasted. “What—what in the world could you have been thinking?” he demanded. “You must have known that the Duke would find out what you did! You’ve disgraced yourself, and you’ve disgraced me! How could you?”

She never broke eye contact with him. “I did it for Felicity,” she said. “I did it because it brought Felicity more attention and admiration than she ever would have gotten otherwise. Everyone wanted to dance with the lady whose sister was engaged to the Duke.”

“But you’re not engaged to the Duke!” her father exclaimed. “You’ve lied, and you’ve caught His Grace up in your lies. Apologize at once.”

Arthur held up a hand. “Perhaps I might say something here?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The Viscount fell silent at once, deferential and respectful. Obsequious, Arthur thought. He didn’t appreciate it much. He was used to people acting like this with him, and it irritated him.

“I came here to claim my bride,” he said. “I meant that. If you agree, I’d like to marry her.”

“Well now—hold on a moment,” the Viscount argued. “You can’t really mean to marry her.”

“No? Why can’t I?”

“It’s just that—well, my daughter Rosalind?—”

Arthur held up his hand again. “I’m sure Miss Rosalind will make some gentleman a lovely match, but after all, the whole ton has already heard of my engagement to Miss Isabella. I wouldn’t want to create a scandal. It’s best to keep the arrangement as it is. So, I’m here to finalize that engagement or to leave with no engagement at all. It’s up to you, Lord Cliffrows.”

“Wait a moment,” Miss Isabella objected. “I made that story up to benefit Felicity. I don’t wish to marry you, Your Grace.”

“Isabella, leave us,” Lord Cliffrows said. “You go too, Rosalind.”

“But, Father…”

“Do as I say, Rosalind! The Duke and I have things we must discuss.”

“A moment,” Arthur said. His eyes were on Miss Isabella. She looked positively furious. “Perhaps I might have a moment to discuss the matter with Miss Isabella?”

“Why would you need to do that?” Lord Cliffrows asked.

“Indulge me,” Arthur said. “You can leave her sister here, if you’d like, or perhaps a member of your staff—whatever you feel is appropriate.”

“I’m certainly not going to discuss anything in front of Rosalind,” Miss Isabella said.

“Must you always be so difficult?” The Viscount sighed. “I’ll send in a maid to serve as a chaperone, then. Rosalind, come with me.”

“I don’t see why you’re giving in to her, Father, when you know perfectly well?—”

“Rosalind, don’t start. I need your cooperation right now. If you don’t do as I ask, you’ll have to remain home from the next ball.”

“But that’s utterly unfair!”

The Viscount waited.

Miss Rosalind let out a sigh that was most unladylike and stormed from the room.

Miss Isabella watched her go. “I do wish you hadn’t revealed everything right in front of her,” she murmured. “She’s going to be absolutely unbearable about all of this.”

“If you really want to help your sister find a husband, marrying well yourself might be beneficial,” Arthur suggested to her.

She looked at him. “You don’t really believe that’s a good idea, do you?”

“I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t interested.”

“It’s madness.”

“It was your idea.”

“It wasn’t my idea to actually do it. I never thought you’d hear about it and want that.”

“Let this be a lesson to you, then, that you shouldn’t go around claiming that you’re going to marry people when you have no intention of doing so.”

“I don’t know what it is you want,” Miss Isabella said, her eyes narrowing. “But I know that it isn’t me. You don’t even know me. And you don’t want me to be your wife.”

“Lots of gentlemen marry ladies they don’t know yet.”

“Yes, because those ladies are great beauties—which I am not—or because their fathers are high ranking members of society. My father is a viscount, and you’re a duke. And you know who my mother was, I think.”

“Your mother was a commoner.”

“A maid. Many would say I don’t belong in society at all.”

“Many have said things about me as well,” Arthur said. “I’m no stranger to the opinions of gossips. I don’t care who your mother was. I was told that you were interested in marrying me. That’s what’s brought me here today.”

“Well…I’m not interested in marrying you,” she said, looking up at him rather defiantly. “Forgive me for lying, Your Grace—or don’t, I suppose. There’s no reason you should have to offer me your forgiveness. But it was a lie. You know that it was. And if you’ve come here hoping to make it the truth, I can’t help you.”

“Then you reject my proposal of marriage?”

“I suppose I do.”

“I’ll want it in writing.”

She squinted at him. “Truly, in writing?”

“Write me a letter of rejection explaining that you refuse me as your husband,” he said. “I’ll give you one week, and if I haven’t received your rejection by then, I will assume you’ve changed your mind and come back to collect on the marriage I’ve been promised. I feel sure your father will allow it, even if he would prefer to see your sister married to me. After all, this would be a very beneficial match for him, and it would be a most unusual thing for a man of his rank to pass it up for his daughter, even if she doesn’t happen to be his favorite.”

“I…” Miss Isabella swallowed. “I don’t know why you want this.”

“Let it be enough for you to know that I do.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What if there’s something I want in return?”

“I thought that the thing you wanted was a marriage to me. Isn’t that why you lied and told people we were engaged?”

“No,” she replied, “I’ve no interest in a marriage to you. But there is something you can do for me.”

“Now you’re bargaining?”

“If I have something you want and you have nothing I want, I would be foolish not to bargain. I assume you don’t want to marry a fool.” She shrugged. “Or maybe you do. Maybe all you want is something pretty on your arm. If that’s the case, though, there are many ladies who would do. There’s no reason you would have to seek me out.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want a future for my sister,” Isabella said evenly. “If I marry you, will you help my sister? Help me arrange a good match for her?”

“For Miss Rosalind?”

“No. Miss Rosalind is my half-sister. I mean my other sister, Miss Felicity. If you promise me that you can help me guarantee her the future she deserves, I’ll do anything.”

Arthur nodded. “I can help you make arrangements for Miss Felicity,” he said.

“Then…yes. Very well. I’ll marry you,” she relented.

As she looked up at him, he saw that there was no fear in her eyes. Whatever she might be feeling about this arrangement, it wasn’t that.

What must she be thinking right now?

And what had he been thinking, coming over here on no more than a bit of gossip and claiming a wife he hardly knew?

It was, perhaps, the maddest thing he had ever done. But the expression on her face made it impossible for him to regret it.