“That’s rather specific,” George murmured, thinking it sounded exactly like the list the Duke of Ariley mentioned.
“But it also includes Rose’s brother, Waverley, so if we take him out and include only those who have already inherited or who are due to inherit earldoms, marquessates, or dukedoms, we’re down to...” She held out a hand and began counting with her fingers. “Eight. Maybe nine.”
Appearing rather impressed, George settled back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Any of them of interest to you?” he hedged.
“Me?” she squeaked. “I thought we were talking about Lady Rose.”
“Wouldn’t you say you’re after the same qualities in a potential husband?”
She inhaled softly, about to admit she didn’t much care about titles. The time she spent at her mother’s charity had opened her eyes to the plight of men whose lives had been upended by war or by accidents. Although her father was well aware of them—he’d been her mother’s largest contributor toFinding Work for the Woundedsince its inception—he didn’t seem amenable to the idea of Adeline marrying one of them.
“You can speak freely,” he said in a quiet voice.
Adeline allowed a shrug. “So many on the list are good friends, it would be like marrying my brother.”
“Such as?” he prompted.
She scoffed. “I cannot imagine marrying William Wellingham,” she said, referring to the heir to the Trenton earldom. “Or Robert Roderick.” He was the spare heir to the Reading marquessate, and his older brother, Raymond, had married one of her best friends the year before. “Or Duncan or David Fitzwilliam.” Duncan was the oldest of the twins and was due to inherit the Norwick earldom. “I cannot even tell those two apart,” she added with a wince. “And then there is George Merriweather.”
“Middleton’s heir?” her father asked. At her nod, he said, “Good family. Who else?”
“The rest either don’t live here in London, or I don’t know them well enough to consider marriage to them.”
Arching a brow, George leaned his elbows on the desk. “Who are the others on this list? The ones in town who are not future earls or marquesses or dukes?” He paused a moment. “And who have returned from their Grand Tours.”
Sliding her hand into a pocket, Adeline pulled out a folded parchment that looked as if it had been crumpled and retrieved from a wastebasket. She peeled apart the edges and winced at hearing her father’s chuckle.
“When you said there was a list, I didn’t realize you carried it with you,” he teased.
She huffed. “My fellow wallflowers helped compile it,” she said as she felt her face flush with color.
“Go on,” George encouraged. “I’d like to hear who made the cut.”
She gave him a quelling glance. “This isn’t in any sort of order,” she said. “And just so we’re clear, I haven’t settled on any of them.”
George sobered. “Understood,” he said. “Go on.”
Adeline inhaled and began reading. “Octavius Whitney—”
“Grandson of a duke,” George murmured as he nodded his approval.
“Andrew Burroughs—”
“Grandson of a duke,” George repeated again, continuing to nod.
“Mark Cunningham—”
“Future viscount,” her father whispered. “And he’ll be rich as Croesus, given his father’s investments.”
“Jasper Truscott—”
George furrowed his brows. “Sir Donald’s son?” he whispered. “I wonder if he’s taken up spy craft like his parents?”
Adeline shrugged, not sure what her father meant. “Jasper is always very pleasant when we dance, but I do get the impression he’s hiding something,” she said. She glanced back at the list. “Mark Fitzsimmons—”
“Ooh,” her father said.
Adeline reacted with a start. “What is it?”
