Time was of the essence. Adam had not explained the entirety of his plan to Miss Quincy because so much of it hinged on the billiards party. If it was a success, Adam would host another and another. After all, no matter how much he practiced being bold and conversational into a single evening, one night would not be enough. He wanted to build more than just a billiard table. He wanted to support the foundation for his future matrimony.
He pulled a stack of books toward himself and opened the topmost to the first page. A handwritten dedication slanted up from the bottom:
For Azureford,
The greatest lord, statesman, and fox-hunter England has ever known.
The inscription was meant for Adam’s father. All the books he’d rescued from the crates going to the castle bore dedications similar to this one. Signed by the author, by dignitaries, by friends. Adam’s father had been a legend among men. It was Adam’s duty to live up to the family name.
The first step to being a proper duke was choosing the proper bride. But Adam didn’t want to select some debutante willy-nilly because she happened to possess physical beauty and unimpeachable connections. That prevailing wisdom was how his parents had ended up at the altar. It had lasted only in the sense that divorce was not an option.
Neither Mother nor Father had ever been interested in the other—just what they could gain from the marriage. Her land. His title. Who cared about the rest? Once they’d produced Adam, they never spoke again. One roof; two lives. Adam refused to accept such a fate for himselforhis future wife.
He opened his diary to the final page and added:
Mustlikeeach other!!
to the list of prerequisites. There. He had a plan. All he had to do was completely change his personality, return to London amid wild popularity, and select a perfectly pedigreed young lady in Almack’s who also possessed every trait on this list.
Given all Adam was demanding of himself, four little items weren’t too much to ask of his future bride, were they?
“Stop glooming,” he muttered to himself. This would work. It had to. But first, he had some parliamentary notes to tidy up.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” called a sunny voice. “I didn’t see you there at first!”
Good God, Miss Quincy wasyellingto him from theside of the road. Did she even grasp the meaning of proper behavior?
“A lady doesn’t shout,” he called back. “Or peek inside her neighbor’s windows.”
She grinned at him unrepentantly. “What are you doing? Should we finish clearing up the library?”
No. He was busy. Doing important ducal things. Taking care of Parliament and the like. His morning was rigidly scheduled, and he wouldn’t have time for library antics until after noon at the earliest.
As he leaned his tailored elbow on the windowsill, he heard himself shout, “Come on over!”
Chapter 6
“No, there isnottime to curl our hair.” Carole tried to tug her lady’s maid away from the dressing table.
Judith looked longingly at the tongs. “What if I just curlmyhair?”
“You’re lucky I came back for you at all,” Carole reminded her. “We both know how well you intend to chaperone.”
“A chaperone in name only is better than none at all.” Judith added with a wicked grin, “A bad chaperone is leagues better than a good chaperone if you’re spending your time right.”
Carole rolled her eyes heavenward. “I have no intention of physical impropriety with the Duke of Azureford.”
“Then why did you fetch your chaperone?” Judith asked archly and swept out of the bedroom door.
Carole groaned and gave chase. “I told you. The castle footmen come today to pick up the crates. Ihaveto find my sketchbook before they arrive.”
“Assuming it’s still there,” Judith added darkly. “Maybe it’s already being copied into the next quarterly gazette.”
Carole slanted her a flat look. “You’re not helping.”
“But I will,” Judith promised. “I’ll keep Mr. Swinton far away from the library.”
“Thank you.” Carole pushed open the door and exited their cottage with her maid hot on her heels.
