Chloe wrinkled her nose. “Those gossips make us sound likebats.”
“I like bats.” Jacob scratched beneath the chin of one of the ferrets. “Bats are fascinating. They have navels like humans and clean themselves like cats. I have thirteen of them out in the barn.”
“Please keep them there,” Tommy murmured.
“Or give them to His Iciness,” Chloe suggested.
“Faircliffe deserves as much.” Graham moved the broadsheets in search of his spoon. “No doubt the duke’s interest in Philippa York is monetary. Although she has no title, she does possess the largest dowry on the marriage mart. I’ve been keeping a tally.”
“Poor Philippa.” Tommy’s mouth tightened. “She deserves better.”
Chloe agreed. Faircliffe single-handedly lowered the temperature in every room he entered. The man was all sharp cheekbones and cutting remarks. That is, to everyone but her. She was invisible when right in front of him. Even when she wastryingto be seen.
Graham made a face. “Can you imagine being wed to that block of ice?”
Chloe pushed her teacup away. “I cannot fathom a worse fate.”
2
Lawrence Gosling, eighth Duke of Faircliffe, was on the verge of achieving what had once seemed impossible: replenishing the dukedom’s empty coffers and restoring its tattered reputation.
His father had lived a charmed life on credit he had been unable to repay. And now, with the failure of their country estate’s crops, the situation was becoming dire. If Lawrence did not secure a bride with a significant dowry before the end of the season, he would have to send the last of his loyal servants to the streets.
He would not repay them so shabbily.
Lawrence leaned forward in his rented coach and opened the curtain to be able to address his driver. As with all of his father’s grievous missteps, each of Lawrence’s attempts to restore respect and prosperity had been won at great personal cost.
The sacrifice was worth it.
Lawrence’s reputation was spotless, his performance in Parliament impeccable. This season, marriage-minded mamas would have him at the top of their lists. For as long as Lawrence lived, the Gosling name and Faircliffe title would never again be spoken with derision. No heir ofhiswould be dismissed, forced to shoulder ridicule and isolation.
Of course, that was because no one realized his shiny reputation hid a very empty pocketbook. The dukedom didn’t needadowry. The dukedom neededthedowry to end all dowries. A sum so staggering, Lawrence could restore the half-abandoned entailed country estate, repay the last of his father’s debts, and have a respectable chunk left over to invest in a stable future.
The dukedom needed Miss Philippa York.
“The terrace house at the corner,” Lawrence instructed the driver. “The one with yellow rosebushes.”
“As you please, Your Grace.”
Using a coach to travel from one end of Grosvenor Square to the other was a shameless display of pretension and excess…and the reason Miss York’s parents looked favorably on a courtship between Lawrence and their daughter.
Although he’d sold his last remaining carriage that morning—right down to his prized greys—Lawrence had rented this hack to keep up appearances.
Mr. York was one of the most powerful MPs in the House of Commons. Mrs. York was bosom friends with a patroness of Almack’s. They had wealth, status, everything they could ever want—except a title.
After the wedding, the Yorks’ daughter would be a duchess, their grandson a future duke. To them, such a jaw-dropping coup would be more than worth any dowry required.
For him it meant a new leaf. The Earl of Southerby was seeking partners for an investment opportunity with very attractive interest rates—ifLawrence came up with his portion before the earl quit London at the end of the season. It was not a flashy wager, like the sort his father had made at his gentlemen’s clubs, but the steady interest and future profit would provide a strong foundation for years to come.
To Lawrence, marriage to respectable Miss York meant far more than financial stability. His children could bechildren, without fear of mockery or poverty. It would give his sons and daughters the chance—no, theright—to be happy.
Everyone deserved as much, including his new bride. Lawrence could not afford to woo Miss York for an entire season, but he could give her a week or two to get to know him before the betrothal.
He reached for the framed canvas on the seat opposite. “Once the traffic clears, I’ll alight at the last house. I shan’t be more than half an hour.”
But the carriages crowding the Yorks’ side of the square did not move. The queue appeared to be idly awaiting passengers. One of the Yorks’ neighbors must be hosting a tea. He grimaced.
Lawrence hated tea. He would rather drink water from the Thames.
