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R obert surveyed this year’s crop of debutantes at Almack’s assembly rooms, with a somewhat jaundiced eye.

He was resigned to his fate, but he couldn’t summon enthusiasm for it, no matter how hard he tried.

Having made his requirements plain to Lady Sefton, much to the injury of his pride, and requested her discretion, he waited expectantly.

She smiled up at him. Maria was short, and he was just over six feet in height.

“You are in luck Robert; we have five heiresses this year, and I believe they are all present tonight. None of them smell of the shop, you understand. They wouldn’t gain entrée if they did.

Let us take a stroll round the room and I will point them out to you. That way you can have your pick.”

He nodded and offered her his arm. “Thank you, Maria. I appreciate you helping me in this fashion.”

The hubbub of noise covered their conversation as they began a slow perambulation around the room.

“As if I wouldn’t. I’ve known you since you were in short coats, Robert. Now, see the young lady to our right with the brown curls and the white gown with too many flounces on the hem?”

Robert discreetly glanced in the direction indicated by Maria’s fluttering fan.

“Miss Emily Grenfell, twenty, her maternal grandfather owned tin mines in Cornwall and left his whole fortune to his daughter, Ernestine. She was snapped up by Gerald Grenfell, Viscount Lockwood. Despite all their efforts, Emily is their only child and stands to inherit more than forty thousand pounds. Her dowry in the meantime is said to be generous.”

Robert nodded, observing the lady’s long nose and rosebud mouth. She was not unattractive; her skin had a milky smoothness, and her figure was slender. “And the lady herself?” he asked.

Maria glanced up at him. “Her disposition?”

He nodded.

“She seems a pretty behaved young woman. I know no ill of her, at any event. Somewhat reserved in company I believe. Her mother is a little, how shall I put it? Dominating? I suspect Emily would show to better advantage away from her mama’s eagle eye.”

“Noted,” he said. Miss Grenfell had definite potential.

They strolled on, and Maria swirled her fan artistically. “The young lady with the guinea-gold curls and the jonquil-colored gown, standing beside the plump woman in the puce turban.”

He glanced in her direction and beheld a peaches and cream beauty of delicate frame and short stature.

He was not a man given to poetical flights of fancy, but this girl was worthy of a sonnet.

His expression must have given him away because Maria chuckled.

“Yes, they all do that when they see her. Her name is Cecelia Woodrow, and she has thirty thousand pounds and an estate in Bedford. She is eighteen, this is her first season, and she won’t last long.

You have an advantage being a duke, but I’d move fast. She’s an orphan, and her guardian is her uncle Sebastian Monk. He’ll drive a hard bargain.”

“I see,” he smiled ruefully. “And her disposition?”

“She is young, possibly a little spoiled.”

He pursed his lips. The lady’s looks were enticing, but he wasn’t sure that he could cope with a child of eighteen, the same age as his sister Ava. “Next?” he said.

Maria raised her eyebrows and moved on. “If you prefer someone a little older, there is Isabella Mortimer, Countess of Esbury, twenty-five. Her husband was thirty years her senior when they married six years ago, and she has been a widow for two years. This is her first appearance in London since his death. He left his whole fortune to her. She has no financial reason to remarry and no one to force her into it. It will be entirely down to your address to convince her.” Maria cast him a twinkling look.

“Not something beyond your capabilities, I should think.”

“Does she have children?” he asked, his heart quickening a beat as he surveyed the tall dark-haired woman in a cream and gold gown, conversing easily with a group of three, made up of two men and one other woman.

She was striking rather than classically beautiful but carried herself with an elegance and confidence that was very attractive.

“No. It wasn’t for want of trying I understand, but whether the fault was his or hers is anyone’s guess. He married her for an heir, and it didn’t happen.”

It was his duty to obtain an heir, but he did have two younger brothers, so the line wouldn’t die out necessarily, unless all three of them failed to reproduce.

But still, children were something he actively wanted, not only because he needed a son to succeed him, but he also looked forward to daughters as well.

Children were a definite part of his vision of a happily ever after.

But how did they fit into a marriage of convenience scenario?

Would they be a solace for the lack of affection between him and his (as yet unknown) wife, would they underline the emotional gulf, or—best of all possible worlds—bridge that gulf, bringing happiness closer? I can only hope for the latter.

“In the blue satin with red hair and, most unfortunately, freckles—Elinor Carlisle, nineteen. Her father was the Laird of McKlintock. Her uncle holds the title now. Scottish, obviously. The uncle is sponsoring her season in the hopes of snaring a title for her. Lady Merton is bringing her out as a favor to the family, some sort of connection between the families.”

“Does the hair ring true?” he asked with a slight smile.

“I believe the lady has a reputation for her temper, yes. She is certainly no simpering miss.”

Did he want to risk having a termagant for a wife?

His siblings caused enough chaos as it was.

He shuddered internally at the thought. They moved on and the music commenced for the first of the country dances.

Couples began pairing up and moving onto the dance floor in the middle of the room.

He glanced around and noted that both the blonde and the widow had partners for the dance.

Both ladies were patently in high demand.

But there was one more lady for him to sight. “And the last one?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m just looking for her,” said Maria peering around.

“Ah! Behind the potted palm in the corner.

“Miss Sarah Watson, age twenty-two. You may actually have met at some point. This will be her fourth season, she missed last year due to being in mourning. Her father is the vicar of Littledon, an obscure little village in Hampshire. She is the eldest of five daughters and three sons.”

“How can a vicar’s daughter be an heiress? And if she is, how has she remained unwed for three seasons?” He couldn’t see much of the lady; she was literally hiding behind a monstrous plant in the corner. Her gown as far he could tell was rose pink, but everything else was a mystery.

“Her great aunt, Lady Agnes Fairchild, sponsored her seasons and died last year leaving her whole fortune to Sarah, on the condition she was married by the end of this year to a titled gentleman.”

“How extraordinary,” he murmured, feeling sorry for the woman, sight unseen.

“Lady Agnes was an eccentric.”

“Evidently. Tell me more about Miss Watson.”

“As you might have surmised, she didn’t take.

She is what is colloquially called a wallflower.

She is not ill favored, but I believe, due to her upbringing as the eldest of such a large brood and raised in a country vicarage, she is disastrously direct in her speech.

And to be blunt with you, she is rumored to have bluestocking tendencies. ”

He nodded thoughtfully. “And her fortune?”

“A principle in excess of fifty thousand pounds plus an income of six thousand a year.”

Robert’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “And if she doesn’t fulfil the terms of her aunt’s will?”

“The lot will go to a home for orphans.”

“Lucky orphans,” he murmured.

“Needless to say, once the word gets out about her fortune, she will be besieged.”

“Who is her chaperone?”

“Lady Daphne Holbrook. Percival Holbrook’s widow. She is a cousin of Miss Watson’s father and a niece of Agnes Fairchild. She has supervised all Miss Watson’s seasons.”

He took a breath and let it out slowly, passing the five ladies under review quickly.

“So which lady would you like to meet first?”

He was most drawn to the widow. Physically, if he had a preference, it was for dark beauties.

Being older, she might be the least complicated of the options available, and she would understand a marriage of convenience, as she had already had one.

Then again, why would she choose a second husband if she doesn’t need one?

What can I offer beyond a title and a pile of debt?

But he was intrigued by the lady hiding behind the potted plant. He would at least like to see her face.

“Miss Watson,” he said with a smile.

Maria arched her brows and gave a little shrug. “Very well, come this way. You’re wise to get in before the rush.”

She led him over to the corner where his quarry lurked, and as they rounded the screen of plants, he caught his first view of the lady.

She was of medium height, with a figure that was neither voluptuous nor thin.

The gown she wore was of net over a pink underskirt.

It was well cut and of obvious quality. She wore long white gloves and carried the ubiquitous fan and reticule.

The gown’s décolletage was modest by fashionable standards, and a simple silver chain with a cross suspended from it and a pair of pearl earrings were her only ornaments.

Her hair was a deep mahogany, a rich brown with red highlights, and had been piled on top of her head, confined with an arête and let to curl round her face in the latest fashion.