“But that doesn’t sound like her at all!” Diana stammered. “Pris is a dreamer. She lives in her imagination and helps anyone who asks and… Something must be afoot.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “She’s not The One.”
Diana tilted her head in thought. “What kind of woman would be The One?”
“I don’t know,” Thad said slowly. He didn’t care about looks or money. “She could be anyone.”
“How will you know when you find Princess Charming if you don’t even know how to recognize her?” Diana asked.
He planted his feet. “What if I miss Princess Charming because I’ve limited myself to looking for ladies who love jasmine ices and painting still-lifes of flowers, and Princess Charming turns out to be a tightrope walker who skins her own leather?”
She shook her head. “If all you wanted was some chit with a sweet tooth and a watercolor set, you’d have married by now. If you were interested in tightrope walkers, you’d be at Vauxhall every night. You’re looking for something different and you need to figure out what it is.”
“I’ll know it when I see it?” he said hopefully.
Diana’s brow furrowed. “How?”
“Easy,” Thad said. “There will be rainbows, and bluebirds, and a ray of shimmery, heavenly light, and… er…”
She covered her face with her palm.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’ll work it out when it’s time.”
Even the kitten cast him a skeptical look.
Chapter 5
Clinks of glasses and cheerful shouts of “Middleton!” greeted Thad as he walked through the door of the Wicked Duke tavern.
He beamed at his friends, passing to exchange words with each one as he made his way to his favorite worn leather chair on the opposite side of the salon. It had won Thad’s heart not for its abundant comfort, but for its strategic location. Claiming the furthest chair meant no one would be overlooked.
It also meant arriving at said chair could take an hour or more, depending on what sort of conversations others struck up along the way.
Today when he reached his seat, a crackling fire and a frothy mug of beer awaited him.
“Colehaven’s new ale?” he asked as he lifted it to his lips.
Laughter erupted. “How did you know? He announced it not half an hour past!”
“Middleton knows everything,” someone else called out. “He can list the recipes for ale Colehaven hasn’t even invented yet!”
With an unrepentant grin, Thad took a sip of ale and lifted his mug in salute. “The porter he’ll reveal ten months from now is even better!”
Good-natured groans filled the tavern, along with another round of clinking glasses.
Thad adored coming here. The familiar mugs, the comforting food, the rumble of voices engaged in a dozen fascinating debates. If there was any complaint to be made about the Wicked Duke, it was that Thad could not bring his journals along to capture each moment in words.
His friends loved him, but they would not understand his passion for telling stories about real people, both ordinary and extraordinary.
Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if Thad imagined himself some sort of author, writing biographies for a living. It was just a funny pastime for those rare moments when he wasn’t out in the thick of whatever was going on.
“No promenade today?” one of his friends asked.
“In this weather?” Thad affected a horrified expression. “Have you seen what the rain does to my perfect curls?”
“Perfect mess, more like,” said another. “It looks like a ferret has been frolicking in your hair.”
“Close,” Thad admitted. “The culprit is a kitten named Wednesday. I wanted to bring her, but I feared you ruffians would corrupt her feline innocence.”
