“You are blaming them,” Prim intervened, “for something that was not their fault.”
“You mean to tell me that they are not to blame after being invited to the prestigious Blackwell Ball and escorted by the Duchess herself and still have nothing to show for?”
“The problem is exactly that,” Prim said in a low voice that dripped with anger. “Camilla and Myrtle were accompanied by the Duchess and not her own parents.”
“Are you trying to place the blame on us?” Her mother said, hand on her chest.
“I am saying we should all assign our portion of the responsibility to the right place.”
“Listen, here, you disrespectful-” her father started.
At that exact moment, the butler entered with a silver tray with a card. A caller. To whom Prim owed gratitude since his appearance possibly defused an explosive situation in the Jenkins family.
“The Duke of Greyhaven!” Her father triumphed.
All previous disdain evaporated. Her mother fussed over the twins, their clothes, pinched their cheeks to make them look rosier, and told them to sit on the side where the light complimented their complexion.
“We were in haste to chastise you,” their father said with glee. “A Duke. And Greyhaven nonetheless.”
Prim had a gnawing suspicion that the girls didn’t even interact with the Duke. And that suspicion became a reality when the Duke of Greyhaven entered the little drawing room.
The room instantly shifted by his sheer presence. He did absolutely nothing. Not a long pause, not a theatrical perusal of the room. He simply was, and the room adjusted just to accommodate him.
“Lord Jenkins,” the Duke bowed. “My lady.”
Prim’s father was elated to be treated as an equal by a Duke of his caliber, and her mother gave the man the deepest curtsy.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” her mother said. “I will make sure fresh tea is sent up.”
“No need,” the Duke said, and his voice filled the room. “I am calling upon Miss Primrose. I would like to speak with her.”
The air in the room changed. No one moved or talked. Prim looked at the Duke and she found him looking at her with his usual impassive look. Not emotionless exactly. He looked like a man with a plan, and he was just going through the steps.
“May I, Miss Primrose?”
An absurd thought came into her head. Just a misplaced, irrelevant thought. Leo. Just that. She frowned at the insanity of her wandering mind, shook her head and focused on the situation at hand.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said and prompted him to sit at the small table by the window, her usual spot.
He settled on the soft chair across from her. He made sure that he was in an orderly fashion and patiently waited till Prim poured him a tea that he didn’t touch. Prim guessed that drinking tea was not part of the plan.
“Miss Primrose,” his voice was even, “you know the reason I am back in London.”
“You are in search of a wife and a mother to your daughter.”
“You remember. That saves me some time.”
Prim remembered Leo’s critique of her flirting. She smiled faintly. It seemed that no other trick than honesty and efficiency would melt the Duke's heart. All else would be just noise. A flash of the feel of Leo’s fingers cradling her face came over her. She drank her tea to dispel the image.
“I believe this could be compatible,” the Duke said straightforwardly.
“Compatible?” Prim repeated.
Of all the words she thought would be used in a marriage proposal, this was not even in the discussion. Prim realized it should have been. All this talk about love and passion was good, but at the end of the day, perhaps all that remained in compatibility.
“I believe you are sensible enough to see what I am offering, Miss Primrose.”
“You have been nothing but clear, Your Grace. It is quite refreshing.”
