Much Ado About Dukes

Ben winked and tossed her a guinea. She grabbed it in her hand, put it between her teeth, and bit down.

She winked back at Ben and sashayed off to the bar at a good clip, motivated by gold. She easily made her way through the crowded room without spilling a single drink on her tray. She was a wonder in balance and gravity.

“It’s not that shocking,” he protested at Ben’s dramatic comments. “You needn’t get three sheets to the wind on the acid they pass as gin here.”

“Indeed I do,” Ben intoned, narrowing his eyes. “Surely you’re about to relay catastrophe. Something drastic must’ve happened if you’re marrying her immediately.”

Kit grimaced. “Did you ruin her?”

“You’re not supposed to ask those kinds of questions,” he snapped. “The very idea is an insult to Beatrice.”

“Perhaps, but everyone will be whispering about it,” Kit said. “Everyone’s going to assume it’s the reason for such a hasty marriage.”

They wouldn’t; not in three weeks’ time, when the news of financial ruin broke. He needed to tell Kit the truth, damn it.

He adjusted his position on the bench and said firmly, “No, I have not ruined her.” He shrugged. “I have simply decided it is time that I marry, and Beatrice is the perfect choice. As I said, we have aligned goals.”

“Aligned goals,” Kit mocked, “how terribly romantic.”

He shuddered. “Romance is not to be a part of our marriage. Beatrice has promised me that she will never fall in love with me. And I shall never fall in love with her, so everything shall work out well.”

Ben and Kit looked at him as if he was being irrational in the extreme.

“What?” he asked, swinging his gaze from youngest to middle brother and back again. Then he looked down to his burgundy waistcoat. “Do I have a stain on me?”

“What do you mean she promised she wouldn’t fall in love with you or you with her?” gritted Ben, who looked as if William had kicked a puppy.

He cleared his throat, feeling surprisingly defensive. Still, he drew himself up and explained, “It is going to be the tenet of our marriage that we maintain we are just friends. There is absolutely no reason that we shall ever be in love.”

Ben and Kit stared at him with pained but unsurprised expressions.

He grimaced, hating but accepting the look his brothers gave him. “Don’t you see what happens to people when they fall in love?”

“Brother.” Ben gave him an impatient shake of the head. “We know your opinions on this, but surely marriage to Beatrice will lead to love?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, palming his glass.

Once again, they both stared at him as if he was absurd.

“No, no,” he insisted as the barmaid sashayed back and plunked a full bottle on the table.

Ben grabbed it and plugged out the clear liquid in his glass as if his life depended on it.

William rolled his eyes at his younger brother’s dramatics. “Both of you can stop looking like codfish. I am a man of intelligence; I know myself, and I know Beatrice. Neither of us shall fall in love, and we shall have a very good life, and we will never have to be concerned about being foolish with each other. We are committed to the improvement of all society, and that is enough.”

“Mm-hmm,” Ben said, nodding as he drank his gin in steady swallows.

“Oh yes,” Kit said as he, too, took up the bottle and poured a goodly measure. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

He scowled at both of them as he poured more gin into his own glass and drank it apace. Clearly, nothing was going to convince his brothers of the sensible arrangement.

He waited until they were both drinking and stated, “The wedding is tomorrow.”

Ben sputtered on his gin, and droplets flew across the table, landing on William’s coat.

He wiped at it. “Bloody hell. Not my favorite coat.”

“Forgive me,” Ben exclaimed, “but you’ve completely astonished me. Why tomorrow?”