When the Earl Met His Match (Wedded by Scandal #4) - Stacy Reid Page 0,4
to dramatics or the swooning type. She is to be from a respectable family with no scandal attached to her name. Respectable/influential and dependable connections are an asset; however, wealth is not necessary.
Those interested may reply to the address below, and further instructions will follow. Please note that each response will be thoroughly vetted before an offer is made.
Kind regards.
“Why, I cannot credit it! The gall of this supposed gentleman is too much,” Phoebe gasped, laughing at the sheer audacity and scandalous nature of seeking a wife in this manner instead of wading through the marriage mart. And how relieved she was that such levity could enter her heart when dread had been a constant occupant these last few months.
She hurriedly scanned the pages of the newssheet to see if this was the only one of its kind. This man was unpardonable. Advertising for a wife for all of society to see and speculate upon? The poor woman, whomever she might prove to be, would have a hard time recovering from the wagging tongues of her peers. How hard would it be for one to uncover the true identity of this gentleman of distinction and wealth? His very actions invited scrutiny and scandal, yet he would dare demand his future wife to have no scandal attached to her name.
You hypocrite!
Phoebe bit into the bilberry tart and, with some amusement, noted the return address in the advert. This gentleman, if she could think of him as such, truly expected a well-born lady to respond to his outrageousness. He deserved a scathing set down! The idea made her laugh once more.
“Phoebe!” her mother scolded, lifting her attention from the picture she was diligently embroidering. It was gaudy and not very well designed, but at least it looked like she was doing something correctly feminine.
“I’ve told you several times that such an unfettered laugh is quite unbecoming—”
“Of the daughter of a duke,” Phoebe ended, mentally rolling her eyes while carefully lowering the newssheet. She wondered if he was English or Scottish. The latter would explain his lack of tact and propriety. Her mama often lamented while in Scotland how lacking the people’s refinement and manners when compared to the English. Phoebe often yearned for such relaxation in the social niceties, thinking their forthright manner very welcoming.
Feeling the fiery burn of her mother’s glare, she said, “I understand, Mama. I read the most diverting piece in this week’s Gazette’s advert and momentarily forgot your graceful teachings.”
Her slender shoulder stiffened. “Is it about your brother?”
“No, Mama…” Phoebe said softly. “Not every scandal is about Richard. And I daresay the sheets that mention him usually have the wrong of it.”
Though Richard was the future duke of Salop and the current Marquess Westfall, he was not welcomed in her father’s residences and was currently shunned socially by society. Society’s hypocrisy knew no bounds, because Phoebe was aware that when her father died, they would rush to Richard’s side as the new duke to fawn and flatter him.
“A gentleman of wealth and distinction advertises for a wife! Have you ever heard something so notorious in the ton? Surely he must know the scandal it will incite, especially if his identity is uncovered?”
Her mother pursed her lips but did not deign a reply. Presumably, such matters were far too below her to warrant the duchess’s comments. Phoebe suppressed her smile and eagerly lowered her attention to the newssheet, searching for any more scandalous mentions. Her mouth dried, and tension wound through her as she spied a mention of her brother, the Marquess of Westfall.
Phoebe sighed with relief when she noted it was only a mention that he had appeared at a ball with his ravishing marchioness and that he had scandalously danced with his wife three times.
“How shocking,” she muttered drolly, once again finding the antics of the ton tolerably amusing. It was with that unexpected humor lingering in her heart that she called for a quill, the inkwell, and papers to be set up on a smaller table. Once she was seated before the small desk, she dipped the quill into the inkpot and wrote to the scoundrel who thought it acceptable to advertise for a wife. It would give her a measure of satisfaction to take him to task for his outrageousness, given that she doubted highly another lady might do so.
Dear A Gentleman of Distinction and Wealth,
For reasons that must be evident to a man of your stature, I’ll not reveal my identity. Though I confess