The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,12
mused on the odd woman he’d discovered in the library. Their conversation had been most unanticipated. Then he remembered the papers Sandridge had asked him to find. “In fact, it was most satisfactory.”
“Sir Seymour must have improved his hosting abilities,” Niles said.
“The guest list makes a difference,” Colin said.
Niles gazed at him oddly. “You wouldn’t want me to look into procuring new attire?”
“Nonsense, I have quite enough. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“I’ve found that some gentlemen prefer to get married in new suits,” Niles said.
“Married?” Colin drew his eyebrows together. “Whatever gave you that impression?”
“Just an instinct,” Niles said.
“Hmph.” Colin decided not to tell Niles about his encounter with the woman in the library. His manservant might come to the oddest conclusions. “Obviously your instincts need additional fine-tuning.”
Niles shot him an aggrieved look and continued undressing him in silence.
Sandridge would be thrilled to learn that he had the papers. Now he only needed to deliver them.
Colin could certainly manage to do that.
“Very well, Your Grace.” Niles folded Colin’s clothes. “I think tomorrow I shall do a full wash.”
“But they’re not good for the clothes.”
Niles shrugged. “And yet, on occasion, they must still be done.”
Niles swept the clothes together, and Colin gasped. “One moment.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I believe I left some papers in my breast pocket.” Colin removed the papers smoothly.
“Those weren’t there before.”
Colin shrugged. “Reading material.”
“You anticipated being bored at the ball?”
“Preparation is everything,” Colin said.
Niles nodded slowly. “I’m much gratified you’re adopting that phrase.”
“Oh, yes,” Colin said. “It’s quite wise.” He tucked the papers in his desk, away from Niles’s eyes.
He did trust Niles, but Sandridge had impressed upon him the importance of secrecy. Curiosity was a state that might befall even the most morally stringent. Certainly, Colin was always falling victim to that.
He rather wished he’d had the good sense to take the name of the woman he’d spoken to tonight.
IF DAISY’S BUTLER THOUGHT it odd when Portia arrived at the early hour of ten o’clock, he did not say anything. Instead, he led her to the parlor. Shortly after, Daisy arrived and rolled her chair toward Portia. Her blonde curls glinted in the light that streamed from the picture window, hindered only by a thin lace curtain.
“I require a husband,” Portia declared.
Daisy’s eyebrows didn’t jolt up. “That is a refrain every woman says.”
“In my case it’s true.”
Her friend’s gaze softened. “Did your guardian say something?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Then he did,” Daisy said smugly.
“Er—yes.”
“I thought you weren’t feeling pressured to find a husband.”
“I wasn’t,” Portia said miserably, regretting her feeling of superiority over harder working debutantes who researched every eligible man carefully, so as to be careful to impress them with their immaculate taste. They expressed passions for Florence and Venice to the men who’d done grand tours. To the men who were wary of traveling from the comforts of their manor houses and castles, they expressed similarly strong laudations for remote portions of the country.
Portia had done no such thing.
She’d told men her opinion of the musical quality of certain musicians without first ascertaining whether the man in question had a particular attachment to the musicians.
“I was naive,” Portia said.
Daisy chuckled. “That sounds unlike you.”
“Father wrote in his will I would lose my money if I didn’t marry by the end of this year,” Portia said flatly.
Daisy’s eyes widened. “Can he do that?”
“It’s his will.” Portia sighed. “He did it.”
“Who will get the money?”
“His old school in Scotland.”
“The one famous for making boys trample through mud for miles?” Daisy asked. “The one that was in the broadsheets for making the boys build fences in the rain?”
“He said the school formed character.”
“I’m so sorry.” Daisy tilted her head sympathetically.
“You’re not the only one,” Portia said.
“And you didn’t know beforehand?”
“Of course not.” Portia drew back. “Had I done so, I would have found somebody. I think.”
“Naturally you would have,” Daisy said in a soothing tone.
“And to be fair, Sir Vincent has offered to marry me.”
“How self-sacrificing of him,” Daisy said. Her tone was sarcastic, and Portia stared at her friend.
“I suppose I could find a position as a companion,” Portia said. “Or a governess.”
Daisy waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense. You can do anything. If I were you—” Daisy’s voice had an odd longing quality to it, and Portia flushed.
Daisy’s eyes lit up, and she tapped her fingers against her chair. “The Honorable Rupert Andrews.”
“What about him?”
“He would make you an ideal husband.”
Portia blinked. Evidently, her friends were correct when they’d lauded Daisy’s matchmaking abilities. Daisy hadn’t needed to ponder