Page 1

R oland Nicolet, the Duke of Pelham, had not anticipated that one of the difficulties of unloading his endless supply of daughters was how exhausting it would be now that he found himself firmly entrenched in his middle years.

He supposed he had not considered his age because he’d not considered anything whatsoever.

It had seemed to him that it must be the easiest thing in the world to locate seven foolish gentlemen to relieve him of his seven daughters.

It had been his experience that London was forever drowning in foolish gentlemen.

He did not require all of them, after all.

Upon reflection, it was proving more complicated than he’d imagined.

His eldest, Felicity, had set a wild beast upon her promising young man and he was lucky to have survived it.

Grace, not to be outdone by her sister, had pulled her preferred paramour off the side of a house and landed squarely on top of him. He also was lucky to be alive.

After those two near-misses in the fatalities department, he’d pointed out to his girls that if they were to go on threatening the lives of the gentlemen they were inclined toward, sooner or later they would positively kill one of them.

This probably would not reflect well on the family.

The duke was never over-concerned with society’s views, but he would not wish to attract the attention of murderous relatives who were intent on avenging an accidently killed gentleman.

Those sorts of people liked to pack their pistols and issue challenges arranged for daybreak on a lonely green.

He was not even a morning person, much less a dawn person.

When it was Patience’s turn, she had seemed to heed his advice.

She’d not made any moves whatsoever that could have ended Lord Stanford’s life.

However, such were their relations that carriages and people raced one way and then another across half of England before there was any sense made between them.

It might have been less fraught if she’d just shot him in the leg while they were both in Town.

He supposed he might congratulate himself that these things all seemed to come right in the end. He had unloaded three of his daughters, after all. Four more of them to get out the door and then his dream of a gloriously empty house was in reach!

That sanguine feeling he wished for did not wash over him, though.

Serenity was to take her place in society next.

That girl spent all her time either in the throes of ecstasy over a sunrise or the depths of despair over a dead bee in the garden.

And those swoony highs and weepy lows were what he could expect in their quiet neighborhood in the Dales.

He was the smallest bit uncomfortable to anticipate what might come over her in London.

The duke could not be certain if there was a remedy, but he’d consulted his physician about Serenity’s wildly fluctuating feelings. That good fellow had given him a flask of laudanum. He’d forgot to ask the man whether it was for himself or his daughter. He decided to assume it was for himself.