London, England

May 24, 1816

Lady Miranda Howerty was the catch of the Season. Everybody said so. She had a lovely and engaging demeanour, was the daughter and sister of a marquess, and—the main reason she had caught the attention of Marcus Dashcombe, the Duke of Winterbourne—she had a sizeable dowry. Seeking out the young lady was the sole reason he now found himself at one of the Season's busiest balls, something he ordinarily avoided at all costs. He was not a man inclined to indulge, and he certainly was not a man who enjoyed overcrowded ballrooms.

"I am not comfortable with this." His friend, Gabriel Winter, said next to him. "You cannot decide to marry a woman before you meet her."

"Why not? I have given it great thought. I compiled a list of all ladies currently available that suit my needs, and Lady Miranda came out well above the others. She ticks all the boxes."

Winter groaned. "You cannot approach marriage like a business transaction, or a scientific experiment."

"I don't see why not."

"Because human emotions cannot be quantified on a list." Winter shook his head in amazement and ran a hand through his blond hair. "I cannot believe I have to explain this."

Ignoring his friend's disapproving look, Marcus swept his gaze over the crowded ballroom. Lady Yates's annual ball was one of the most popular events of the Season, and anyone worth their salt was attending. He would have very much preferred to stay home to pore over the reports from the Rose Agency he co-owned with Winter, or enjoy a glass of brandy with a good book. However, he would not find a wife from the comfort of his office. Much to his dismay.

"My mind is made up. This is the best course of action. I need an influx of cash before it's too late. You know this."

His father had been a strict man who had instilled the sense and weight of duty on Marcus since an early age—while also mismanaging the ducal estate to the point where Marcus had found himself at the brink of ruin when he inherited the estate two years prior. What his father had not lost in poor investments, he had gambled away in the bowels of London's gambling dens in some mad hope he could win his fortune back. He did not.

"I do, but I wish you'd chosen someone else." Winter ran a hand through his hair. "The Howertys are well-respected, and I am friends with her brother. Trust me, he will not take kindly to someone who doesn't treat his sister right."

Marcus frowned. "I have no intention of treating any wife of mine badly. She will be well taken care of."

"Not what I meant."

He turned to his friend, meeting his disapproving scowl with a look of bored disinterest he knew would annoy him. "It's quite simple. Lady Miranda is on her second season, and—from what I have heard—more popular now even than before. She's turned down several proposals, and by now the betting books at White's are filled with bets on who will finally win her hand. And some other rather unsavoury bets, but let us not talk about those." Turning away again, he scanned the guests, wondering who might be the mythical lady in question. "Whoever wins her hand in marriage stands to make a small fortune, and that's not even counting her dowry. Every unattached gentleman in London wishes to court her at this point. I'm only doing what everyone else already is."

"Except they probably met her before deciding to marry her," Winter muttered.

"Semantics." He lifted his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. It wasn't that he couldn't see what his friend took issue with. This wasn't exactly something he was proud of, but he saw little other recourse. He had invested his time in the private investigation firm he had opened with Winter, and while they were doing well, they were not doing well enough that he could take money to infuse his failing estate.

Two years he had tried to turn things around. Two years of hard work and making investments and improvements with what little capital he could scrounge up. It had helped. But not nearly enough. It was a sad truth, but it took money to make money. He had a good sense for business and most investments he'd made had paid off. Unfortunately, he'd not had enough to put in for it to yield enough to get him fully out of the hole his father had dug.

This was not how he had imagined finding himself a wife, but he was running out of time. He had duties to his tenants and servants, and as such... He would go ahead with this despicable plan to court Lady Miranda Howerty and gain access both to her handsome dowry and to the winning bets.

"Quit your grumbling and make yourself useful," he muttered. "Could you please point her out to me?"

"One would think that after all those years with the Quartermaster-General, you'd be clever enough to figure it out."

He ignored the jab. Winter and he had both been with the Quartermaster-General in the Peninsular War, but Marcus was a code breaker and not an agent as Winter had been. Ask him to review papers and files and he could find the smallest discrepancies and patterns, but when it came to people—he lacked the finesse to deal with them easily.

Taking pity on him, Winter nodded towards the refreshment table. There appeared to be quite a gathering of people, mostly men, hovering around two dark-haired women. He should have realised. Naturally, the Season's most popular catch would attract a crowd.

"That's her next to Miss Olivia Newton. Go fetch."

"I am not a dog." He shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. No one would know it by looking at him, but being in crowded ballrooms made him uncomfortable. He much preferred to be left on his own.

At well above six feet, he knew he cut an imposing figure, especially with his broad frame and a face that he had learned to keep impassive. His father had tolerated no emotional displays from his eldest son. A duke was always sombre. Always strict. Always gambling his fortunes away. Frustrated, he pushed the angry thought away. Perhaps he would wait a few more moments before approaching Lady Miranda.

"You won't find her less occupied later," Winter remarked dryly. "You might as well take the plunge and join the throng of admirers now."

"In a moment," he bit out, annoyed his friend knew him so well.

Winter sighed. "Come. Let us grab some refreshments, and then you can decide whether to approach her or not."

They made their way across the ballroom, having to manoeuvre between the other guests. Too many people in one place all at once. He hated it and longed for the reprieve of the spacious office in his house. But, if he did not resolve his money situation soon, he would no longer have access to the house but would have to sell it together with any other unentailed properties. Once at the large table filled with refreshments, he poured himself a glass of punch, and sipping the sweet drink, he turned around to sweep his gaze over the room. Daring a quick glance to where the ladies had been, he found the crowd had dispersed.

"Where has she gone?"

"Dancing. She quite enjoys the social swirl, and I know for a fact she loves dancing." Winter gave him a knowing look. "How will you keep her happy when she is your exact opposite?"

Marcus remained silent. He honestly didn't know. All he knew was that he needed to save his estate. If not for his own sake; for all the people depending on him. The yearly income from his estate had dwindled, as there had been no money to make improvements to the farms or cottages. With enough money, he could invest well, and he could help with the improvements needed to increase the yearly income again. But it all hinged on him finding a wife. The right wife. Lady Miranda Howerty.

His friend's elbow in his side interrupted his thoughts.

"She just slipped out into the garden. This is your chance to see her without her bevy of suitors surrounding you."

"What if she slipped out for a tryst with one of them?"

"That's a risk you'll have to take."

Taking a deep breath, he nodded and made his way to the large doors leading out onto a terrace. A few people stood outside, enjoying a spot of fresh air after the stifling heat of the ballroom. A handful of steps lead down into the garden, which was dusky, but lit up by small lanterns hanging in the trees and bushes. He could just see the white of a dress disappearing behind a trellis as he descended the steps. Lady Miranda had worn a white dress.

Praying that he wasn't about to interrupt a lovers' tryst, he followed the path where he'd seen the fabric. The din of the party quieted the further into the garden he went. No one would have called it quiet, but the noise was more of a pleasant humming than the annoying crescendo he heard when in the middle of it. As he turned around the trellis where he'd last seen Lady Miranda—at least he hoped it was Lady Miranda—he heard a woman's voice.

"Well, aren't you a dapper, young fellow," she crooned softly.

Brilliant. He'd followed her to see one of her suitors, after all. He was just about to turn back and return to Winter when he heard a giggle. And was that... A meow? Unable to resist the curiosity, he took the last few steps into the little clearing where a young woman in a white dress sat on a stone bench. There was no man in sight, but rather a small tabby kitten crawled up in her lap, playfully biting on her thumb.

"Such a strong little man you are," she told the kitten as it kept attacking her finger. "Yes, you are!"

Feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, Marcus coughed politely. The woman startled and quickly jumped to her feet, dislodging the kitten from her skirts. It quickly disappeared underneath some bushes. The greeting he'd been about to utter lodged in his throat as he stared at what was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He'd heard everyone wax lyrical over her beauty but had dismissed it as the smitten yapping of lovesick puppies. Now he had to admit they had not exaggerated.

She had the perfect, unblemished skin of a fine porcelain doll, albeit a few shades darker. Her arched eyebrows and the long hair pulled back in an intricate hairdo were a dark, lustrous brown. Large, cornflower-blue eyes watched him through long, sooty lashes.

"I beg your pardon." She dropped a graceful curtsy. "I did not realise anyone else was out here."

If she'd noticed him staring at her, she was polite enough not to mention. Maybe she was used to it. He sketched a bow. "It is I who should apologise. I did not mean to startle you."

She smiled, showing off two adorable dimples. "I think you startled the kitten more."

"Then I must find your furry friend so that I may apologise."

His comment made her laugh; a soft, pearly sound that felt like balm on his frazzled nerves. This wasn't going too awfully. So far, he'd managed to say several things without offending her or coming off as a complete dimwit.

Her laughter subsided. "I don't believe we have been introduced?"

"I attend few social events," he admitted. It was only a slight misrepresentation. He normally attended none.

"Well, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Lady Miranda Howerty."

"Marcus Dashcombe."

Her beautiful eyes widened, and he expected her to start flirting any moment. That was usually what happened when women found out who he was. At least he had that going for him. Most women would be happy to become a duchess.

"So you are the elusive Duke of Winterbourne." She sounded amused.

"Elusive?"

She smiled. "Yes. You are currently the only unmarried duke, so you can trust that people have wondered where you are. And by people, I mean mamas wanting their daughters to snag a title, and ladies who would love to become a duchess," she added, a merry twinkle in her eyes.

"Would you?" he blurted out.

"Would I what?" She was still smiling, but her gaze was inquisitive.

"Be someone who would love to become a duchess?"

The sound of her laughter surprised him, but he smiled in response. There was something contagious about her joy that made him feel warm and at ease around her. It took another moment before she sobered up, maybe realising that he wasn't jesting.

"I never thought about it," she admitted. "I want to marry for love. A title or money matters little to me. Which I realise is a great privilege."

And made things much harder for him. "Few people would say that."

"Oh, I am sure they would." She laughed again. "I just don't know if they mean it."

He smiled. Lady Miranda was not what he had expected, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. That she wanted a love match did complicate matters somewhat, but he would have to find a way around it.

"Why are you smiling?" She gave him a look of mock suspicion. "I've heard you don't know how."

"I find you refreshing," he said truthfully. "May I steal a dance later this evening?"

An attractive blush dusted her cheeks. "I have a free spot on my dance card for the last dance."

He sketched a bow. "Then I shall see you later this evening, my lady."

"Your Grace." She smiled as she curtsied.

Walking back towards the house, he found himself smiling again. Perhaps courting Lady Miranda wouldn't be as much of an ordeal as he had feared. Now he just had to convince her this was a love match.

~~~~~~