How to Marry a Duke (A Cinderella Society 2)

Chapter Two

They turned their backs to the approaching horde and made their way, a little too quickly, through the other guests. “There should be others taking the air,” Meg continued. “It won’t be too unseemly. Even if we haven’t been properly introduced.” And she was nearly thirty years old, hardly a young miss to flutter and fuss.

“Dougal Black,” the duke replied. “There. And you are?”

“Someone else has to make the introductions,” she told him. “The Duke of Pendleton or the majordomo. Otherwise, it doesn’t count.”

“But we’re right here.”

She nearly smiled at his expression. “Oh, very well. I suppose you shouldn’t be punished further for being chivalrous. Even if you did try to blackmail me. But I should remind you that you are not actually Dougal Black. You are the Duke of Thorncroft. And I suspect also a marquess and an earl of someplace or other.” A dukedom usually came with a scatter of other titles.

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered.

Definitely curious for a duke.

“And you are?”

“Miss Swift.”

“Just Miss Swift?” He asked as they stepped out into the cool autumn air. As predicted, other guests milled about, taking a respite from the overheated, over-crowded ballroom. Meg relaxed. She had no wish to court gossip. She just didn’t have the time for it. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“Whyever not?”

“It’s my very limited experience that this lot has some kind of allergy to plain sensible names,” Dougal continued. “Surely you are The Splendiferous Miss Swift or the Shining Lady Swift.”

“How did you guess?” she returned drily. “My friends call me Splendor for short.”

Dougal laughed. It was a wonderful sound. Honest, warm. “I will take note.”

She laughed with him, just a little. It probably wouldn’t do to encourage him, but he was rather refreshing. He hadn’t tried to look down her dress or ascertain the shape of her hips through her gown. And he wasn’t talking to her because he wanted Pendleton’s attention, or Tamsin’s eye. And though her uncle might only be a viscount, his temper was vicious and very few gentlemen wanted his attention. All in all, it made for a confusing place in Society.

The Duke of Thorncroft’s place was even more confusing, by all accounts. The previous duke had no sons and only one male cousin, who had mostly daughters. Except for one son, who died, but not before having two sons of his own: Dougal being the eldest. Dougal wasn’t just a distant relation, he was also nearly the last, except for his younger brother. It had required a team of three lawyers and a historian to find Dougal where he was working as a manager in a mill in Manchester.

To say that the aristocracy did not know what to do with him was an understatement.

He was handsome, which would invariably help. He was also strong and rugged and clearly had yet to muddle through the astronomical number of rules held dear by the ton.

“Just Miss Swift?” he asked again, dubiously. “Truly? That seems entirely too sensible.”

“Yes, but if you must know my mother was Lady Swift, the Right Honorable Viscountess Henshaw.”

“There we go. I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed. And you must have a first name, after all that.”

“Meg,” she told him, even though she shouldn’t have.

“Meg,” he repeated, tasting her name as if it was a sweet. “I like it.”

“Thank you. But you mustn’t use it.”

He sighed, as if he was suddenly a thousand years old. “I remember this part. Names are too intimate.”

“Correct.”

“Then these toffs truly don’t know the actual meaning of the word.”

She didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t trying to be shocking. He was mostly muttering to himself. Still, the first thought that leapt to her mind was: You could teach me.

Something in his glance made her feel far too warm. Not just warm, but hot. Her blood may as well have been mulled wine, tingling through her veins.