Page 1 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

Chapter One

Duchess Square

Mayfair, London

June 1821

“He’s a beast, Gwendolyn! I tell you, an utter beast!”

The fragrant scent of roses filled the gentle air as James Milbury, Marquess of Milbury, stepped down from his barouche along with his sons onto Duchess Square on this pleasant afternoon in June. The sun shone brightly on the charming enclave of neatly maintained homes that had grown familiar to him from his prior visits. But his attention was on the residence belonging to Lady Gwendolyn Carstairs, the young woman who was about to box his ears.

And with good reason, he supposed upon hearing the angry voice emanating from Lady Gwendolyn’s open parlor window.

“He is heartless! Callous!”

James recognized the shrill voice as that of Lady Felicity Merriweather, who happened to be neither felicitous nor merry at the moment.

“An utter beast!” Felicity repeated, as though Gwendolyn had not heard her clearly the first time.

His fault, of course.

“You said Milbury was a gentleman! But he is a complete rotter!”

Unfortunately, Gwendolyn was the innocent recipient of Felicity’s ire despite her being completely blameless.

Indeed, James knew he was the one who deserved this set-down. Only a mild one, however. He had called upon Felicity three times, had never laid a hand on her, and ultimately decided she would not suit him or his boys.

He’d simply and quietly stopped calling upon her.

This was his vile crime, he supposed.

“Oh, Papa. You’re in big trouble now,” said his youngest son, Robert, a young man of remarkable perception despite his tender years.

He was only ten years old.

“I know, son.” James paused in front of the white stone house with an ocean-blue door and red roses climbing along trellises on either side of the doorway that made for a welcoming entrance.

The elegant residence was as appealing to him as its owner, Gwendolyn Carstairs, and a reflection of her charming disposition. He noticed the lacy parlor curtains being drawn aside and saw her frowning at him as he and his boys approached.

Ah, yes.

Those dark curls and lovely aquamarine eyes were unmistakable.

So was the tension in Lady Gwendolyn’s pursed lips that would have been smiling back at him were she not so peeved.

He turned to his sons. “Jordan and Robert, I need you to be on your best behavior.”

Both boys stared up at him with innocent eyes of moss green similar to his own. But his had a cynical darkness to them, while theirs had a softness that could deceive everyone into believing they were angels.

“We will, Papa,” his eldest, thirteen-year-old Jordan, said earnestly. “But you’re the one who’s got himself in trouble with Lady Gwendolyn, so you had better do the same.”

“Yes, Papa,” Robert agreed. “You’ll have some groveling to do now that you’ve rejected yet another of her candidates.”

“With good reason,” James muttered in his own defense. “Do you not hear Lady Felicity shouting?”

She had tried to hide her true nature from him behind a false smile and a pretense at sweetness, but he had not been fooled.

“She was nice to me and Robert the one time we met her,” Jordan said, casting him a chiding look.