"They were perfectly pleasant—" Anthea started.
"They were polite," Poppy corrected. "Which is not the same as interested. Anthea, I know what it looks like when a gentleman is actually interested versus when he is simply being courteous. Those men were being courteous."
Anthea wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that it simply needed more time, more opportunities, that eventually someone would see past the family reputation to Poppy's genuine appeal.
But she could not lie to her sister.
"I will find others," she said instead. "There are plenty of gentlemen in London. We simply need to expand our search."
But even as she said it, she knew the problem. The gentlemen she knew—the ones who would accept her invitations—had already formed opinions. And changing those opinions would require more than simply being a duchess now. It would require... connections. Influence. The kind of social weight that came from being fully accepted by the ton, not merely tolerated because of her new title.
The kind of weight that Gregory might have been able to provide, if she had not pushed him away.
These men are idiots, Gregory thought as he settled into his chair at White's.
He had arranged to meet with several lords to discuss investment opportunities in agricultural improvements. Sensible, practical improvements that would benefit not just his own estates but could be implemented across multiple properties.
Unfortunately, sense seemed to be in short supply among the peerage.
Gregory laid out his proposals clearly. Explained the methods he had observed during his military service. Provided specific calculations about potential yield increases and return on investment.
The lords listened politely.
And then Lord Pemberton smiled—the kind of smile that never reached the eyes. "Fascinating proposals, Your Grace. Quite... innovative. Though I confess, I am curious about the source of these ideas. You say you observed these methods during your military service?"
"Yes," Gregory said. "In France and Belgium. The farmers there?—"
"Ah yes." Lord Pemberton's smile widened into something sharp and unpleasant. "Foreign methods. How very... progressive of you." He pronounced the last word as though it tasted foul.
"The methods work," Gregory said flatly. "The nationality of their origin is irrelevant."
"Of course, of course." Lord Pemberton exchanged a glance with Sir Richard. "Though one does wonder if English soil might respond differently to these foreign techniques."
Gregory bit back his immediate response—that soil was soil, that agricultural science did not particularly care about national borders—and forced himself to remain calm.
"I have already begun implementing these methods on my own estates," he said instead. "The results have been promising."
"Promising," Lord Weatherby's father repeated. "How... optimistic. Though I suppose optimism is to be expected from a man who married so... unconventionally."
There it was. The real issue.
"My marriage has nothing to do with agricultural investments," Gregory said, his voice going cold.
"Does it not?" Lord Weatherby raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but when a duke marries a young woman from a family known for... ambitious matchmaking schemes... well. It does make one wonder about judgment. In all areas."
Gregory's hands clenched beneath the table. "My wife is the daughter of a gentleman and has been properly educated inSociety's expectations. Her family's reputation has nothing to do with her character or capabilities."
"Of course not," Lord Pemberton said smoothly. "We meant no offense. Simply that... well. Unconventional choices in one's personal life do sometimes reflect unconventional thinking in business matters. And when we are discussing significant investments, we prefer to work with men whose judgment is... proven."
Translation: they would not invest because Gregory had married Anthea. Because her family's reputation—Beatrice's schemes, the desperation of previous seasons—had tainted her by association. And by marrying her, Gregory had tainted himself.
No amount of practical demonstration would change their minds. They had already decided he was unreliable. Unpredictable. Not one of them.
And his marriage—which was supposed to make him more legitimate, more acceptable to Society—had apparently made everything worse.
"I see," Gregory said quietly. "Then I will not waste any more of your time, gentlemen."
He rose, gave the briefest of nods, and walked out of White's with his proposals clutched in one hand and frustration burning in his chest.
