Page 22 of The Subtle Craft of Courting Kate

“Thank you, no,” she sniffed, turning up her dainty nose at the offering.

“Suit yourself. More for me, then.” Already he was nearing the end of the small, paper-wrapped package of them. Ah, well—at least he had cake to look forward to later in the afternoon. “We ought to make a list.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A list,” Elliot repeated. “Of important wifely qualities. So that when we find the perfect woman, we’ll know at once.”

“We?” Kate echoed, her mouth dropping into an incredulous gape. “We!”

“Of course,” Elliot replied blithely, hoping he’d managed to keep the amusement out of his voice. “I count your opinion of my future wife just as important as my own.” Another almond crunched between his teeth. “Perhaps more so.”

A muscle beneath Kate’s right eye twitched. That dark gaze sharpened, burned with the encroaching flames of ire. “You can’t—” A garbled sound of irritation clawed through the lips she’d pressed into a grim, forbidding line. “You can’t marry a woman simply on the advice of another!”

Elliot widened his eyes and blinked, affecting an expression which he hoped conveyed baffled innocence. “Whyever not?”

“Because you must live with her forever after!” Kate growled, the fingers of her free hand flexing at her side as if she were imagining clenching them around his throat. Probably she was, but it was hardly the first time he’d moved her to such heights of vexation.

“I don’t foresee that being a problem, as I have no doubt that you’ll select the ideal woman for me,” he said as he polished off the last of his almonds and tucked the emptied paper wrapper into his coat pocket. “I should like her to be a proficient horsewoman,” he said offhandedly, as though he were remarking upon the weather rather than his future spouse. “The sort who enjoys the outdoors. A woman who prefers the countryside to the city.”

Another twitch of that muscle beneath her eye made her look just slightly deranged. “May I remind you that you are looking for this woman in the city?” she stressed. “You’d be better served looking for such a woman in the countryside, don’t you think?”

“What, should I spend weeks or months capering about the countryside, knocking upon doors of country estates and enquiring after marriageable women who might be within?” Elliot scoffed. “There’s plenty of women about whose families travel to London for the duration of the parliamentary session, whether or not they prefer the city themselves. We shall simply have to find one of them.” He pitched his gaze toward the vibrant blue of the sky, and furrowed his brow as if he were mulling over his thoughts. “I should also like her to enjoy reading.”

“You want a bluestocking?”

“I want someone interesting,” Elliot said. “I don’t care what she reads—gossip columns or newspapers, novels or poetry. But I should like to have something to discuss with my wife beyond the weather or our health.” He paused to indicate the book still held tightly in her hand, her fingernails carving crescents into the soft leather cover even through the fabric of her gloves. “You really ought to be writing this down, you know.”

Kate’s jaw clenched, and Elliot fancied he could hear the grinding of her teeth behind the stern tightness of her lips. Motions mechanical and restrained, at last she eased the clench of her fingers from the book in her hand, leaving four perfect nail impressions behind. She wrenched the book open so violently that the backing strained, producing a loud, sharp crack as the glue binding the pages pulled beneath the assault. Fisting the pencil in her free hand, she scratched it upon a fresh page, muttering as she did, “Avid horsewoman. Enjoys reading.”

This was turning out rather more entertaining than Elliot had expected. “She should like dogs and children, too,” he said, warming to the task.

Kate’s lips stretched into a macabre parody of a smile, with far too many teeth visible to be anything but fear-inspiring. “Likes dogs and children.” She paused, the point of her pencil nearly boring a hole in the page beneath it as she pressed the tip down so hard he feared it would break straight off. “In that order?” she inquired with sickly sweetness.

“Hm.” Elliot canted his head, giving a great show of pondering the question. “I suppose it depends.”

“Upon what?”

“Upon whether or not we happen to produce children. Obviously, I’d prefer it if my wife were fonder—even if only slightly—of our children than our dogs.”

The point of the pencil surrendered to the inevitable and snapped beneath the pressure of her fingers. “Drat,” Kate muttered, as she brushed at the flecks of graphite the mishap had left upon the page, irreparably staining the side of her white glove with it as she did. “You might find it difficult to work all of these questions into conversation,” she remarked, her voice tinged with surly aggravation.

“Oh, I’m not going to do it,” Elliot offered jovially. “You are.”

“I—” Kate startled, her brows winging up as the book wobbled in her hand. The pages crinkled beneath the ruined point of her pencil. “I am?”

“Of course. You’re my first line of defense, you know, Kate. I trust your judgment above all others, so you must ascertain the answers and direct me to the women who meet my requirements.” Oh, she had not liked that at all. Her cheeks pinked with new fury. Even the tip of her nose had flushed an angry, mottled rosy hue. “Besides,” he said, “were I to ask such questions, a woman could get the wrong idea. Assume I have got an interest in her prematurely, and all that.” He gave a delicate shudder, as if the thought were properly horrifying. “No,” he said, “I need you for this. And any woman who does not meet with your approval shall be stricken straight off.”

“She won’t be my wife,” Kate snapped, fisting the pencil in her hand.

“No, but if she is to be mine, I will want to spend a good deal of my time in her company. And as I am so often in yours, of course you must also approve of her. You’ll have to pick a woman you’ll be friends with”—throw down the gauntlet, now—“because I intend to marry a woman I can love, and I should hate for the two of you to be at odds.”

Kate recoiled at the mention of the word love, as if it had been an insect which had stung her. “You want me to make you a love match?” she uttered, in tones of dawning horror.

“No, no,” he assured her, with a quelling gesture of his hands. “I want you to find me a woman I can love. I’m reasonably confident that if you approve of this woman, so too will I.”

Her teeth were clenched so tightly he thought he had heard a creak. And even though her gloves concealed her hands, he was certain her knuckles had gone white where they had tightened around the pencil. “Elliot,” she hissed between the grit of her teeth. “You cannot put me in charge of your happiness.”

“Of course I can. You’re my dearest friend in the world,” Elliot said, laying one hand over his heart. “I have complete faith in you, and furthermore, I know that you will act in my best interests—which is more than I can say of either Devon or Drew.”