Gerald turned very slowly. He looked at his friend over the rim of his glass, eyes blinking slowly. Morgan has been friends with the Duke for many years, but he still couldn’t help but feel the cold bite of Gerald’s disapproving look.
“Come on, chum,” Morgan tried. “You are rich enough to fund a small army, powerful enough to lead it. And if one squints just right, enough to miss that permanent scowl, you are not half-bad looking.”
Gerald was not amused. He dropped his chin, looking at his friend.
“There,” the Marquess said, amused. “That is the look I have been talking about.”
“If this annoying detour is over, can we go back to our conversation?” Gerald growled.
“We are still on topic. You are trying to have a wife. I am telling you how to get one. You have all that all the mamas in the ton are looking for in a suitor for their daughters. All you need to do is… smile?”
“Smile?”
“Yes, Gerald. Smile. Not baring your teeth at them like a wolf would do in front of a bunny. Actually smile.”
Gerald growled deep in his chest and looked at his best friend, eyes unblinking.
“Perhaps just stay in a company not looking as if you are calculating the quickest way to dispose of their body, and send young ladies look for their smelling salts to keep from fainting.”
The two of them knew each other for a long, long time. Morgan was right in his assessment. In all those years, Morgan might have never seen him laugh, perhaps not even smile.
“You know darn well, Morgan,” Gerald moved to his desk, “that the ton fear me.”
“You give them a good reason, Gerald! All I am saying is if you could just soften up a little… Every lady of the ton would simply fall at your feet so that they would-”
“Enough!” Gerald’s deep voice made the window glass vibrate.
Morgan shook his head and gave up with a deep sigh of disappointment.
“All I am saying is that you are going through life like a battling ram. Had it ever occurred to you that you could just, I don’t know, knock on the door for once?”
“If I knocked, no one would open.”
“Gerald, instead of this old parchment that was clearly signed by two old men over too much brandy, you could present your calling card. I am sure the Viscount would at least hear you out and consider-”
“So, you know him,” Gerald cut Morgan’s speech.
“I do.”
“And what about his daughters?”
“Gerald, you are not-”
“His daughters.”
Morgan gave up and headed for the decanter in resignation. He poured a hefty amount and sipped on it for a few minutes.
“The Viscount has two daughters,” he sighed.
“Go on.”
“That are obviously blessed with a stupid father that signs nonsense and the lucky star of being in your radius of interest.”
“Your disdain is noted. Carry on.”
Morgan took a long sip of his whiskey, stalling. Gerald waited. He was good at waiting. Predators always were.
“The eldest is Miss Bridget. She is a very… reserved girl.”
