said the duchess. “Whomever you choose—”
“—must be a credit to the title,” he finished. “I know my duty.”
Alexander had many privileges, but a love match was not one of them. He had a dukedom to consider. A family, whose reputations would be impacted by his choice. Heirs of his own one day, who should be afforded every advantage Alexander could provide.
If having a sister had taught him anything, it was that women could be as strong and as stubborn as any man… and just as scandalous. Alexander had to take great care.
He needed a nice, safe, sweet, predictable bride. A wife he need never worry about, because she would always do the right thing.
“Who is Lady Gertrude with?” asked his mother. “Good heavens! Please tell me the poor dear’s ‘chaperone’ isn’t Miss Cynthia Louise Finch.”
“For the next fortnight,” he answered bleakly.
Or weakly.
He was looking at Miss Finch’s bare arms again and trying not to wonder what her skin would feel like beneath his fingertips.
All he had to do was avoid her.
It shouldn’t be a difficult task. Miss Finch had a long history of sneaking off from his party after Christmas Day to take part in the village’s many festive activities. She appeared to believe no one ever noticed her sly absences.
Mayhap no one did.
No one except Alexander.
He was glad she was such a rude guest. Her disinterest in his company was a boon to them both.
While she was ice-racing or setting off fireworks from the castle turrets, he would be right here selecting the perfect future duchess.
Chapter 3
Cynthia Louise placed a gentle hand on her younger cousin’s heaving back. “Breathe.”
“I can’t,” came Gertie’s muffled voice between shuddering breaths. She lifted her wan face from the shallow burlap bag she’d been breathing into. “Cynthia Louise, I can’t go caroling.”
“You know all of the words,” Cynthia reminded her. “You know the songs so well, you could play them at the pianoforte blindfolded. Besides, it’s not a solo. We’ll be in a large group—”
“That’s it,” said Gertie desperately. “I’ll stay here playing the pianoforte whilst everyone else goes door-to-door, singing. Out loud. In front of people.”
“We can stand in the back,” Cynthia promised. “You can mouth the words. No one will know.”
Gertie clutched the burlap bag to her chest. “If no one will notice, why must we go?”
“Nottingvale can’t choose you if he never sees you.” Cynthia knelt beside the four-poster bed. “You’ve been in this guest chamber all day. You missed breakfast—”
“I rang for service,” Gertie mumbled. “He has good chocolate.”
“—and you missed luncheon—”
“I had that delivered as well. They were very nice sandwiches. I sent a note of appreciation back to the kitchen.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, darling. We’re at a Christmastide party. In a village called Christmas.” Cynthia took the battered bag from Gertie’s hands and placed it on the bedside table. “Come and be festive, just for a few hours.”
“You promise I’ll like it?” came Gertie’s timid voice.
“No,” Cynthia answered honestly. “But I promise you will survive it. I’ll be there, too. And we can take Max.”
Gertie brightened. “All right. I’ll go if Max goes.”
“That’s the right outlook, darling.”
Was it a good outlook? Cynthia had her doubts. But at this point, she’d be willing to strap antlers to Max’s head and pretend he was a reindeer if that was what it took to coax Gertie back to the party.
The plan had seemed simple enough on the carriage ride up.
The duke was in search of a bride.
Point him toward Lady Gertrude.
This plan presupposed that Gertie and the duke would occasionally occupy the same room at the same time. Worse, while Gertie burrowed her head in a burlap sack, the rest of the debutantes threw themselves at Nottingvale.
Even worse, every single one of them was... a true delight.
As near as Cynthia could tell, Nottingvale could close his eyes and pick a bride at random, and end up with a pretty, well mannered, respectable young lady worthy of the title of duchess, no matter which contender he chose.
The key was to have Gertie within sight when Nottingvale pointed his finger.
“Come along,” Cynthia said briskly. “Shall we choose an unwrinkled gown?”
“Why?” Gertie asked suspiciously. “Won’t we be bundled in coats and capes?”
Cynthia unfolded a fresh gown. “We’ll be meeting in the parlor for biscuits and wassail prior to heading out in the cold.”
Gertie looked as though she’d rather hide under the bed with Max.
“You like biscuits and wassail,” Cynthia reminded her.
“I could ring for it,” Gertie said hopefully. “We could consume ours in here.”
Cynthia held