Page 40 of The Duke’s Matchmaker

“I haven’t,” Violet agreed. “And I’m sure I would have remembered if I had. That seems like the kind of thing you recall about a person—what he has to say about his mother. Especially as you’re becoming a mother yourself, Agnes.”

Agnes laughed. “Do you think that means I start memorizing the names of everyone else’s mothers?” she asked. “You’re so silly sometimes, Violet. But she’s also right,” she added to Dorothy. “I don’t think anyone has ever mentioned a Duchess of Henshaw. It’s almost as if the woman doesn’t exist.”

Almost.

“For all we know, she doesn’t,” Violet said. “I mean, of course he must have had a mother once upon a time, but perhaps she died long ago. If that’s the case, it’s clear to me that his father never remarried.”

“Which would explain why he doesn’t know what to do when it comes to ladies,” Agnes chuckled.

“What makes you think he doesn’t know what to do with ladies?” Dorothy asked, setting the hat back on its rack and turning toward her friends.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Agnes asked. “He’s trying to find a wife, allegedly, but he hasn’t managed to do so. That makes it clear to me that he doesn’t know where to begin. He’s hopeless.”

Dorothy thought back to their encounter in the sitting room.

He’d needed instruction, it was true. But the moment he had received it, he had immediately intuited what to do next. He could have swept me off my feet if he had wanted to, she was forced to admit to herself. She hadn’t stopped him from doing so. He’d had to be the one to back away. She had been utterly helpless in his hands.

That was terrifying.

But there was one thing you could not say about the Duke of Henshaw. And that was that he didn’t know what to do with a lady.

He knew far more than anyone could have anticipated.

CHAPTER 21

Dorothy felt tired by the time she returned home from her outing with her friends. She hadn’t purchased anything, though both Agnes and Violet had insisted on visiting several shops.

“I don’t know why you won’t buy yourself something,” Violet had said tenderly, resting a hand on her arm. “You deserve new things, my dear. I understand you’re trying to be cautious about money, and that’s wise, but it’s not as if you’re in trouble financially. Right?”

“I’m not,” Dorothy had agreed. “But it’s best to be responsible. And besides, I don’t need anything, Violet. I have plenty of dresses I can wear.”

She hadn’t missed the look her friends had exchanged at that. She understood what they were thinking. Her clothes were fine enough, but it had been a long time since she had purchased anything new. Once she had given up on the idea of marriage, she’d stopped seeing the point of spending money on such things. Fine dresses were for ladies looking to attract a husband or wanting to look good on the arm of one they’d already found. A spinster didn’t need that sort of thing.

This was just another example of the way her friends pushed her toward marriage. Violet and Agnes didn’t want her to buy a gown because they thought she wanted one. They wanted a sign that she hadn’t given up on the idea of love.

It made Dorothy feel exhausted and frustrated. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to wrestle with her own feelings about spinsterhood? Lately, it felt as though she had to tend to everyone else’s feelings on the matter too, and that wasn’t remotely fair. She ought to be able to focus on herself. If other people were upset about the choices she was making, it should be their responsibility to tend to those feelings, not hers.

Honestly, Violet and Agnes ought to get together with my sisters and talk about these things, she thought. Then they could support one another about it and stop asking me to do that for them.

She wasn’t hungry, even though it was lunch time. And she found herself feeling grateful that her sisters weren’t at the house today. They would want to sit down with her and talk about the upcoming ball. They’d want to talk about Nathaniel. And if Dorothy resisted, they would push her. They’d demand to know why she wasn’t eating, they’d ask what had happened in town today, they would insist on helping her get herself ready for the ball…

She sighed. It was so exhausting, and there seemed to be very little she could do to make it stop.

She went up the stairs to her room. Even though no one else was here, she knew she’d feel the most protected from the idea of meddling sisters if she was in a place where they never ventured. And she was right. The moment she had closed the door behind herself, tension seemed to drain from her body and she felt more at ease. She went over to her bed, ready to lie down and close her eyes for a few moments, until she was free of the feelings of frustration the day had left her with.

But there was something on her bed already.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the garment box and trying to make sense of what she was looking at. She recognized it immediately, of course. It had come from the modiste. She’d purchased gowns there in the past, so this box was a familiar sight.

But it wasn’t a sight that made any sense. She hadn’t bought anything in town today, so why was this here? Her mind grasped for an explanation and came up empty. Her friends couldn’t have done this. She had been with them the whole time; they couldn’t have done it. And besides, it was unlikely either of them would spend this kind of money on her. Agnes was known to do wild things from time to time, but this seemed beyond even her.

Dorothy approached the bed slowly, not sure what to do. Removing the lid from the box seemed dangerous, somehow, as if by doing so she would be accepting whatever came next. That was a frightening proposition when she didn’t know what strings might be attached to this.

Don’t borrow trouble, Dorothy! It’s probably just a mistake. She took a deep breath and tried to force herself to calm down. This had probably been sent to her in error, that was all. She would open it up, try to discover who it was meant for, and have it sent back. That was the right thing to do.

Resolved, she approached the bed and removed the top of the box.

The gown inside was the perfect shade of blue, as if the fabric had been intentionally dyed to match her eyes. She sucked in a breath, startled. Without touching the note that lay on top, she knew at once that there had been no mistake. This was meant for her. That color was as good as a name tag.