Page 21 of A Duchess of Mystery (The Mismatched Lovers #3)

As if aware of her scrutiny, he turned to regard her out of eyes that might well have shown honesty, had her battered soul been prepared to believe it possible. “I also have a favor to ask of you.”

Wary of what this might be, she answered with a raise of her eyebrows.

He smiled. No. His smile was nothing like Marcus’s.

She’d thought it before and now she was certain.

His eyes had narrowed against the glare of the sun, a flare of lines at their corners.

Nothing like Marcus’s mean eyes. No. These were beautiful eyes she could have drowned in had she been a different person and this a different set of circumstances.

“As you know,” he said, “I have no wife, and I have to confess little inclination to find one. But I understand from my commanding officer that if I wish to return to the Peninsula, which I do, before this war with Boney is done with, I need to get myself one in a hurry, and provide the estate with an heir. Things that cannot be done with the haste I would prefer.”

This was such an unexpected statement, that Isabella couldn’t control her chuckle.

Why would he want to return to soldiering when he had all this estate at his fingertips?

And her father’s fortune to spend. “At least you are honest.” Not that Marcus ever had been.

“So, you wish to return to your soldiering?” A little nub of disappointment kindled in her heart.

He might only have been here a day, but somehow, she’d already grown used to his presence.

He nodded. “I do. It has been my life for so long, I feel like a fish flapping on the edge of the pond, unable to return to the water. But I’m no longer just plain Major Richard Carstairs now, and I have a responsibility to the estate and title, as well as to the people who are now my tenants, and in my employ. ”

She laughed at his naivety. “I don’t know if you know much about babies, but you need to understand, I think, that these things do not happen to order.

Easier to breed horses than to breed children.

And one cannot be sure to produce the boy you think you need.

” How odd he was with his ideas that once he’d got a son he could just march back off to war and abandon his wife and child.

Although that was what Marcus had done, wasn’t it?

Not precisely, but very near. He’d only gone as far as London to join his gambling cronies, but he might as well have been as far away as the Continent.

That sentiment must run in the family. The run-off-and-leave-the-wife sentiment.

“My commander, Lieutenant General Wellesley, won’t have me back until I have an heir. He said the nobility of Britain must be preserved. I find I must do as he asks.”

She pushed aside the awkward memory of when Marcus had abandoned her lest it sour her too much. “Well, in that case, you had better do it. However, the London Season doesn’t start for some time, although here in Berkshire we have a lively social life that should suit you well.”

Did she really want to see him married to some girl just out of the schoolroom?

He frowned. “The trouble is, I am not at all used to socializing. I joined the army at fifteen. I have been on active duty for nineteen years, and soldiering has been my life. I know many officers do manage to attend balls and parties, but I have never done so. I didn’t want to.

So I am a social novice.” His dark eyes implored in the most winning of ways, making her heart do yet another flutter.

“I was rather hoping you might be able to assist me with this. I mean… in finding a wife.”

She stiffened. He wanted her to choose him a wife? “You will remember that I am in mourning and should be for a full year.”

His mouth quirked in another smile. “Your friend, Lord Rupert Wyndham, hinted that you have not let your mourning curb your enjoyment of entertainment.”

Damn Rupert. There could be no denying this.

“Perhaps he is right. But I fear I must admit to you that I am considered fast for my attitude to the mourning of my late husband, and other matters… The matrons frown on me and call me frivolous and shocking. I do not meet with their approval.” She smiled.

“Not that I give a fig for what they think of me.”

“I am sure we can overcome that. What I need from you will be advice. Which young debutante would suit me best. Which to avoid. Whose mother is a harpy and should never be considered a potential mother-in-law. That sort of thing.”

Why was she feeling so disappointed? She’d wanted to have a hand in the selection of the next duchess, hadn’t she?

And yet… the thought of seeing this man, a man whom she’d only just met but who had already wormed his way into her…

her what? Surely not her heart? Not with him looking so much like bloody Marcus.

Only he wasn’t like Marcus at all, or if he was, he was like a mirror version of him, an opposite.

Of course, she could play along with this and never find him a potential wife. Yes. That was the thing to do. As soon as he got himself a wife, he would cease to be her friend, and she didn’t want that. Let him believe she had good intentions.

She smiled. This might be quite fun, and another opportunity to cut a few enemies dead.

Revenge would be sweet. “I can tell you all that, of course.” She eyed him up and down.

“And you do have the advantage of not already being known. You are the great inconnu. A mystery man with a title. Even with me as your sponsor, I foresee your inevitable popularity with the mamas who fancy their daughters as duchesses. Perhaps you and I should discuss what you require in a wife, and make ourselves a list?”

This made him laugh. “That feels a little formal, but it would do no harm for me to tell you what I do not require in a wife. That list, I feel, might be longer than one listing what I do require.” He swiped his unruly hair out of his eyes, the gesture boyish and making her wish there was a portrait of him as a boy at the castle instead of one of Marcus.

She had to laugh. “You are a fussy bridegroom then?”

“I think I might be.”

She could play along with this. “So what is at the top of your list of dislikes in a young lady?”

“Stupidity. I could not bear to be married to an empty-headed girl. Nor one that cannot hold an intelligent conversation. I will require intelligent children, you see, not dunderheads.”

“Then that will cancel out at least half of the girls I could have suggested. I’m afraid most of them are not brought up to be intelligent conversationalists.

They’ve been groomed to flirt, to flatter, to simper, and to make a man feel superior in all things.

Most of them are, alas, dunderheads, as you put it.

Although I think we’d better not tell anyone of our conclusions. ”

“And you were not brought up like that?”

She shook her head. “You guess right. I arrived late in my parents’ marriage and was their only child.

My father wanted me to have the sort of education he would have given a son.

” She met his gaze. “I speak half a dozen languages, and if you did not have Mr. Sanders, I could manage the estate books with no trouble, although I’ve never been allowed anywhere near them.

I was brought up to understand trading and how to make money. ”

His brows rose. Perhaps he’d never met a young lady like her before.

Good. It would be fun to spar with him a little.

If only he didn’t keep reminding her of Marcus, everything would be fine.

She could delay the finding of a suitable wife as long as possible, for the arrival of some slip of a girl, thinking she could lord it over her, would spoil her fun.

Eventually, in a year or two perhaps, she would choose him a nice biddable one, who’d do as she was told while Richard was off playing at being a soldier.

Or perhaps by then he might have decided not to go back.

The realization that she would like it if he stayed settled over her like a warm blanket. Yes, she would like that very much.

They were riding downhill now, towards the road to Winchester. She’d given away enough about herself. “If we take that track up ahead we can ride through that farm and return to the parkland. I feel an urge for breakfast. Shall we trot?”