Twelve Days to go.
The hunt for a bride begins
Naomi smoothed the skirts of her ice blue silk gown and gave a slow glance around the ballroom. It might be August and the London social season well over, but there were still enough people in London ready to attend a hastily arranged ball or party.
Normally, the Steele family would be in the throes of closing up their London house and preparing to head north to the family estate, where they would spend most of the rest of the summer. But not this year. Kitty, having put the list together for Monsale had announced that they were going to remain in town until he had selected a bride. The next trip the duke and duchess would be taking would be to Monsale Castle in Kent for Andrew McNeal’s wedding.
Naomi had voiced the feeblest of protests about this arrangement, before promptly making an appointment with her modiste. Assisting Monsale in his search for a wife would require the purchase of new gowns. There was comfort to be had in shopping.
The Steele family had arrived early at the function this evening, Kitty was keen to make sure everything was ready for Monsale when he met with the first lady on the bridal list. Naomi didn’t know the owners of the mansion, and she didn’t particularly care to circulate and socialize. She was here on a mission.
As soon as she entered the gathering, she looked for the nearest servant bearing a tray of drinks and made a beeline for them. Two quickly downed glasses of champagne took the edge off her nerves.
She was watching the other guests mingle, and toying with the idea of whether it was wise to go and find a third glass of champagne, when her nose caught a familiar scent. The hint of a man’s cologne that she knew only too well.
He is here.
“Good evening, Lady Naomi.”
She composed herself, then turned to face him. The sight which met her eyes, had Naomi swallowing deep.
Monsale was always well turned out for these sorts of events, but the sharp cut of his evening jacket and the tight fit of his black trousers informed her that he too had purchased a new wardrobe for the occasion. His hair was neatly cut and there wasn’t a hint of his usual sexy, scruffy facial hair.
He is taking this bride choosing business far too seriously.
“Your grace. You look well,” she said, in a voice as calm as she could make it.
Don’t let him see you are rattled.
Her capacity for small talk was somewhat limited by her secret disappointment at seeing him so elegantly attired. He was obviously keen to make a good impression on the families of the ladies Kitty had selected.
Not for the first time, did Naomi wonder if refusing to be on the list had been a major misstep on her part.
But in the aftermath of her tears, she had come up with a different strategy. She would take him on at his own game. Show Monsale just what he was missing. What marriage to another woman would lack.
Hold your hand firm and steady on the tiller. This ship will come safely to harbor.
He bowed low to her. When he lifted his head, their gazes met. “You look stunning in that blue gown. Is it new?”
She smiled sweetly at him. “This old thing? I think it is last year’s style. No point in wasting new clothes when I am just here as a bystander. Or should I say, to act as your assistant.”
Monsale narrowed his eyes. “What do mean assistant?”
Time to put the plan into action.
“Didn’t Mama tell you? I am here to give you all the pertinent details about the families and the girls on your list.”
Which really means I am going to give you all the juicy gossip about them so that you can strike them off that bloody list and finally realize that you are a clod.
Only when he was ready to admit his mistake, confess that he wanted her with his heart and soul, would she budge an inch. In the meantime, there was sport to be had. Punishment to be inflicted.
“Kitty, I mean Lady Steele, didn’t make mention of you playing a role. Don’t feel obliged,” he stammered.
It took all her strength not to clap her hands with glee. Watching the mighty Monsale squirm was particularly enjoyable.
“It is my pleasure. I only wish to see you happily settled with a good woman. And your lands and titles kept intact.”
Monsale met her gaze for a long moment. The sly grin which slowly crept across his lips, all but shouted challenge accepted.
“Well, shall we begin? The first lady on your list is Miss Constance Harforde. Her family, while not in possession of a title can trace their lineage all the way back to William the Conqueror. They are very old money. And well aware of their status in society.”
He screwed up his face. Over the years, Monsale had made no secret of his dislike of snobs. There had been people, who unwisely looked down their noses at him. According to her brother Harry, Monsale had made certain that every single one of them was made to pay dearly for their arrogance.
“What can you tell me about Constance?” he replied.
“Well, they don’t call her constantly delightful Constance for nothing. She has been raised on a steady diet of self-importance. The two of you should suit.”
Naomi casually glanced at the silver bangle on her wrist, all the while silently congratulating herself for having made such a smart quip.
From what she could recall, Constance was spoiled and with a reputation for running to her well-heeled papa whenever things didn’t go exactly according to her dictate.
With any luck Miss Harforde, would be off Monsale’s list by the end of the night.
She pointed out a middle-aged couple who were slowly making their way across the floor. They were headed directly toward Monsale. Behind them trailed a tall, thin young woman, dressed in a high-necked white gown.
“Well here comes your first potential bride. Though you may need to get past her father before you are permitted to actually speak to her. I wish you a good evening, your grace.”
After a quick curtsy, Naomi went to walk away. Monsale hurried after her, taking a hold of her arm.
“Naomi, wait. I want to ask you something. Why isn’t your name on the list?”
She gave a disinterested wave of her hand. “That’s not a question you should be posing to me, your grace. I would say that the only person who can truly answer that particular conundrum, is your good self. Whatever your reasons for creating that list, they must be sound. Because otherwise, only a simpering buffoon would throw away the best chance he had.”
Monsale muttered something under his breath and let go of her arm. He was still grumbling as Naomi walked away. She wasn’t going to spare him another moment of her precious time.
While she didn’t exactly consider herself to be a bird in the hand, if he felt the need to go chasing after wildlife in the bushes, as far as she was concerned Monsale was more than welcome. Hopefully, a few nights of dealing with other women would cure him of his stubborn stupidity.
But what if the list does work if he can stand one of them enough to offer her marriage. What then?
That was the question Naomi didn’t wish to consider. It was a dangerous game she was playing, the stakes high. If she failed, her heart would be crushed.
If he chooses another, then he never really loved me.
If that was the case, then she was better off without him. Time would eventually heal her wounds. And she wouldn’t be left with regrets.
But if she did manage to succeed in having him declare his heart, a lifetime of love with Monsale would be her reward. She was determined not to settle for anything less.
“Monsale.”
The one-word usage of his name, not ‘your grace’ should have been the first sign that Mister Harforde considered himself above a mere duke. Monsale gritted his teeth and turned to greet Constance’s father. He was tempted to chase after Naomi and continue their discussion, but since Kitty had gone to such pains in order to arrange this introduction, he felt obliged to stay.
“Mister Harforde is it?” he replied.
Constance’s father gave a gruff, huff in response. He obviously assumed everyone in London society knew who he was, and his exalted status.
Rude ignorant prick. Just because one of your ancestors was in the good books of a king doesn’t make you any better than me.
He thought for a moment before reluctantly offering his hand. If he was going to court the man’s daughter, then concessions had to be made.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled when Mister Harforde hesitated. The limp handshake the gentleman eventually stooped to offer him, was so poor that it could only be seen for what it likely was, an intended slight. Monsale was quickly beginning to form a solid dislike of Mister Harforde.
What did Naomi say about the daughter? The father runs her life.
Miss Constance and Mrs. Harforde remained several feet adrift of them. Neither moved an inch. It was clear that Mister Harforde was taking the measure of his potential son-in-law, before deciding whether Monsale was worthy of meeting his daughter.
Why the devil did Kitty put this girl’s name on the list?
Mister Harforde moved toward a spot a little away from the rest of the gathering and Monsale reluctantly followed. Constance and Mrs. Harforde remained where they were, staring down their noses at anyone who happened to pass them by.
As soon as they were out of earshot of other guests, Constance’s father wasted no time in getting to the point. He stood, hands behind his back and considered Monsale over the top of his spectacles.
“I am not certain of you Monsale. I have heard rumors of you and your shady dealings. And I don’t like the sound of them. My Constance will not be married off to some bestial rogue, even if he does have a title.”
Bestial rogue? Actually, that sounds rather appealing. I should try that as my new moniker.
He opened his mouth, ready to reply, but Mister Harforde continued. “The Duchess of Redditch had some kind words to say about you, which to be honest is the first time I have heard anyone call you a good man. From what I understand, you have led an interesting life. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Monsale stifled a laugh. He knew exactly what an interesting life meant.
Oh, you don’t know the half of it.
He cleared his throat. “I have experienced many things during my three and thirty years, Mister Harforde. I will grant you that, but so have many other men.”
He got a haughty derisive snort in reply. “Yes, well, they are not the ones looking to secure the hand of my sweet Constance. I tell you here and now that I won’t let her be taken in marriage by a blackguard. Or the son of one. Wasn’t your father some sort of pirate? And then your uncle died under mysterious circumstances in the West Indies. Disgraceful business.”
After mentally putting a line through Constance’s name, Monsale dropped all pretense at good manners.
“Bermuda. Not the West Indies. You may wish to avail yourself of a map, sir. And yes, my father was a full-blown, unashamed pirate. As was I from the time I could wield a pistol. And there was nothing mysterious about the death of my uncle. He died in my arms when I was but thirteen years of age. Shot by a slave trader in Cable Bay.”
“Well, I never…”
Monsale leaned in close and touched a finger to the glass of Mister Harforde’s spectacles, pushing them back on his face. This action left a pleasing mark on the lens, through which the gentleman now glared back at him.
“I don’t suppose you have done anything of interest in your life. Which goes a long way to explaining why you are such a weasel of a man. Have no fear Mister Harforde, I won’t be troubling your daughter. Good evening, sir.”
Leaving a blustering Harforde in his wake, Monsale made for the door.
One down, two to go.
Arriving home, he arranged to send a note to Kitty informing her of the evening’s progress, or rather lack thereof. Naomi had been right in her judgement of the Harforde family. For a brief moment, he pondered whether she might have been the better choice to put the list of potential brides together, but then thought the better of it.
Why Naomi’s name wasn’t on the list still had him stumped.
Is she really that angry with me?
Inside the front door of Monsale House, he was greeted by Adan. His steward’s face reflected his own disappointment. If things had gone well with Constance, he wouldn’t be home so early.
“Can I take it that the first lady was not suitable?” asked Adan.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get to meet her. But the three minutes I spent with her pompous father was more than enough.”
His thoughts of this evening’s failure were suddenly pushed aside as the unmistakable hint of perfume reached his nose. Monsale sniffed and Adan’s scowl transformed into a bright smile.
“Yes, your grace, they have arrived.”
Monsale hurried to the entrance of the ballroom and flung open the doors. He was greeted with a sight which had him grinning from ear to ear.
Four large wooden crates had been stacked in the middle of the floor. One had been opened and several large pots with pink flowers were visible inside. It was from these blooms that the heady scent emanated. Monsale rushed across the floor, giddy as a child on Christmas morning, dropping to his knees in front of the first pot.
“Oh, damask roses. Aren’t they beautiful? So delicate and yet, their scent fills the room.”
Adan came to stand next to the box. “They are rather lovely. We have only had time to check this first crate, but they all seem to have arrived in good condition.”
His long-serving steward was but one of a select number of people who understood what the roses meant to Monsale.
Memories of his late mother were few and vague. The clearest of them, was an image frozen in time, of her standing next to a rose bush in the garden of their house in Bermuda. He could still recall her words as she bent and held her face close to a perfectly formed damask bloom, smiling as she inhaled its wonderful perfume.
“Andrew, roses always bring me joy,” she said.
On the morning that Sarah McNeal died, James had gone into the yard and ripped out the rose bushes with his bare hands, laying waste to what had once been a perfect garden. The young Andrew dumbstruck with grief, watched helplessly as his father destroyed every last bloom.
The only thing which remained of the roses were some dry, pressed petals in a diary left to Monsale by his mother.
By having these rose bushes shipped from Morocco he was able to relive those precious memories once more. Of a time when he still had a family. Before it all went to hell.
Getting to his feet, he carefully lifted the pot. Tonight, he would be sleeping with it on the table next to his bed. Tomorrow the Monsale House servants would begin planting the mature bushes in the garden, the younger plants finding a place in the glass hothouse.
“Well at least this evening wasn’t a complete waste of time,” he said.
Adan cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt your joy, but may I ask about your grace’s plans for the next young lady on the list? Time is not something we have to spare.”
Monsale continued to stare at the pretty pink blooms. Nothing, not even this evening’s unpleasant encounter with the Harforde’s, could diminish his delight at the safe arrival of the newest members of his floral collection.
Adan, of course, was right, the roses were wonderful, but he had to address the issue of finding a bride. By August twenty-fourth Monsale had to have a wife by his side as he knelt in front of the Prince Regent.
“We need to continue with the search. So, tomorrow I shall endeavor to meet with the second prospective bride on the list. But rather than try to meet the young lady and her parents at a formal gathering, I want to invite them here for supper. Let them see the house and what marrying a duke will bring to their fortunes.”
“Very good your grace. You could even show them your roses.”
A soft smile sat on Monsale’s lips. Everyone loved flowers. A wife who shared his appreciation of roses would be a plus.
“I shall, thank you, Adan. Tell the staff to wait until after tomorrow evening to plant the bushes. In the meantime, I want the roses all carefully removed from the crates and set about the ballroom.”
He marched upstairs, pot in hand and headed for his bedroom. By inviting the next potential bride to his home, he might get a chance to speak to her. To learn more about the young woman.
His married friends had always pressed the need for a couple to have shared interests. Something with which to build a relationship upon, and also to provide common ground on which husband and wife could meet when times were tough.
A wife who appreciates roses would be a perfect match.
At the entrance to his bedroom Monsale stopped. A frown creased his brow. Even he was aware that marriage was more than just meeting the obligation of an oath to the crown. Soon a woman would inhabit this house. She would sleep in his bed. Share his life.
He would have a wife.
“I have no idea how to be a husband,” he muttered.
Nor did he have a clue as to what he would do when his bride inevitably uncovered the secrets of his dirty business dealings. Mister Harforde had it wrong; an interesting life was the least of Monsale’s problems.
He had a dark past. And what woman would want to give her heart to such an unscrupulous rogue?