Page 9 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

Milbury always called upon her at her home, or they met and briefly chatted at ton affairs. Was this not a serious oversight on her part? How else was she to acquire an intimate sense of the man and how he lived if she never visited him in his own habitat?

Because of this glaring oversight, her observations had been superficial at best. Had she concentrated too much on outward appearance, merely concentrating on his manner of dress, which was always impeccable, and how he acted when in the company of others? He was always charming, interesting because he was so well read and naturally intelligent, often witty, and always tactful. Nothing crude or boorish about him.

But she had not dug deep into the workings of his mind or probed the essence of his soul. She had no idea what he considered important beyond being a good father. How was she to find him a true love match when she had barely scratched his surface?

She took a moment to study him more closely.

He was a handsome man. Indeed, quite tall and handsome, which was why every lady she approached as a potential match was eager to meet him. She tried not to be too obvious when now studying his body, which was mostly muscled and not at all flabby. Yes, very nice musculature. His face had a sculpted maturity to it, and one felt power and commanding authority when looking at his strong jaw and keenly assessing eyes. There were slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes that denoted a sense of humor because those little lines came about from smiling.

He dressed with understated elegance, preferring sober colors such as gray, dark blue, black, or an occasional dark green. He was never ostentatious, knew just the right thing to wear for any occasion. Of course, that was probably his valet’s doing. Still, the man knew how to look good in clothes.

He probably looked good out of his clothes, too.

She cleared her throat. Coughed once or twice.

It was just an observation. She meant nothing improper by it.

Her heart beat a little faster when he suddenly turned to her and regarded her with concern. “Are you all right?”

She ignored the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks and nodded. “Quite perfect.”

Did he know what she was thinking?

He cast her a wry smile.

Oh dear.

But he couldn’t possibly…

Or could he? Was she that transparent?

The man was smart, too. In truth, exceptionally smart.

This was him. Powerful marquess. Wealthy. Handsome, intelligent, and possessing a sense of humor.

Well, one would need to have a good measure of humor and patience when dealing with two growing boys. But what did he enjoy? What were his interests and hobbies? Hopes and dreams? What was his taste in furniture, in food, and in women?

Obviously, she had done a poor job of framing her questions. They were shamefully lacking in substance. She had asked him little beyond whether he preferred blondes, brunettes, or redheads. Did he enjoy quiet evenings at home, or was he fond of parties? Did he prefer a debutante fresh out of her first year or someone older?

Really, she had been quite superficial in her interrogation of him.

His answers had been accurate but not really helpful. Yes, she got that he preferred a quieter life and did not want a child bride. He had been quite adamant about that. “No fresh-faced debutantes for me,” he’d insisted. “No one under the age of five-and-twenty.” Nor did he care about the color of a lady’s hair.

When first embarking on this matchmaking challenge, she had invited him to her home and they had chatted casually on a variety of topics. She thought she had been thorough and got a good sense of him.

But she now realized how inadequate this had been.

Who was he, at heart? What were his childhood influences? How had they formed his character? Had he been adventurous or studious? What did he expect of a wife? What qualities were most important to him in a spouse? Had he faced difficulties or losses other than the loss of his wife? How had they changed him? Had they strengthened him?

“We are close to home now,” Milbury said, momentarily distracting her from her thoughts. “My residence is just around the corner.”

She had only seen his townhouse from the outside, having passed it often enough when going out and about in Mayfair. His home was not very far from Duchess Square.

She studied it carefully once they arrived, taking note of every detail while he escorted her through the wrought iron gate.

The house was large and impressive, built of red brick and trimmed in a cream-white paint around the windows and portico. Ivy ran up the walls, giving warmth and a welcoming look to the residence.

The front door was actually a set of double doors painted in dark blue that now opened as he and Gwendolyn were seen coming up the walk.