“I may not be restoring the family name, but our fortune will be so vast that all objections to the match will be overlooked.”

“Great-Aunt Hermione will not approve,” Blanche said. “You know she wants you to marry Lady Winifred Woolfrey.”

“I’m well aware of that. Our great-aunt has been attempting to match me with that estimable lady for years.”

“What’s wrong with Lady Winifred?” asked Blanche. “She’s the consummate English rose. Beautiful, good-mannered, of good family, good fortune, and—”

“Good is the saliant word in your description for a reason. She’s altogether too pious and perfect for the likes of me. She’d want me to reform. I’d make her miserable. Miss Chandler knows exactly what I am and all she requires from me is my title.”

“Perhaps you should speak with the young lady before you decide to marry her,” Viola suggested.

“I’ve spoken with her father. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“Great-Aunt Hermione would not approve,” said Bernadette.

“Great-Aunt Hermione isn’t here.” The duke drank his brandy. “And that’s partly why I’m doing this. I’ll reform just enough to wed and to see my dear sisters safely settled, without any of the pitfalls and expenses of the social Season. Blanche, you already have two offers from very eager gentlemen.”

Blanche frowned. “Which gentlemen?”

“Unobjectionable ones. Honorable ones.”

“I do fervently hope that Lord Laxton has offered for me.”

“He’s not worthy to breathe the same air as you.”

“Pardon me? Lord Laxton is the gentleman I will marry. He’ll propose this Season, I know he will. He simply must!”

“You can forget about Laxton,” the duke growled.

“And which gentlemen have you chosen to replace him?” Viola asked. She agreed about Lord Laxton. She’d met him on several occasions and he’d always struck her as vapid and conceited.

“Flanders or Middleton.” He gestured expansively. “Take your pick, Blanche.”

“Lord Flounder and Lord Middling?” Blanche collapsed onto a sofa. “How could you?”

“They’re both sober, steady gentlemen who aren’t bad looking, have all their teeth, are solvent enough, and would be overjoyed to wed you.”

“Flanders is like a brother to me—we grew up together and he can’t think of me amorously, nor I of him. And Middleton. Why, he’s fifty if he’s a day!”

“I don’t care whom you’ve chosen for me,” Bernadette announced grandly. “I’ve no intention of marrying until much later in life, if ever. I’m going to be a lady scholar and join the Lady’s Club on the Strand.”

“Miss Beetle.” Westbury turned to Viola. “Have you been filling my sisters’ heads with your bluestocking notions? I know all about your club of bloodthirsty warrior queens.”