Is it ever too late

…to marry a duke?

Sought-after matchmaker Amelia Durant wants the best for her three young ladies as they make their debut. So when the highly elusive but very eligible Duke of Stone shows an interest, she is shocked. Could the handsome devil who dashed her young hopes all those years ago be a changed man? And is he really interested in a debutante as a wife...or is it Amelia herself who has sent His Grace’s pulse skyrocketing?

In her youth, award-winning author ANN LETHBRIDGE reimagined the Regency romances she read—and now she loves writing her own. Although living in Canada, Ann visits Britain every year, where family members understand—or so they say—her need to poke around every antiquity within a hundred miles. Learn more about Ann or contact her at annlethbridge.com. She loves hearing from readers.

Also by Ann Lethbridge

Secrets of the Marriage Bed

An Innocent Maid for the Duke

Rescued by the Earl’s Vows

The Widows of Westram miniseries

A Lord for the Wallflower Widow

An Earl for the Shy Widow

A Family for the Widowed Governess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Matchmaker and the Duke

Ann Lethbridge

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90135-6

THE MATCHMAKER AND THE DUKE

© 2020 Michéle Ann Young

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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This book is dedicated to Joanne Grant,

my very first editor at Harlequin Mills & Boon.

I would not be where I am today with my writing without

her patience, perseverance and excellent advice.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One
1817

‘Jasper, it is high time you married.’

Jasper Simon Warren, Duke of Stone, Marquess of Felmont and Earl Blackmore, despised conversation at breakfast. He did not raise his gaze from his newspaper. ‘I see.’

‘Jasper, did you hear what I said? You have a duty to the dukedom.’

The sharp edge in her voice indicated Aunt Mary was not going to take the hint.

He lowered his newspaper a fraction. ‘Are you accusing me of neglecting my duties, Aunt?’ He let the ice in his tone sink into her awareness.

The spring sun, streaming through the windows of the ducal town house, gave no quarter to the elderly lady. Dressed in a forest-green gown and lace cap of the latest fashion, the wrinkles in her cheeks and around her mouth, the thinness of her carefully primped hair, proclaimed a woman well past her sixtieth year. ‘Certainly not, Jasper. I simply want you to be happy.’

He stared at her in astonishment. ‘I assure you, I am perfectly content.’

The creases in her forehead deepened. ‘Contentment is not the same as happiness.’

‘Who defines happiness? And since when has society latched upon the idea that happiness is vital to a person’s existence?’

After years of observing the marriages of his peers from the sidelines, he had few illusions.

And yet... ‘My parents were happy, were they not?’

‘I never heard anything to the contrary.’

Hardly a ringing endorsement. Had he perhaps imagined them as happy? Created a fantasy to ease the loss? Was he wrong to aspire to the sort of joy he recalled in their presence? And could he have been mistaken about the truth of it?

Aunt Mary made a sound of impatience. ‘Besides, no matter what, the dukedom needs an heir.’

The real reason for her fussing. ‘All in good time.’ He raised his paper, focusing on the article on the latest arguments for Parliamentary reform.

‘You are not getting any younger,’ she muttered.

Really! He folded his newspaper and put it down beside his plate where a few crumbs of toast and a smear of marmalade were all that remained of what had been a very fine breakfast. ‘I am thirty-five. Not exactly in my dotage.’

‘You will be thirty-six next month. I want to see things settled before I go to my final rest.’

His jaw dropped. ‘Are you ill? Shall I send for a physician?’

She coloured high on her cheekbones. ‘Certainly not. But, Jasper, time is running out. The Season is well underway and those looking for wives will snap up the most eligible girls in a trice.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you suggesting that should I indicate an interest in a female, she will turn me down for someone she met earlier in the Season?’

‘Of course not. No woman in their right mind would turn down an offer from the Duke of Stone.’

Even if they wanted to, as he had learned in his youth. He pushed the unpleasant memory aside. Dwelling on the past helped no one. ‘Well, my dear Aunt Mary, since I have no intention of offering for a woman who is not in her right mind, I can see no reason for haste.’ He eyed his newspaper. He would take it to his study. No one would dare interrupt him there.

‘They would refuse you if they had already accepted another offer. How do you know there is not a lady among this latest group to come out whom you would not prefer above all others?’

‘I am sure all of them are respectable young women whose parents would leap at a crown of strawberry leaves. I do not expect to encounter any difficulties.’

‘How can you know, Stone, if you do not look?’ Her voice was full of exasperation. She shook her head. ‘There is no point in talking to you about this, I can see. But take my advice, marry now while you are still in your prime. No one knows what the future holds.’

He frowned. Aunt Mary was making more of a fuss about this than she had about anything since...since he could not remember when. And, yes, he knew he had to bestir himself at some point. Find the right sort of woman to be his Duchess. He simply had not thought of it as urgent. Nor was it. Yet his aunt seemed genuinely distressed. ‘Very well. To please you, I will take a look at this year’s crop.’

A veritable study of nonchalance, she picked up a pile of invitations set by her plate and sorted through them. She didn’t fool him for a moment.

‘Was there something you wanted to add?’

She put the cards down with a snap. ‘There are two girls whom you might wish to meet. The Mitchell sisters. Both outrageously lovely, reasonably well bred and exceedingly well dowered. I saw them at Lady Dobson’s musical evening last night.’

‘Lady Dobson?’ A chill invaded his veins. ‘Not exactly the cream of the ton, my dear. Not the sort of company I like to keep. And I assume by reasonably well bred you mean not of the peerage?’

His aunt grimaced. ‘Sally Jersey suggested I attend to take a look at them. She’d heard much about their beauty and accomplishments and requested my opinion. Both presented exceedingly well. Another pair like the Gunning girls, I would say.’

The Gunning sisters were still talked about in the drawing rooms of the ton. They had taken London by storm and married well above their station. ‘Not the sort of wife I seek.’

‘Then you are looking.’ She sounded so relieved, he did not have the heart to disabuse her of the notion. Aunt Mary was one of the few people whose feelings he cared about. Not that she usually got up in the boughs about anything. She certainly must be feeling her age if she was panicking about marrying him off. And she wasn’t entirely wrong to be concerned. It was time.

He sighed. ‘Do not expect me to attend events hosted by the likes of Lady Dobson.’ Her husband, a banker, had been knighted by the King for services rendered. Likely a personal loan or an inside tip on a profitable investment. Not a member of the nobility.

‘Certainly not. You know better than to ask. Mrs Durant has them in hand. After my endorsement you will meet them at all the best parties.’

‘Durant?’

‘Three years ago, her husband broke his neck in a steeplechase.’

Ah, yes. ‘I remember him. A reckless idiot. I do not recall a wife.’

‘She was a Linden. Her cousin holds the viscountcy now. She has become well known for her matchmaking skills.’

‘You seriously think I should consider one of these girls?’ It sounded so unlike his aunt, he could not keep the curiosity out of his voice.

‘I have been throwing eminently eligible daughters of the ton in your path for the past ten years and not once have you shown any interest. I thought perhaps your taste was so jaded, I should try something different.’

Jaded? He wasn’t jaded. Cynical. There was a description he could own, too. He’d had enough toadies and sycophants trying to get his attention since he inherited the title at the age of fifteen that he could spot one a mile off. But he wasn’t jaded. He was comfortable. He had a small group of friends, mostly male, whose wealth meant they did not seek to use him for their own ends and therefore whom he trusted.

He also had a mistress, Jane Garnet, whose favours he had enjoyed to the full for many years. A woman with whom he had agreed upon an exclusive arrangement, who was quite content to entertain him whenever he felt the need.

‘I suppose next you will be telling me I should pay off Mrs Garnet.’

His aunt rifled through the invitations and did not meet his gaze. ‘It might be as well.’

Damn it all.

It seemed his life of comfort was slipping away.

‘I thought the older girl might be ideal for you. And the younger for Albert.’

She spoke this last in such a low tone, he almost missed it. Aunt Mary continually thought to push Albert Carling, the only surviving relative on her mother’s side, up society’s ladder. Marriage to an heiress would certainly gild his path.

At one time, Jasper had been close with Albert. Unfortunately, Albert had not proved true and now they remained cordial but distant.

Three ladies tried to ignore Mr Mitchell pacing the drawing room of the town house he had rented close to Bedford Square. Two were his daughters, Charity and Patience, both blonde, pretty and making their come out in the London Season. The other, Mrs Amelia Durant, a lady with dark hair and eyes, was approaching her thirtieth year. While she was sure that she herself had never been deemed a great beauty, she had been born into the highest of society’s circles and she wearied of Mr Mitchell and his tirades.

‘Mrs Durant, I was told you know all the best people and can find the right husbands for my daughters.’ He paused and stared over his pince-nez at Amelia on the morning after his daughters’ first foray into the ton. ‘Now you tell me there wasn’t a single earl or duke at that party.’

‘Oh, Papa,’ Charity Mitchell said, raising her blue eyes from her needlework to meet his stern gaze. She gave him a sweet smile. ‘Lord Philpot was there and Sir Robert...something. I forget.’ She glanced over at Amelia.

‘Lord Robert Partere,’ she supplied. ‘A very old family with excellent connections.’

Amelia had explained her plan to Mr Mitchell more than once, but he didn’t seem to grasp the need for a light touch. Marrying girls off to suitable gentlemen, especially those of the nobility, was a very delicate matter. The girls might be utterly lovely, but their background was strictly middle class.

She repressed a sigh of exasperation. ‘Last night was not about seeking suitors—’

‘Then what was it about?’ he grumbled.

‘It was about assuring the ton that your lovely daughters can safely be invited to the most exclusive of parties and behave like proper young ladies.’ She beamed at the girls. ‘And they both passed muster, I can assure you. Lady Mary Warren was most complimentary about their looks and demeanour.’

It had taken Amelia nigh on three months to ensure that the girls knew exactly how to behave in polite company and to eliminate any trace of the broad Yorkshire vowels that coloured their papa’s conversation.

The ton would not care about the merchant father, as long as he settled a suitable amount on his beautiful daughters and stayed clear of their new families. On the other hand, the daughters must be untainted by their humble origins if they were to attract an offer from the most eligible of bachelors.

Amelia knew exactly how to ensure such young ladies met suitable and honourable gentlemen. Honourable being the key word. She had been doing it for years. The ton trusted her to endorse only the sweetest and most rigorously trained young women to the scions of the nobility. The parents of those hopeful young people quickly learned to follow her directions to the letter if they wanted to utilise her services, for which she was paid handsomely. Her fees were based on the settlements negotiated between the parties once the marriages were arranged.

The Mitchell sisters were proving to be more of a challenge than any before them. True, their undeniable beauty made them viable prospects and their amiable natures had made her like them from their first meeting. So much so, she had willingly taken them under her wing.

Unfortunately, their widowed papa, a man who had pulled himself up by his bootstraps, as he was proud to tell all and sundry, was irascible and inclined to want to rush things. He did not value her counsel as he ought and the lack of a wife to make him see reason was a drawback. Mind you, it would have to be a pretty strong woman to stand up to Papa Mitchell. His daughters certainly were not up to the task. Amelia was beginning to think she had not made a wise decision in offering to assist them in their search for husbands among the nobility.

‘Who is Lady Mary Warren, when she is at home?’ Mr Mitchell asked, folding his arms across his chest. He was a portly man with a round florid face and his once blond hair was now mostly grey and thinning on top. ‘I have never heard of her.’

‘Papa,’ Patience Mitchell said, pressing her hands together. ‘You really should have paid more attention to Mrs Durant’s lessons from Debrett’s Peerage. She is the aunt of the wealthiest Duke in all of Britain.’

‘And he is the youngest,’ Charity said. She frowned. ‘Though he is thirty-five.’

‘A man in his prime, then,’ their father said.

Both girls looked uncertain. ‘Thirty-five seems awfully old,’ Charity said. She looked at Amelia for confirmation.

‘Thirty-five is not terribly old,’ Amelia said. If it was then she would be terribly old in five years’ time. ‘But the Duke of Stone has been on the town for years and has shown no interest in settling down. Honestly, he is not a man I would recommend setting your cap at. The Duke is very high in the instep. He is unlikely to make an offer for anyone below the daughter of an earl.’

‘You sound as if you do not like him,’ Patience said.

Patience was both the younger of the sisters and, in Amelia’s estimation, the brighter. Their papa seemed to favour his older daughter Charity. But there really wasn’t much to choose between them. Like most young ladies in their first Season their heads were stuffed full of romantic notions. Amelia’s had certainly been, which was why it had been so easy for Lieutenant Durant to sweep her off her feet. He’d been every young lady’s vision of a knight in shining armour. Amelia no longer believed such men existed. Or if they did, then they certainly did not make very good husbands.

‘I was introduced to him,’ she said, recalling that day as if it was yesterday, ‘I truly cannot say I know him, except by reputation.’ And by observation over the years. The man was insufferably proud, though always exceedingly polite. He struck her as a man without any great feelings or emotions.

Yes, she had felt a spark of attraction at their first meeting, but it had been quickly extinguished when a few days later his gaze passed over her as if she had never crossed his path. Clearly, he did not care to remember any of lesser mortals who floated through his orbit.

It wasn’t long after her encounter with him that she had met and married Tarquin Durant. Widowed two years’ later, she had returned to London to set up her own modest establishment and found herself helping a cousin avoid a marital disaster by uncovering the prospective bridegroom’s shady past.

Not only that, she had guided the young woman to catch the most eligible bachelor of the Season, or at least the second most eligible. Stone was always the first. From there, she had built a reputation as a matchmaker par excellence. The money she had earned these past three years had provided her with a decent life, a small town house of her own in a select neighbourhood and she was able to help young people enter into good sensible marriages. Something she had failed to do.

‘Are you saying you think my girls are beneath him?’ Papa Mitchell said, glaring.

‘Certainly not.’ Amelia smiled calmly. ‘Your daughters will be a credit to any gentleman. But the Duke is very conscious of his family pedigree.’

The belligerence in Mr Mitchell increased tenfold. ‘Then I say he is not good enough for my daughters.’

Amelia closed her eyes briefly. ‘Let us not focus on Stone. Let us turn our attention to the bachelors whom we will meet over the next few weeks and who will make fine husbands for your daughters.’

‘Titled gentlemen,’ Mitchell snapped.

‘Young gentlemen with good prospects and honourable intentions who will make excellent husbands. I do not promise a title, but any gentleman I recommend will be acceptable on every ground.’

‘One of the Gunning sisters married a duke and the other an earl,’ Patience said.

‘One of them married two dukes,’ Charity added.

The girls burst into giggles. They looked so merry and so pretty, Amelia let their amusement pass without comment. However, she would caution them not to model themselves on the Gunning sisters. Yes, they had both married well, but they had also been embroiled in scandal.

The ton turned a blind eye to a certain amount of indiscretion from among their own, but not from outsiders like the Mitchell girls. If their papa continued to reject her advice, her reputation for bringing only the most suitable young ladies to the notice of the upper one thousand could be tarnished. She might be forced to terminate their agreement.

As Jasper had expected, Lady Jersey’s ball could only be described as a squeeze. But then it would be. The Countess of Jersey was one of the patronesses of Almack’s and not one to be lightly snubbed. By the time Jasper arrived, guests already blocked the stairs up to the first-floor drawing room while they awaited their turn to be announced. With an impatient sigh, he did what he usually did upon these occasions, he headed for the green-baize-covered door tucked discreetly beneath the impressive staircase and, with a nod and a coin slipped into a waiting palm, ascended by way of the servants’ stairs.

Why on earth people felt the need to have their names blared into a room full of chattering guests he would never understand. No one inside was listening apart from the host and hostess. Besides, everyone knew everyone else anyway. And if they didn’t, they probably were not worth knowing.

He glanced around the crowded ballroom, seeking a friendly face. His hostess spotted him and immediately left the line at the door to greet him. ‘Up to your usual tricks, Duke?’ she said with a smile.

She’d caught him entering this way when he was much younger and had teased him about it ever since. He continued the practice almost as a point of honour. Well, that and the fact that it saved him from having long arduous conversations with people who saw it as an opportunity to curry his favour on some matter or other.

‘What else can I do when you insist upon inviting every member of the ton to your balls, Sally?’

She made a face. ‘I hate anyone to be disappointed.’

It was why she handed out tickets for Almack’s in such a free-handed way. She was the despair of the other patronesses.

‘You are too soft-hearted.’

‘Whereas you are as cold as stone.’

He grinned, enjoying that she said exactly what popped into her head instead of beating around the bush as so many ladies did when they spoke to him. ‘And here I thought no one had guessed.’

She shook her head at him. ‘One of these days you will get your comeuppance, Duke. Mark my words.’

He bowed and moved on. He joined a group of gentlemen at the end of the room furthest from the orchestra. Men he’d known for years, some from his university days, others from his first Season. Most were now married with children and were in town to take their seats in the House of Lords. Parliament was the reason the nobility came to London for the Season. Somehow, the ladies had turned it into a marriage mart.

Jasper looked about him.

The ball was the same as every other event he had attended. The latest crop of debutantes stood in little clumps around the edge of the dance floor, trying to look as if they didn’t care that no one had asked them to dance and failing miserably. The diamonds of the first water smiled happily as they proved their superiority on the dance floor and the matrons gossiped while they kept an eye on their daughters. Meanwhile, the wallflowers, those gals who had been out a Season or three, lurked in the corners as if they had lost all hope.

Now he remembered why he preferred his club to a night of dancing.

It was not long before Sally sought him out once more. ‘It is time you met the Mitchell sisters. Let me make the introductions.’

Jasper did not like the feeling of being swept along willy-nilly and almost refused. But dash it, his curiosity was aroused. Sally guided him towards a large group of people gathered near the orchestra. At the centre of the cluster of young ladies and gentlemen were two blonde girls with shining blue eyes and curvaceous figures, dressed in white, tastefully modest gowns.

To Jasper’s surprise, Sally did not make a beeline for these two lovelies, but to the woman hovering near them. A woman certainly past the first blush of youth, but who was quite exotically beautiful with dark hair and dark eyes, and skin that hinted of warmer climes than chilly England. His heart seemed to miss a beat. It was as if his recognition of her beauty had interrupted its rhythm. A most unpleasant sensation. And why on earth did he have the feeling he had met her before?

‘Mrs Durant, may I introduce to you the Duke of Stone,’ Sally said.

Ah, yes, Mrs Durant, the matchmaker Aunt Mary had mentioned. He had not expected her to be such a beauty, given her line of work. And there was that odd sensation that he had met her somewhere before.

The woman’s eyes widened a fraction as her gaze met his. Her irises were the colour of toffee with a starburst of gold in their centres.

Beautiful eyes, with unexpected warmth. He knew those eyes. The colours changed, darkened.

‘I believe we are old acquaintances,’ he said. If only he could recall the occasion of their meeting.

A flash of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a cool smile. ‘How kind of you to remember, Your Grace.’

Devil take it, he prided himself on never forgetting a face. It had taken him years to hone the skill, but it stood him in good stead when dealing with the myriad of people for whom he was responsible in some way. Then why was he having troubling recalling where he had met her? And when? And why did he have the odd feeling she did not like him? Had he given offence in some way? He bowed. ‘My pleasure.’

‘Let me introduce you to my charges.’ The briskness of her words took him aback. She definitely did not like him.

‘It seems you are in good hands, Duke,’ Sally said. ‘I will leave you to Mrs Durant’s good graces.’ She sailed off as swiftly as she had arrived. The woman could not be still for a moment.

Turning towards the blonde girls, Mrs Durant presented him with a startlingly striking profile. A sculptor would have had difficulty imagining such a combination of strong yet purely feminine features. They were features that might give a man endless hours of fascinating exploration. And her skin, so warm in colour, so delicately smooth—he found himself wanting to stroke a finger along her angular jaw to see if it was as silky as it appeared.

He forced his gaze to the two young ladies looking at him expectantly. Yes, they were young and very pretty, but beside their chaperon they paled into insignificance. At least in his opinion.

‘Your Grace,’ Mrs Durant said with a measure of pride, ‘may I present, Miss Charity Mitchell and her sister, Miss Patience. Ladies, the Duke of Stone.’

Both girls curtsied and showed their dimples.

He bowed. ‘How are you enjoying your first Season, ladies?’ he asked.

It was a trite question, but it had served him in good stead over the years.

‘We are having a grand time,’ the younger, Miss Patience, said.

‘This is only our second ball,’ Miss Mitchell added. ‘I do not think I have seen so many people in a ballroom. I had no idea people had ballrooms of this size in their houses.’

Their honesty and frank way of speaking surprised him. It was refreshing. They spoke like normal people instead of giggling twits.

He glanced back at their chaperon. Mrs Durant seemed to be eyeing him warily as if she suspected his motives for seeking an introduction. He racked his brains for some misdemeanour in his past that would account for her attitude.

Or was she simply assessing him as a likely suitor? The idea she would presume that she could choose a wife for him appalled him. Though it did not surprise him one whit. As soon as people heard his title, they sought a way to use him to further their own ends. Why would she be any different? To be sure, the girls were tricked out as fine as five pence and looked as pretty as pictures, but they did not hale from the nobility. It was from those ranks he had always expected he would select a bride.

Mrs Durant lifted her chin in challenge, as if reading his thoughts. Why on earth had he thought her beautiful? Her features were arresting, yes, but they gave her face and expression strength, not beauty.

Unfortunately, since he had sought an introduction, if he did not do his duty and ask one of them to dance, the ton might well see it as a mark of his displeasure, when he really felt nothing at all.

He smiled briefly at the older of the two. ‘Will you do the honour of joining me in the fourth set of the evening, Miss Mitchell?’

The girl blushed and glanced at her chaperon, who nodded. She bobbed a curtsy. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

He bowed. ‘I will return for you then.’

As he strolled away, whispers and giggles broke out behind him as everyone realised that the Duke of Stone had actually unbent enough to invite the latest diamond of the first water to dance.

Would Mrs Durant see it as a feather in her cap?

Chapter Two

Amelia could not understand Stone’s game. Was he actually looking for a bride? Lady Warren had not given a hint of any such thing when she had spoken to Amelia, but it might account for her friendliness at the Dobsons’ musicale.

If he was finally considering doing his duty to the title, it would account for his unbending enough to actually seek an introduction to the girls. Hopefully it was a passing fancy on his part. Charity and Patience were nice young women and deserved better than a man whose consequence led him to look down on the rest of the world. Handsome he might be, but he was as cold as his name.

She let go a breath. Perhaps she was being unfair, letting her prejudice against him colour her judgement of his character. Certainly, if Stone was pleased enough to offer to dance with Charity, then the Mitchell girls would instantly be accepted into the arms of the ton with no help from Amelia.

For some reason, his power to approved or disapprove annoyed her more than anything.

One thing Amelia did know for certain, Stone was not in need of a wealthy wife. Therefore, the idea that he would select a girl who was so far beneath him, as these two were, boggled her mind. Unless he was smitten.

Her heart twisted. Worry for the girls, that was all it was. Because she certainly had seen no sign of any such thing in Stone’s demeanour towards Charity. He had been as haughty and reserved as she remembered.

Good lord! Surely he did not have dishonourable intentions? If so, she would have to make it very clear he was completely out of line. She narrowed her gaze on the broad shoulders easing their way through the milling crowds. He was clearly a man who took regular exercise. He had not run to seed as so many did when approaching middle age. He was more physically impressive now than he had been when she first met him.

Charity touched her arm, clearly dying to ask a question. Amelia allowed a few moments to elapse before discreetly drawing her a little apart from the group. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Not really. I wanted to dance the fourth set with Lord Sherbourn, not the Duke. I was too afraid to refuse him.’

Stone was enough to intimidate the hardiest females and refusing him might well have been a disaster for Charity and her sister.

Amelia took a steadying breath. Even if Stone was not a serious suitor, he could not be taken lightly. ‘I could tell you were nervous from the way you were chattering. Try to take a deep breath before you speak, it will let your brain catch up to your tongue.’ She gave the girl an encouraging smile. ‘But you did very well, my dear. The Duke must have been pleased with you or he would not have asked you to stand up with him. Had you already told Lord Sherbourn you would stand up with him for that set?’

‘No. I could see he was plucking up the courage to ask me and I was doing everything I could to encourage him and then the Duke came along.’

‘Well, there are lots more dances this evening. Encourage him to ask for one of those.’

The girl nodded and looked more cheerful. ‘I will.’ She rejoined her friends with a bright smile.

A friend of Lady Dobson’s son from university, Sherbourn had also been at the Dobsons’ musical evening. Amelia knew his family sought a wife with money for him. A good settlement would solve their most pressing problems after a bad marine investment had battered the family’s finances.

Amelia had investigated the Sherbourns thoroughly and, until this loss, they had proven to be of solid worth. Not a scrap of scandal or irresponsibility marred their reputation. In addition, as well as heir to a title, Sherbourn was a pleasant-spoken, nice-looking young man, if a little too passionate about things.

Nothing like the Duke of Stone.

A middle-aged woman in grey silk sailed up to Amelia, fanning her full round red face. ‘Now that would be a feather in your cap.’ Lady Dobson looked a little miffed.

Amelia smiled politely. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The Duke. Making sheep’s eyes at the older Mitchell sister.’

Amelia kept her expression coolly polite. ‘Do you think so?’

Lady Dobson wanted either of the Mitchell girls for her own son, Harold, a rather studious and inarticulate young man who actually didn’t need to marry for wealth. Unfortunately, the poor young man was so weedy and his face so spotty, he was unlikely to attract any girl’s attention without a great deal of help.

‘I would not trust him to make either of them a proposal,’ Lady Dobson said.

Amelia bridled. Why that would be, given she had been thinking something very similar a few moments before, she did not know. ‘I have never heard it said that the Duke was anything but the most honourable of men.’ Good heavens, was she defending him?

Lady Dobson’s gaze fell away. ‘You can’t tell me he would choose beauty over position.’

No. That she could not. But he might choose wealth.

‘They are such lovely girls, a man would have to be blind not to want to meet them,’ Amelia said, trying to sort through her impressions of the Duke in her own mind. ‘Likely he heard the gossip and came to see for himself. A man of the Duke’s address would not dream of being introduced to a lady and not asking her to dance.’ A feeling of relief went through her. Of course, that was his reason. Thank goodness, despite his haughty attitude, he was indeed a gentleman.

Years ago, when Amelia had been introduced to him, he had not asked her to dance. Indeed, he’d barely said a word and had looked down his nose at the daughter of a mere baronet. She, on the other hand, had stared at his handsome face in awe and blushed furiously.

The besotted look on her face must have been pitiable. When she’d attempted to speak to him the next time they met, his blank look had left her wishing the floor would open.

Lady Dobson gave her a kindly smile. ‘Well, if I were you, I would warn Miss Mitchell not to set her heart on him. I have heard it said he will not consider anyone below the daughter of an earl.’

She wasn’t some green girl that needed that sort of advice. ‘Would Harold like to dance with Patience?’ Oddly enough, Patience had indicated that she quite liked the spotty young gentleman.

Lady Dobson brightened. ‘He would love to dance with Miss Patience.’

‘She has the third set available, if he is not otherwise engaged.’ Patience had asked Amelia to relay this information to Mr Dobson, in case he did not get around to asking himself.

Lady Dobson bustled off.

While Mr Mitchell might have set his sights higher for his daughter, Patience and Mr Dobson liked each other a great deal. Amelia promised only to bring young people together whom she thought would suit. Couples she thought fit well together.

She glanced over to where Stone was engaged in deep conversation with Lord Jersey. Stone would certainly meet Papa Mitchell’s expectation. Not to mention it would be a feather in Amelia’s cap to marry one of her girls off to a duke. But she honestly could not see him as a suitable husband for either girl, if she wanted them to be happy.

And that was a primary consideration, no matter what their father thought.

Dancing with Miss Mitchell proved to be mildly entertaining in spite of Jasper’s reservations. Her artless comments and her bright smile were refreshing. To boot, not once had she simpered or batted her eyelashes. While her parentage was unashamedly middle class, a few discreet enquiries had informed him that her father was well respected in the business community as a man as honest and hardworking as the day was long. The sort of man Jasper respected.

The sort of man upon whom England’s future would be built. Those in Parliament needed to recognise this if they did not want to go the way of the French aristocracy. They needed to make it easier for men like Mitchell to achieve their goals, because the land alone could no longer support England’s growing population. A population that wanted to have a say in their future.

On the other hand, he, as Duke, had also to think of his family’s future. His bride ought to bring more with her than wealth. Influence was far more important these days. In his opinion, the only way to bring England into the future without destroying it was to loosen the reins of power without giving them up entirely. Bring men like Mitchell into the fold, as it were.

He glanced over at the matchmaker, Mrs. Durant. Did she understand that and was she congratulating herself right now on having snagged the biggest marital coup of the decade? It was early days yet. While he could see the benefits of marrying out of the nobility, he would have to live with the woman for the rest of his life. His stomach dipped.

Perhaps he’d feel better about it if he took the time to get to know Miss Mitchell. On the other hand, if he let the grass grow under his feet, the matchmaker would have no difficulty placing these girls now he had given his stamp of approval by dancing with one of them. And she was pleasant and exceedingly sweet.

And yet he felt a sense of something missing. He had felt nothing but a sort of avuncular kindness for the girl. Perhaps he really was getting old.

Devil take it. All that blathering by Aunt Mary about happiness had somehow wormed its way into his mind. He was perfectly happy...content...or something. He certainly did not enjoy being around people in the throes of passion. It made him uncomfortable.

A pang twisted painfully in his chest as he recalled his parents’ loving relationship. At one time he had dreamed of something similar. But perhaps it had been a child’s illusion. He’d certainly not seen that happiness in many of the marriages around him in the ton. He deliberately pushed the memory aside.

Fortunately, the figures of the dance left him and Miss Mitchell standing out at the top of the set. He focused his attention on her and she beamed at him.

‘I suppose all of this must seem like old hat to you?’ she said. ‘At your time of life, you must have been to a great many balls and parties.’

His time of life? Good Lord, now he sounded as old as Methuselah. Challenged by the implication, he gave her his most charming of smiles. ‘I have attended a great many balls, Miss Mitchell. But you know,’ he said, leaning closer, ‘it is the people who make them interesting.’

Her eyes widened a fraction, her lips parted. ‘How—how do you mean?’

Yes, he had not completely lost his touch. He could still charm a young lady if he put his mind to it.

‘For example, take the young gentleman over there with his mother, the plump dark-haired lady in the rose silk gown. That is Lord Barnaby. You would not think to look at him that he has devoted all of his time to working on a new sort of engine. If it works, it will make bringing goods to London much faster than ever before.’

She wrinkled her little nose. ‘Why would speed be important?’

‘Well... Say you want to sell fish caught in the rivers in Scotland. Right now, it comes to London by ship, but storms can delay that ship for days, even weeks. If it came by land in half the time it takes by boat, it would be fresher and command a better price.’

‘Ew! I do not like fish.’

He laughed at the face of distaste she made. ‘You might like it better if it was fresh.’

She shook her head. ‘No, I know I would not. I have eaten it fresh from the river, but I do take your meaning, I suppose.’

‘There are many other things that would also benefit from faster travel. I am sure you can think of some.’

She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Oh, yes. Milk. Cream. Strawberries.’

Yes, she did understand. He smiled at her as they began their promenade down the dance. He had not expected to enjoy conversing with the young lady, but it made such a refreshing change, he was actually enjoying himself.

‘How long have you been in London?’ he asked.

‘Almost six weeks.’

‘You came right at the beginning of the Season, then.’

‘Mrs Durant insisted we do so. She has been teaching us a great deal about how to go on, now and in the future.’

Ah yes, Mrs Durant. He glanced over to where the matchmaker was standing with a couple of older women. He could not help once more wondering what it was that he had done to make her dislike him.

‘Is she very strict in her notions?’ he asked.

‘Not really. She mostly tells us to be ourselves, but not to giggle or be silly. She also had us take elocution lessons to make us speak more clearly and dancing lessons to make sure we know all the latest steps and music.’

A sensible woman, Mrs Durant, apparently. Giggling females were deucedly annoying and a young lady who could not dance was a liability. The dance parted them and they travelled individually up the behind the line of dancers in their set. They met again at the top, but they were not standing out, so there was no real opportunity to continue their conversation.

He moved through the figures of the dance intuitively. Did Mrs Durant know how to dance? He would like to see that lithe figure of hers on the dance floor. Especially in a waltz. She had the elegance to carry it off to perfection. He could also guess how well her body would move beneath his hands in other circumstances. His blood heated.

He stilled. What the devil was he doing? Dancing with one woman and thinking about another and in the most licentious of ways. It was not like him at all.

He forced himself to concentrate on the dance and his partner until the music came to an end and he escorted her to her chaperon. Mrs Durant smiled at Miss Mitchell. ‘Here is Sir Robert come to claim his dance,’ she said as a young gentleman approached.

The two greeted each other like old friends and joined a set on the far side of the dance floor where he could see the other sister standing up with a skinny young man.

‘Your charges do you proud, Mrs Durant,’ he said.

She looked startled. Whether it was what he had said or that he had spoken, he wasn’t sure.

She inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

‘Will you honour me with this next dance?’

This time her jaw dropped. ‘Me? You are asking me to dance?’

He bowed, slightly. ‘I spoke in English and I believe my meaning is clear.’

She choked back a laugh and for a moment he thought she might say yes. He waited for her acceptance with a feeling of anticipation.

‘Goodness me, no,’ she said, the gold in her eyes twinkling as if she thought he had been merely teasing. A faint trace of colour appeared high on her cheekbones. ‘I do not dance.’

Along with surprise that any woman would turn him down, an unexpected sense of disappointment filled him. He bowed and it felt a little stiff, even as he retained a pleasant smile. ‘Then if you will excuse me, I see a lady against the wall who might care to join me.’

After all, he could not dance with only one lady this evening. That would be tantamount to an offer of marriage. No doubt, one mistake and he’d find himself leg-shackled if Mrs Durant had anything to say about it. Resentment filled him.

Whether it was the thought of being trapped into marriage or because she had refused to dance, he could not decide.

In Amelia’s opinion, Mr Mitchell had been lucky to rent such suitable lodgings, so close to Mayfair. Located on a street off Bedford Square, it was a little cramped and the girls had to share a bedroom, but it was an address that would not be looked down upon by members of the ton. Indeed, they had some of those same members as neighbours.

The two girls, now in their nightgowns, sprawled on Charity’s bed with their nightly hot chocolate. They made such a pretty picture together. Amelia sat in the rocking chair beside the hearth, sipping a cup of tea.

‘Well?’ Charity asked once the maid had finished tidying up and left. ‘What do you think?’

Each evening they spent a half-hour or so reviewing the day’s events and planning the next day before Amelia went home in the Mitchells’ carriage.

Amelia stared into her tea. What she thought was not a subject for discussion with the girls. No, indeed. And yet she could not stop thinking about the smile in His Grace’s eyes when he had asked her to dance. What on earth had he been thinking? Was it some sort of nasty jest? And yet...

She pushed the thought aside and smiled calmly. ‘I think you girls were a credit to your papa this evening.’

Both girls beamed with delight.

‘And a credit to you,’ Charity said. ‘I hope?’

‘Oh, indeed. Very much so,’ Amelia replied. ‘I could not have been more pleased.’

‘I was never more nervous that when I was dancing with the Duke,’ Charity said. She giggled. ‘He is so...so old and, I don’t know, distant, even while being exceedingly polite. And...quite kind.’

A little pain stabbed Amelia in the region of her heart. If only he had been kind to her all those years ago, she might not have rushed into Durant’s arms. But then she had never been as beautiful as Charity or Patience. Indeed, she had always felt like a bit of an ugly duckling during her come out and had been thrilled at Durant’s attention. More fool she. Well, she had learned her lesson and whatever the Duke’s motive for asking her to stand up with him tonight, she had scotched it nicely. If only she didn’t feel...sad.

‘Do you think he will make Charity an offer?’ Patience asked and giggled.

Charity looked horrified. ‘Oh, no. He won’t. Will he? Good gracious me, I do hope not.’

Amelia felt a stab of irritation. ‘Even if he does not, what the Duke did by dancing with you was establish you as a girl of acceptable quality in the eyes of the ton.’

Both girls stared at her open-mouthed.

Amelia winced. Perhaps she had been a little too forceful. ‘And one dance does not mean a betrothal is in the offing. However, he is a leader in society. If he approves, so will every other member of his set.’ She inhaled a little breath, trying to maintain her aura of calm. ‘And by only dancing with you once and asking three other debutantes to dance, he put you firmly in the same echelon as the daughters of earls and viscounts.’

Charity nodded wisely. ‘Then I must be grateful to him, I suppose.’

Amelia smiled. ‘Be yourself, Charity. That is what pleased him in the first place, I am sure.’

‘But you don’t think he is...courting me?’

Her stomach dipped. She did not want Charity hurt the way she had been hurt, perhaps that was why she was being cautious. ‘It is far too early to speak of courting, my dear. He and Lady Jersey are friends and by dancing with you he certainly endorsed her decision to give you tickets for Almack’s.’

‘The patronesses of Almack’s actually listen to him?’ Patience asked, round-eyed.

‘His Grace, Duke of Stone, is respected by every single member of the ton.’ If he had ignored the girls, it would not have done them any harm. He ignored most people. If he had cut them, their Season would have been over before it began. By dancing with Charity and looking pleased when he returned her to Amelia, by lingering for those few seconds to talk to their chaperon, he had set their feet on the path to wherever they wished to go.

Yet Amelia did not want to stuff their heads with too much nonsense. She did not want them thinking they could do no wrong. A statue could far more easily be knocked off a pedestal then it could be set on high.

Patience finished her hot chocolate. ‘Well, duke or no duke, I had a lovely time. I danced almost every set.’

‘Much to poor Mr Dobson’s chagrin,’ Charity said and poked an elbow in her sister’s ribs.

‘Ouch. Well, at least he didn’t leave the way Lord Sherbourn did when he saw you dancing with the Duke.’

That had been a big disappointment for Charity, but she had lifted her chin and danced with every eligible young gentleman Amelia presented.

‘Do not worry,’ Amelia said. ‘He will come around.’ Lord Sherbourn was a rather dramatic young man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He had some growing up to do. But he came from good stock and likely this was his first experience of falling in love. It would either endure and become something worth nurturing or it would pass and both young people would move on.

If Sherbourn did not come up to scratch, Amelia had several other young men on her list who would make excellent husbands, some of them higher up in rank than Sherbourn.

She knew better than to look too high. However, with the Duke of Stone’s endorsement of Charity, perhaps she had set her sights too low, after all.

‘What is it you like about Mr Dobson, anyway, Sister?’ Charity asked.

Patience looked thoughtful, then turned pink. ‘He doesn’t talk about himself non-stop. He asked me what I like to do.’

‘What did you tell him?’ Charity asked, clearly surprised by Patience’s hot blush.

‘I told him I like picnics. He said he did, too. He is going to ask his mama to arrange one.’

Inwardly, Amelia groaned. Apparently, some sort of outdoor eating was in her not too distant future.

She finished her tea. ‘If that is the case, we need to shop for something suitable to wear.’

‘Ooh!’ squealed Patience. ‘More shopping. I love it.’

‘Will Lord Sherbourn be invited to the picnic?’ Charity sounded a little wistful.

‘Since he is a friend of Mr Dobson, I would expect so,’ Amelia said.

Charity cheered up. ‘Then I really do need a new bonnet.’

Amelia got up. ‘Time for bed, ladies, if we are to look our best on the morrow.’

‘Will you buy a new bonnet, Mrs Durant?’ Charity asked.

‘I think I already have something suitable,’ Amelia said.

‘The Duke might be in attendance,’ Charity said, watching her finger trace the pattern on the counterpane.

Amelia stilled. ‘And your point is?’

‘When you spoke to him, you blushed.’

She opened her mouth to refute the accusation.

‘Yes, you did,’ Patience said with a giggle.

‘I must have been hot,’ Amelia said, seeing there was no way to deny the truth. ‘As I said, time for bed. We will have a busy day tomorrow.’ She quickly made her escape.

Good heavens, did nothing escape those sharp-eyed girls? Clearly, she needed to watch her reactions around the Duke of Stone. If the girls noticed her blushes, others might notice also and get the wrong idea.

Though why she had blushed, she was not sure.

Chapter Three

Later that week, an invitation to a picnic in Greenwich Park arrived at the Mitchells’ town house. Both girls were ecstatic, though Patience admitted she had known the invitation was on the way.

‘Lady Dobson has a brother in the navy and he has a friend who is equerry to the Duke of Clarence who has granted us access to picnic in the park,’ Patience had informed Amelia. ‘Mr Dobson is hoping he can show me inside the observatory, but he hasn’t yet found anyone to sponsor us. Mr Pond allows very few visitors.’

Greenwich Royal Park on the banks of the Thames was also home to the Royal Observatory and the domain of Mr Pond, the Royal Observer.

‘It will be too bad if we are unable to go inside,’ Patience said.

Apparently, Patience had recently discovered an interest in all things related to the stars and the planets. Perhaps because Mr Dobson was similarly enthralled.

Amelia looked at the invitation that had been thrust at her the moment she arrived at the town house after luncheon. ‘It says there will be cricket and croquet and lawn tennis as entertainment after luncheon. Let us hope the weather is fair.’

‘Oh, it would be too bad if it is cancelled because of rain,’ Patience said.

‘We shall just have to wait and see,’ Amelia said. ‘In the meantime, I see that you ladies are ready for our afternoon drive in the park and, if I am not mistaken, our carriage awaits.’

‘The barouche,’ Charity said in a tone of disgust.

The sisters had pestered their papa for a fashionable high-perch phaeton. Fortunately, even Papa Mitchell was not doting enough to buy such a dangerous equipage for his daughters, especially since neither of them had any experience driving anything more exciting than a donkey cart.

‘A barouche is the perfect carriage for meeting people in Hyde Park,’ Amelia said. ‘You will see.’ She ushered her charges downstairs and out into the street.

The barouche was brand new and beautifully appointed. Fortunately, Papa Mitchell had listened to Amelia when she had told him not to have any sort of crest emblazoned on the sides or anything but the most expensive materials and subdued of colours for the wheels and squabs. It was a picture of understated elegance.

When they reached Hyde Park the entrance was teaming with both carriages and pedestrians and they had to wait their turn to pass through the gate. Both girls looked charming in their bonnets, spencers and summery gowns, for today was as lovely a spring day as one could wish for on a drive. And that meant the world and his wife were here at the fashionable hour of the promenade.

It was not long before they were greeted by people they had met over the past few weeks. Amelia was proud of how well her charges had been received by the ton who made every effort to acknowledge them. With a slight pang, she had to admit some of that was due to the Duke of Stone’s condescension at Lady Jersey’s ball.

And...there he was, riding towards them. There was no mistaking his broad-shouldered figure in a snug-fitting navy riding coat or his easy masculine carriage. Her heart picked up speed and her stomach fluttered in a most disturbing manner. She took a deep breath and quelled such ridiculousness. She was fearful for the hearts of her charges, that was all, and, knowing the Duke, he had likely forgotten he had ever met them.

She pretended not to see him.

‘Oh!’ Charity exclaimed, sounding shocked.

Amelia’s heart sank, anticipating a snub from Stone.

‘There is Lord Sherbourn,’ Charity went on. ‘I am sure that is him. Walking with the lady in blue.’ She squinted and pouted. ‘A very pretty lady.’

Amelia took in the couple. ‘Lady Augusta Framton. This is her second Season. I believe her family’s estate is close to the Sherbourn home. Likely they are friends.’

Charity twirled her parasol and looked unconvinced. ‘He saw me and pretended he did not.’

Oh, dear. Amelia did not like the stubborn set to Charity’s chin. She was usually the most obliging of girls, but that particular look often signified she was annoyed and prepared to do something about the issue.

A shadow fell across the carriage. The Duke of Stone had fallen in beside them. ‘Good day, ladies,’ he said, doffing his tall hat with an elegant bow.

Amelia hid her surprise as they greeted him in turn.

‘A fine day for a turn in the park,’ he observed when the niceties were concluded.

‘It is,’ Charity said brightly. She sounded a little brittle to Amelia’s ears. ‘Nice enough for a picnic. I do hope we are not using up all the good weather so that it rains when we go to Greenwich.’

He gave her an indulgent smile. ‘You are attending the Dobsons’ party, then?’

Amelia’s heart clenched. A sharp little stab of pain that stopped her breath. Was she wrong about Stone? Was he truly interested in Charity? Why else would he have made a point of speaking with them? Perhaps the girl’s beauty had turned his head, as it had those of other gentlemen. She took a deep breath to ease the pain in her chest. Papa Mitchell would be thrilled if it was true. It would be the wedding of the Season, should it come to pass.

She just wished she did not have the feeling he would be making a terrible mistake in marrying Charity. No, no. It was Charity she worried for. The Duke was such a cold man and Charity was so sweet, she feared the young woman’s spirit might be crushed by the weight of his power.

‘We are,’ Charity said. ‘Patience is hoping to see the telescope in the observatory, but you need a special invitation.’

Stone looked surprised. ‘Are you interested in astronomy, Miss Patience?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Patience said. ‘Very much. It doesn’t matter if we cannot go into the observatory. Being so close to where Mr Halley made all his observations will be thrilling enough. And I hear the view from there is quite remarkable.’

Oh, dear. Patience was beginning to sound a little too effusive. Hopefully the Duke would not take offence at her youthful enthusiasm, when the fashion was for ennui. But from his expression it seemed he was amused rather than disgusted.

‘It is, indeed,’ he said. ‘Let us hope for fine weather. And do you go to Almack’s on Wednesday?’

‘Yes,’ Charity said. ‘We received our tickets from Lady Jersey.’ She smiled at him shyly. ‘I believe we have you to thank for that. I hope I don’t break any of the rules.’

‘You will not,’ Stone said, sounding indulgent. ‘Not with Mrs Durant to show you the way.’ He nodded at Amelia and heat rushed to her cheeks.

‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ she said, hoping she sounded normal and not as breathless as she felt. It was idiotic. All the man had done was pay her a commonplace compliment. ‘I assume we shall see you there?’

His eyebrows rose and she realised she had sounded rather challenging. Well, it really would be nice to know his purpose for asking, would it not?

He bowed. ‘You will indeed.’ He turned to Charity. ‘May I request a country dance if you have one available?’

For a moment, Charity stared at him, then she nodded firmly. ‘I shall be delighted, Your Grace.’

He smiled at her. ‘Please, I am Stone to my friends.’

Charity blushed and nodded.

He turned to Patience. ‘And may I request the fifth set from you, Miss Patience?’

Patience frowned. ‘You want to dance with both of us?’

A quizzical expression crossed his face that Amelia could not interpret. ‘I think my aunt would take me to task if I danced with only one of the beautiful Mitchell sisters. It would not be polite.’

Charity tilted her head. ‘Is your aunt so strict in her notions, then?’

He chuckled as if sharing a joke known only to the two of them. ‘She is indeed, Miss Charity.’

And, clever man, he was being careful not to show favouritism to one sister or the other. A way of keeping the gossips firmly at bay for his sake and theirs. Amelia had not expected him to be so considerate. Had he changed over the years?

Charity smiled back at him. ‘I expect your aunt is like Mrs Durant, then, and knows exactly how one should go on. So, we will follow their instruction and I am sure Patience will be happy to save the fifth set for you.’

He bowed. ‘Thank you. I bid you good day, ladies.’ He eased his horse away from the carriage and proceeded in the opposite direction.

He had stayed at their side the exact appropriate amount of time to acknowledge their acquaintanceship without arousing any curiosity, or at least, too much curiosity.

Amelia could not help but admire his savoir faire. He was certainly the most polished gentleman she had ever met. Or he was now. When they were younger, she had thought him rather rude.

‘There is no denying that man looks exceedingly well on a horse,’ Charity said, watching him ride off. ‘And I had never noticed before how bright blue his eyes are.’

It seemed the attraction went both ways. Again, her heart gave that painful little squeeze.

Really? She ought to be rejoicing. It seemed very likely she had only one sister left to place.

Travelling through the streets of London with his aunt the following Wednesday evening, Jasper could not recall the last time he had gone to Almack’s. He glanced over at his companion. Aunt Mary had been visibly surprised when he asked if she would like him to escort her and visibly thrilled. It wasn’t that he disliked dancing, he simply disliked all the trivial conversation that went with it. He always found himself at a loss for words once the formalities were over. And Almack’s was at best a dreadful bore. He could not fathom why the ladies liked it so much.

Fortunately, Miss Mitchell chattered on quite happily, leaving one only the necessity of inserting a word or two at the appropriate interval. Besides which, she really was a lovely and sweet girl. Not a mean bone in her body. Perhaps Aunt Mary was right and she would make some man an excellent wife. But would she make him a good duchess?

The carriage slowed and then inched its way towards the front door of the hallowed halls of Almack’s assembly rooms. Lady Jersey would not be surprised to see him, but the other hostesses would. And after he danced with them tonight, no one would question the appearance of the Mitchell sisters at all the best parties.

The carriage halted and he helped his aunt down into the street, waited for her while she changed her shoes and escorted her up the stairs to the subscription room. The porter at the door glanced at their tickets and gestured for them to go through. Jasper glanced around. Nothing had changed over the years except perhaps the ladies’ fashions.

While he pretended not to notice, he was not unaware of the ripple of his name spreading through the assembled guests. It had been at least three or perhaps four years since he had made an appearance at what was, without doubt, the hub of the marriage mart. It was here that all hopeful mamas paraded their daughters and sons in hopes of catching them a spouse. And that was the reason he had stopped coming. There had been too many caps thrown his way.

He and Aunt Mary joined Lady Jersey and a group of friends a few feet inside the door.

His gaze sought out the Mitchell girls. As usual they were in the middle of a group of fresh-faced young people with their chaperon hovering nearby. He let his gaze pass over them. It would not be good to be seen paying too much attention. He still wasn’t sure...

Lady Jersey was observing him with interest, even as she listened to his aunt. When she realised she had his attention, she smiled. ‘Is there anyone to whom you wish to be introduced this evening, Duke?’

She was a naughty minx and he’d always liked her for that. He grinned back. ‘None at the moment, Sally, thank you, but I anticipate you will keep me supplied with a feast of young women I haven’t yet met.’

Sally narrowed her gaze on him. ‘And some you have, no doubt.’

He inclined his head. ‘Indeed.’

She fluttered her painted fan. ‘So, your Aunt Mary is right? You have finally decided to take the idea of marriage seriously?’

He tried not to stiffen at the question. It wasn’t impertinence. It was the curiosity of a friend. ‘It is high time I settled down and did my duty.’

Aunt Mary shook her head at him. ‘You have never been one to shirk your duty, Stone. It is my wish to see you happily settled.’

There it was again, that word. Happy. ‘Surrounded by such a plethora of lovely ladies...’ he bowed in the two ladies’ direction to ensure them they were included in his description ‘...how could one fail to be happy?’

One of the other men in the group frowned. ‘Surrounded by a plethora is about as far away from happy as I could imagine. It is the presence of the person you care about that makes one happy.’

‘When did you become such a romantic, Charles?’ he said, unable to stop himself from looking down his nose. A reflex. Self-defence. He regretted it the moment he did it.

‘When I found my wife,’ the man said cheerily.

The couple smiled fondly at each other.

To Jasper’s surprise, he found himself envying the look passing between them. The understanding without words. He quelled the unwanted sensation. He did not envy anyone anything. He was glad for anyone who thought themselves happy.

The musicians began the introduction for the next dance and Miss Mitchell was escorted on to the floor by one of her court. Jasper spotted Lady Augusta Framton, who clearly had not yet found herself a partner. ‘Excuse me. I need to do my duty and find myself a partner or Sally will have my hide.’

Sally laughed. ‘I will indeed.’

He danced with Lady Augusta and with another young lady who Sally brought over to meet him, then went to claim his dance with Miss Charity.

She was standing beside Mrs Durant. Once again, he was struck by the difference in their own particular form of beauty: Miss Mitchell the classic English rose and Mrs Durant as exotic as an orchid.

‘Good evening, Stone,’ Miss Mitchell said upon his approach.

He bowed. ‘How are you enjoying the evening?’ He glanced around. ‘I saw your sister earlier. She seemed to be in good spirits.’

Miss Mitchell beamed. ‘It is exactly as we imagined. I am enjoying myself immensely and so is Patience. The balls at our local assembly were just as crowded, but not nearly as refined.’

He glanced at Mrs Durant, who was smiling fondly at her charge. She had a right to look pleased. The girl was not only lovely, her manners were delightfully free of affectation and the silliness that marked so many of her age.

Once more he had the urge to ask her to dance. He quashed it.

He held out his arm to Miss Mitchell. ‘Shall we?’

They strolled on to the dance floor to join the nearest set.

To Amelia, Almack’s was proving to be an unmitigated success. The girls had danced every set. Stone had clearly been pleased by both girls and even Mrs Drummond-Burrell, one of the starchiest of patronesses of Almack’s, had unbent enough to compliment her on the demeanours of the girls. She’d also congratulated her on setting their feet on the path to making extraordinarily good matches.

Soon her task would be done. So why was she not pleased?

Given the girls’ beauty and the wealth of their papa, Amelia had not expected to have any difficulty finding suitable husbands for the sisters, but Stone? And Charity? Something about it was making her feel uncomfortable. Never before had she felt so worried about a match she had arranged.

Nothing Stone had done or said led her to believe he meant Charity harm, but one careless word from him, one small indiscretion by her, could ruin the young woman’s reputation for ever more. Men did as they pleased and women trod warily. It wasn’t fair, but it was the way of the world.

When the girls took tea in Almack’s antechamber set aside for the purpose, Stone had not joined them and their friends, but instead had been seated with his aunt, Lady Mary, and Sally Jersey. Amelia had joined Lady Dobson and some of the other matrons while keeping a close eye on her charges. One of the matrons had approached her about finding her son a wife. Amelia did not usually take on young gentlemen, but had, after the woman pleaded with her, agreed to consider making an exception.

After supper there would be waltzing, but both sisters would sit out, although Sally had said she would approve of them dancing, if Amelia wished. Amelia had thought it better to wait until they had been in society a little longer, especially since she had not had an opportunity to observe them in the dance. It turned into a sad romp if it was not done properly with the right partner.

‘May I have this dance?’ a deep voice said beside her.

She started. ‘Your Grace?’ Her heart tumbled over. No. No, she must have misheard. ‘I beg your pardon, I was wool-gathering.’ She frowned. ‘You did not just ask me—?’

‘At the risk of being refused yet again, I did.’

People were looking at them and he was holding out his arm, making it impossible for her to refuse without seeming rude.

‘Very well.’

‘Do you have to look so cross about it?’

Indignant at the accusation, but worried he might be right, she smiled. ‘You took me by surprise. I suppose you asked Charity and she told you she does not yet have permission.’

‘I did not.’

‘Oh, but—’

He raised both eyebrows.

She put her hand on his sleeve and they strolled on to the dance floor.

No one would call Amelia diminutive. She was a little above the average height for a woman and, while most men were an inch or two taller, the Duke made her feel small and feminine. Perhaps that was what had attracted her to him all those years ago. She pushed the thought aside. Back then she had been young and full of romantic notions. She now saw the world through the eyes of experience and, in her experience, romance wilted faster than roses. Suitability and compatibility were far more important than sentiment.

She was not sure why Stone had asked her to dance, but perhaps it was part of his strategy to ensure she favoured his suit with Charity. Why would she not? And Charity’s father would be exceedingly pleased, but deep in her heart she had trouble believing that the remote Duke of Stone was suitable for a young lively girl like Charity.

The music began and for the first few seconds she focused on her steps and becoming used to her partner. It had been a long time since she had waltzed, but she need not have worried. He danced beautifully and, with such manly athletic grace, it was easy to relax and let him lead.

‘You waltz better than most ladies I have danced with.’

She frowned. ‘You flatter me, Your Grace.’

‘I do not flatter, Mrs Durant. It is not in my nature.’

‘Then I thank you for the compliment.’

She glanced up and was surprised to find that while his face retained its usual expression of cool detachment, his blue eyes were dancing with amusement.

‘What is the jest?’

His lips twitched as if he was holding back a smile. ‘No jest. I do wonder, however, what I have done for you to take me in dislike.’

She started and he somehow caught her before she stumbled and swung her into a turn beneath his arm. At the conclusion of the move they were face to face and exceedingly close. Close enough for her to inhale his bay-scented cologne and see the faint haze of dark stubble on his square chin. She really liked the firm set of his jaw. It showed character and purpose.

She collected her wandering thoughts. ‘I have not taken you in dislike, Your Grace.’

‘Stone, if you please.’

She nodded at his inclusion of her in his circle of friends, though she was sure his closest friends likely called him Jasper.

‘But you are reserving judgement,’ he said as he turned her and then glided down the length of the room with his hand firmly on her waist. There was nothing improper about his touch, but every nerve in her body seemed to tingle with awareness.

‘Not at all.’ She would be glad when this dance was over. Would she not?

‘One hates to argue with a lady, but the expression on your face says otherwise. For some reason, I make you nervous. We met before, did we not? I have a faint memory that eludes me in detail.’

She gazed at him, surprised. Even a faint memory was more than she had expected. Unless he had pretended not to recognise her the second time they met. ‘There is nothing to recall.’

He tilted his head. ‘Was I so unremarkable, then?’

Dash it all. He was not going to be satisfied. ‘We met the year I came out.’

His brow furrowed slightly. ‘And?’

‘And nothing. We were introduced. We did not speak again.’

‘Was I rude?’

‘You were yourself.’

He twirled around and back again. ‘So, I was rude.’

‘It does not matter, Stone. It was years ago. Before I was married.’

‘If it did not matter, then you would not still be...annoyed.’

They reached at the end of the room and he guided her around several couples who were making a hash of the turn.

‘I am not annoyed.’ She huffed out a breath. ‘I will admit, I was not impressed by the haughtiness of your manner, but it is or should be long forgotten.’

‘I see. You know, when I inherited the dukedom, it did not take me long to realise that many of those offering friendship were drawn to me by the idea of the title. I admit to being a little standoffish.’

‘Only a little?’ She gave him a quizzical look.

‘Very well. Very standoffish. Wary of all except those I knew to be my good friends.’

Heat attacked her cheeks as she recalled her mortification at the moment he had looked down his nose at her and moved on. ‘It is good to see you coming out of your shell at last, then.’ Her voice sounded a little more tart that she had intended.

His lips flattened. ‘I see that I caused you great offence.’ The music ended and he offered her his escort, returning her to the corner of the room where her charges awaited.

‘It is water under the bridge,’ she said. ‘I scarcely recall it.’

‘Then there is no more to be said.’ His voice was chilly.

He bowed to the girls and sauntered away. She watched him go with an odd feeling in her chest. A painful sense of regret that she had not been a little kinder.

‘Mrs Durant, Lord Sherbourn wants to know if he can dance with me again. He said as long as no more than two—’

‘I thought all your dances were spoken for.’

‘They are.’

‘Then there is your answer. Once you have agreed to dance you cannot go back on your word. It would not be polite.’

‘I expect if it was the Duke of Stone who wanted a second dance with me, you would find a way to arrange it.’

She stared at Charity in surprise. ‘Of course I would not. What would make you say such a thing?’

Charity sighed. ‘Because you want me to marry him. You and Papa.’

‘I think it is far too soon to be talking of marriage to anyone,’ she said briskly.

The young man who had engaged Charity for the next dance arrived at her elbow.

‘Miss Mitchell, are you ready for our dance? I hope you like the quadrille,’ he said. ‘It is my favourite.’

For a moment Amelia thought the easy-going girl might dig in her heels, but she smiled sweetly at the young man. ‘I do like it.’ She went off with her partner seeming happy enough, but left Amelia with a feeling of foreboding.

Perhaps Amelia should warn Stone off. Tell him that Charity’s feelings were engaged elsewhere.

She froze. What would Mr Mitchell say if she did any such thing? And what if she was wrong? Surely Charity could not prefer Lord Sherbourn over the Duke of Stone? What if Stone’s emotions were truly engaged? He would be terrible hurt to be rejected for the likes of Sherbourn. The idea of Charity causing him pain gave her a little stab in her heart.

Perhaps when Charity got to know the Duke better, she would see his true worth.

It was clearly her duty to help open her eyes. Duty was not always a kind master.

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