Ambrose sighed but nodded. It was always sad to speak of Charlotte, but his grief now was more for Winifred than himself. Missing her was little different to missing his parents, if he were honest. All three were good people without whom the world was a little worse off.
“Charlotte was the daughter of family friends. My own parents’ union was a very happy one and my sisters and I grew up witness to great affection and respect between them. My view of marriage was therefore positive and when I reached my majority, I asked my mother if she could find me a wife.”
“How very practical,” remarked the matchmaker. “You already knew one another?”
“Yes, reasonably well, although we had never thought of marriage. Anyway, it turned out that our minds were alike. Coming from an equally happy home and family, Charlotte was more than eager to begin building her own. We quickly came to an understanding and married before the year was out. Winifred was born ten months later. Then, when she was three, there was a bad influenza outbreak…”
“Yes, I remember that year,” murmured the matchmaker sympathetically, stroking her lapdog. “I lost my father to the influenza that year too.”
“Many people suffered,” added Ambrose, not wishing to dwell on remembrance of his own shock of suddenly finding himself alone with a child who could not stop crying for her mother. “After that, I did not wish to remarry and told my family so. Then, when my parents’ died, it transpired that my father was determined that I should.”
“Yes, I hear that both of your parents were vocal on this matter when they lived.”
“Oh yes,” the duke sighed. “They certainly made their views clear but I never imagined they would go so far as this. Anyway, done is done. Now, I wish only for what is best for Winifred. She must have her fortune and all the opportunities it unlocks. I must marry.”
“You seek a marriage of convenience with a like-minded lady,” mused Lady Kempleforth, turning her head to look thoughtfully out of the window.
“Do you have any ladies in mind yet?” pressed Euphemia, evidently keen to move on to the red meat of the matter. “I dare say most unmarried young ladies are looking for a love match, but there are always widows and slightly older women who might have less emotional views of marriage.”
“There are many eligible ladies around the ton who fit the essential criteria in theory,” agreed the matchmaker. “It is very important to make a temperamental fit and these things require careful consideration. I did begin to make a list before coming here, although I think several names must now come off.”
Setting down her dog on the floor, Lady Kempleforth reached into a bag on the sofa beside her and produced a piece of folded paper, a pencil, and a pair ofpince-nezwhich she affixed to her nose.
“Lady Lucinda Evans, the Duke of Ireton’s youngest daughter is pretty but far too sentimental for this case,” she thought aloud, laying down the paper and crossing the first name from the list. “Mrs. Bannerton might be worth meeting although she is rather older than the Duke of Westall and has four children grown. She comes out of mourning for Mr. Bannerton this summer.”
Ambrose shrugged amenably. He might as well marry Mrs. Bannerton as anyone else, he supposed.
“No,” his grandmother objected with asperity. “Mrs. Bannerton will not do. My grandson still requires an heir and she may be past childbearing. Ambrose seems to have forgotten that.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” acknowledged Lady Kempleforth, crossing off the second name after a brief glance to the duke who only shrugged again.
Ambrose had indeed forgotten the matter of producing an heir, or perhaps he no longer cared whether the duchy passed to his sister’s son. At the front of his mind, there was only Winifred, her wellbeing and her future happiness. Must he really do his duty in that respect? Bringing another child into the world seemed such a huge and weighty responsibility.
“Lady Withering,” suggested the matchmaker.
Once more, the Duke of Westall only shrugged his shoulders, knowing nothing of this lady.
“Withering by name and withering by nature,” said Lady Levene, shaking her head firmly. “If she likes children as little as she likes adults, she will not do at all as Winifred’s step-mother.”
They went through several more potential candidates, all of them producing the same indifference from Ambrose but some strong objection from his grandmother. He wondered whether they would get to the end of the list and have to agree to put the matter aside for some days. He hoped so.
“Lady Frances Harcourt,” Lady Kempleforth said, rather uncertainly. “Eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Scovell. I admit that I have only met this young lady once and it was hard to know what to make of her. I should really get to know her better before I recommend…”
Ambrose’s heart lurched in his chest at the mention of this name and he sat up straight in his chair and looked intently at Lady Kempleforth. His hands and body remembered the sensation of waltzing with a slender willowy figure whose subtle beauty had not not faded in his mind’s eye after several weeks.
“We will get there in the end, Your Grace,” said the matchmaker cheerfully, misinterpreting his sudden show of restlessness. “Have no fear of that.”
“I don’t know the Harcourt family either,” said Lady Levene. “Let us move on and we can come back to Lady Frances another time once you have a better feel for her, Lady Kempleforth.”
The matchmaker nodded and turned over the piece of paper, on which there were only a couple of further names.
“I want her,” the duke said, his words seeming to be directed by his body rather than his mind. “I mean, can you arrange a meeting with Lady Frances Harcourt, Lady Kempleforth?”
“Ambrose, we know nothing about Lady Frances,” his grandmother objected. “She might be entirely unsuitable on every count. How can you wish to meet her? I am not sure you are taking this seriously.”
It was not true that he knew nothing about Lady Frances Harcourt. Ambrose certainly knew more than either of the two older ladies in the library with him now. He knew that she did not wish to marry, that she was pursued by at least one othergentleman, and that her rather serious face dimpled surprisingly when she laughed.
“I am extremely serious, Grandmother, I assure you,” he said, feeling a strange defiance building in him, as if someone were trying to keep him from a vital goal. “I want to meet Lady Frances and her family as soon as possible.”
