in his dotage and still had hair on the top of his head, he had become Lady Tabetha’s primary target.
She turned to Stone with a frown, resting her elbow on the ledge. Any other minx would have considered the setting terribly romantic.
Not this one. Mercenary little chit.
“Trouble is,” she began, “Felicity is soured on marriage altogether. And as for Bethany, since marrying Chaswick, she thinks every marriage ought to be a love match. She’s gotten worse than Westerley in that regard.”
Tabetha’s only sister, Bethany, had married one of Stone’s oldest friends, the Baron of Chaswick, two days into the Season after being compromised by him. What might have turned into a catastrophe had turned out rather well for the couple in the end—if their lovesick behavior was anything to go off of.
And after being jilted, Lady Felicity would be suspicious of anyone.
No surprise that the two ladies had issued such a warning.
Stone felt another eye twitch coming on. Advising Lady Tabetha against something was far more likely to have the effect of encouraging her in the opposite direction.
And it was no secret that this particular conniving little debutante wanted, more than anything in the world, to become a duchess.
Of anything.
Stone was all too aware of this aspiration where young ladies were concerned but that didn’t mean he approved of it.
And yes, a gentleman’s title was important to all ladies of the ton—hell, to everyone in London—but status and rank had become something of an obsession with this particular one.
“It’s not as though I have an abundance of eligible dukes to pick from,” she complained. “The Duke of Wagtail is much too old, and have you noticed he only has one long eyebrow? And Blackheart—well—he is… Blackheart. Which leaves me with Culpepper. He is not terribly old, he’s handsome enough, and his title is well respected and goes back several generations.”
“So why don’t Ladies Chaswick and Felicity approve of him?” He’d take this route rather than attempt to discredit the man she’d set her sights on. Although he could do precisely that easily enough.
The day after this minx made her debut, he had prioritized digging into Culpepper’s background. Stone, along with everyone else who’d witnessed the introduction, couldn’t help but notice that when Lady Tabetha had been presented to His Grace, she’d gushed and giggled unlike she’d done with anyone else. Stone had almost been embarrassed for her.
Stone didn’t trust Culpepper, nor had Chaswick, Tabetha’s brother-in-law.
Three years prior, buried in gambling debt, Morris Hagerton, the Sixth Duke of Culpepper, had refilled his ducal coffers by marrying a wealthy American heiress. Eighteen months later, the man was a widower. Details surrounding the late duchess’s death were scarce. Neither the questionable state of Culpepper’s finances nor the murky circumstances of his wife’s death lent him credibility as a potential match for Westerley’s sister.
“They say he’ll take advantage of my naiveté. That all he wants is my dowry. Once the novelty of being a duchess has worn off, Bethany says I’ll wish I’d married a man who loved me, or at least actually cared about me.”
Her coffee-colored eyes dared him to agree with his sister’s assessment as she lifted her chin, a golden curl falling back from her heart-shaped face.
“The part about the dowry has merit. You can’t deny that. Your sister simply wants you to be happy.”
“She doesn’t understand.” If anything, Tabetha’s eyes darkened to an even deeper shade of brown. They appeared almost black. “After spending hours and hours on lessons learning how to walk properly, how to talk properly, and what to say, not to mention a year at Lady Agatha’s Finishing School. In addition to…” She frowned but then lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at him. “Being a duchess will make me happy.”
Stone lifted one brow at the irrational reasoning behind her beliefs. How did one so young become so arrogant? Just a slip of a thing, too…
“Are you attracted to him?” If she was, then he’d have to be even more wary.
“Of course, I am! He’s a duke!”
Stone resisted the urge to roll his eyes skyward. “I mean, romantically. Are you attracted to him?”
By the opening and closing of those perfect little pink lips, it was obvious he’d shocked her, which was precisely why he’d asked the question. He wanted to force her to think about what she really wanted. At the very least, he hated the idea of her betrothing herself for a title without having contemplated this aspect of marriage. She was one of his