To Marry The Duke by Julianne MacLean Read Free Book Online Page B

how rich we are—not to mention be shocked by the ‘gauche Americans,’ actually discussing money in drawing rooms.”
    “I told him in confidence, and he’s a gentleman after all.”
    Sophia shook her head in disbelief. “I’m going to my bedchamber.”
    She was at the drawing room door when her mother called out, “But dear, aren’t you happy about the duke?”
    Sophia hesitated, then turned back to kiss her mother on the cheek, for she knew there was no point in punishing her further. She knew she had made a mistake and would probably lose sleep about it tonight. She was a good, kind woman and a loving mother. She simply lacked verbal discipline.
    If that was the worst of her mother’s character flaws, Sophia should think of her own mother’s mother—who sold half her children to buy whiskey after her husband left her—and count herself lucky.
    As for her being happy about the duke?
    She wouldn’t call it “happy.” It was something else—something altogether different. Sophia had best be careful.

    The liveried footman opened the coach door for James, then closed it when he was seated comfortably inside. Before the horses had a chance to move, however, a frantic knock sounded at the door. Whitby’s face loomed in the window, his breath coming in rapid little puffs, fogging up the glass.
    “Wait, driver!” James called out, then leaned forward to flick the latch.
    “Give me a lift to Green Street?” Whitby asked.
    James felt an unorthodox desire to hesitate, but swept it aside and invited his school chum in. Soon they were sitting opposite each other in silence while the carriage wheels rattled down the cobbled street.
    “So you’ve changed your mind then?” Whitby asked.
    “About what?” James replied coolly, though he knew exactly what Whitby was speaking of.
    “About the heiress. You said you weren’t interested.”
    James heard the animosity in Whitby’s voice, saw it in the set of his jaw, but he kept his own voice calm and detached. “I don’t recall having set my mind to anything at all.”
    “You said you weren’t declaring anything.”
    “Precisely. So what are you getting at, Whitby?”
    The coach bumped and Whitby shifted in his seat. “I would like you to know that I have declared to Mrs. Wilson an interest in her daughter, and she has given me some encouragement.”
    James squeezed the ivory handle of his walking stick. “Who has? Mrs. Wilson or her daughter?”
    “
Mrs
. Wilson, of course,” Whitby replied. “Though the young miss has been singularly forward and friendly and full of smiles on every occasion of our meeting during the past week.”
    “I believe that is the natural disposition of these American girls,” James added with bite. Good God, he was sounding jealous. He quickly recovered his aplomb. “Have you proposed?”
    “Well, not exactly. Mrs. Wilson informed me that a proposal at this stage would be a mistake, that Miss Wilson is determined to be courted properly before any disclosures of affection are made.”
    “Courted properly?” James raised an eyebrow. “How thoroughly American.”
    Whitby’s shoulders rose and fell with frustration, and James guessed that his friend was working hard to control his rancor.
    “I didn’t think you wanted to get married,” Whitby said.
    Now he was sounding desperate. James hated this. He should just reassure Whitby that he had no intentions to propose to the girl and let it end at that.
    “Did she tell you the amount?” Whitby asked.
    The
amount
? Suddenly it was James’s turn to feel agitated. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Whitby.”
    “The amount of her dowry. Is that why you changed your mind?”
    “I didn’t change my mind about anything.”
    “But did Mrs. Wilson tell you?”
    James took a deep breath. “Tell me about her daughter’s dowry? Good Lord!” He laughed. “The call was not quite so engaging as that. All we talked about was the bloody weather.”
    “Oh, well… good