Duke of Disrepute (Dukes of Distinction #3) - Alexa Aston Page 0,69

when I had just completed university. I plan to be spending more time there and will need to add to my current crop of horses. Do you ride?”

“I did all the time before my marriage. I told you I was Papa’s shadow. We used to go about on horseback visiting our tenants. My husband wasn’t fond of horses, though. He’d fallen from one as a child and never quite conquered his fear of them. I gave it up at his request.”

“You do enjoy riding, though?”

“I do. Actually, I’ve missed it. I’ve gone down a few times with Joseph and Josiah as they started their riding lessons. I wanted to place Claire on a horse at an early age.” She paused, her mouth turning downward. “The earl said it was a poor idea and forbid it.”

“I think Claire would take to riding very well because she is so spirited. I will teach her.”

Elise stopped. “Quit being so affable, Weston. You’re a duke, for God’s sake. You don’t have to be nice to me or my daughter.”

“What if I wish to be?”

She blew out a breath. “Then you can be nice by finding me a husband. Let’s talk about that and the women from my list.”

They started up again and soon reached the park. Entering, he saw so many carriages, it looked like traffic was at a standstill.

Spying a bench off to the side, he said, “Come sit. I don’t want to get caught up in that.”

They took a seat and she said, “Tell me what you thought of my choices. I put a great deal of thought into the process. Did you have a particular favorite?”

She peppered him with questions about each woman and her displeasure grew with his responses.

“I don’t understand you at all,” she proclaimed. “I thought I did. I believed I had gotten to know you fairly well since we’ve been acquainted. You’ve found something wrong with every one of them.”

“Can I help it if I am choosy? After all, this will be a woman I spend the rest of my life with.”

Her brow wrinkled in frustration. “Yes, you should be careful in your selection, Weston, but you are being finicky.” She gave him a haughty look. “That one is too tall. This one too short. This one is stern. This one giggles too much. She is a featherhead, while she is a bluestocking. This one can’t form an opinion. This one is so opinionated, it’s frightening.”

He laughed. “Your imitation of me is quite good.” He shrugged. “I cannot help it.”

“You can. You don’t want to,” she accused. “I spent many hours culling through eligible women. Those three came as close as possible to the list of characteristics you wanted in your duchess. They are all beautiful. Charming. Clever. Good-natured. No one is perfect.”

You are.

“You’ll just have to keep looking, Elise,” he said firmly. “I’m not saying those ladies are out of the running but nothing about them struck me as being duchess material. Enough of that. Let’s talk about the gentlemen you found interesting. Did any of them stop by for a visit with you today? Or were any responsible for the myriad of bouquets scattered about the drawing room?”

“Yes and yes,” she said smartly.

“Who? I want to hear how discerning you are. After all, you had a list yourself.”

She reeled off half a dozen names. He was pleased Lord Ivy wasn’t one of them. Four of them were actually good choices and would have made excellent husbands for her—if he didn’t want her for himself. The other two had definite things wrong with them. He went through each one, elaborating on the faults of the two who were totally unsuitable and inventing reasons why the other four wouldn’t be appropriate.

When he finished, she shook her head. “I thought I was a good judge of character but it seems I’m not.”

He hated that she doubted herself and said, “Of course, I am being quite picky for you, too. A couple of those fellows wouldn’t be awful. I believe we can do better for you, though.”

“You found something wrong will all six of them, Weston. Surely, one or two of them have a few redeeming qualities.”

He finally gave in and told her a few good things about two of them but cautioned her that it didn’t necessarily mean they would make for a good husband.

She sighed. “I wish Papa were still alive. If so, he could simply arrange a marriage for me. Perhaps finding Ruthersby was a stroke