But she would not allow the duke’s rag-mannered behavior to distract her from her purpose. What was that line again? It is a fact, widely understood . . . No, that wasn’t it. It is a truth—yes, that was it, a truth.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single duke in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a bride. That was the line. A very sensible observation to commence a very silly book.

Young gels deciding for themselves who they would marry or not. Ridiculous!

Had it not been for the commonsensical actions of an aunt, that foolish, stubborn Elizabeth would have whistled an excellent marriage down the wind. But her aunt had saved the day when she’d taken the gel to visit the young fellow’s estate. That had made the foolish gel sit up and take notice.

Lady Salter glanced at the clock again. Twenty-nine minutes. Disgraceful. She’d expected he might be reluctant to see her. But that was no excuse for tardiness.

He’d been more or less jilted at the altar—a little pique was understandable. Young men had their pride. But it had not been, after all, a love match. It was an arranged marriage between her beautiful niece Lady Rose Rutherford and the Duke of Everingham, the catch of the season. The match of the season.

Weeks of careful strategy on her part to get the two together. And when the betrothal was announced, she had basked in universal admiration. While it lasted.

Rose had let her down badly. A secret marriage! And to the veriest nobody. A scarecrow returned from the dead, ragged and dirty, in the middle of the ceremony! An absolute disgrace. It didn’t bear thinking about.

But she would not admit defeat.

The door to the sitting room opened. The duke stood in the doorway. Finally!

Lady Salter looked up and inclined her head graciously. “Good afternoon, Redmond.” She’d known him since he was in short coats. The use of “Redmond” rather than his title was to remind him of the fact.

Redmond Jasper Hartley, the fifth Duke of Everingham, strolled into the room. He’d kept her waiting a good half hour but he made no apology. He bowed over her hand and said in a bored voice, “Lady Salter, how do you do?” His cold gray gaze was indifferent.

Lady Salter came straight to the point. “I understand my niece has apologized for her disgraceful behavior.”

He raised a dark brow. “Niece?” As if he had no idea to whom she was referring.

Her lips thinned. So he was still angry. Coldly furious, under the indifferent-seeming facade, if she was not mistaken. Pride was one thing, incivility to his elders quite another. Besides, she was as much a victim of Rose’s carelessness as he.

“I refer to Lady Rose Rutherford, as you very well know. She came here last week, I believe, to apologize.”