Page 7 of An Unfamiliar Duke

“You are fortunate to be so inclined. But there is a vast difference between deriving satisfaction from a well-balanced ledger and the thrill of seeing numbers work their magic with such things as weights and measures.”

This time, there could be no doubt that she had taken His Grace off guard. He sat very still, as though contemplating his words carefully.

“You are correct, Miss Ainsworth, although I know very few who see it that way. I have seen numbers work their ‘magic,’ as you say, many times, and each has been a thrill.”

Rosalind leaned forward, her earlier unease temporarily superseded by her eagerness to know more. “Would you tell me one?”

He smiled, and she saw her own enthusiasm mirrored in his countenance. “Perhaps the most marvelous example occurred in France a few months ago. A gentleman by the name of Joseph-Michel Montgolfier built a box out of thin strips of wood. He carefully measured the sides so they were exactly three feet by three feet by four feet, and then he covered it in fine taffeta. Once completed, he crumpled some paper and set it alight beneath the box. The contraption then took to the air.”

Rosalind gasped. Were the rumors about a French contrivance that could fly true? “Did you see it yourself?”

The Duke of Kelbrook shook his head. “No, but that was only the beginning. Monsieur Montgolfier called in his brother, Jacques-Étienne, and together they increased the size of the original box by three so that its volume was twenty-seven times greater than the first one.”

“But that would make it too heavy to leave the ground.”

His Grace smiled. “So you would think, and so we all believed. But every skeptic was proven wrong. Not only did the craft take to the sky, but it also traveled over a mile before returning to the earth.”

“And this time, you witnessed it,” she guessed.

“I did.” His smile widened. “And it was every bit as thrilling as you might imagine.”

Rosalind could barely conceive of such a thing, but His Grace’s account left her wanting to know more. Not for the first time, she wished that ladies were offered the same liberties as gentlemen and that she were free to participate in such events. She looked away, wonder over what he had witnessed evaporating as awareness of her own confining reality returned.

“Is that what took you to the Continent last winter, Your Grace?” Her mother’s question filled the sudden silence.

“Yes,” he said. “I was there for several weeks.”

Rosalind heard the change in his voice and hazarded a glance at him. He was looking at her, his former enthusiastic expression replaced by a puzzled frown.

“And you were recently in Scotland?”

“I was.” His tone had become formal. “My return to London was made for the express purpose of meeting with you and Miss Ainsworth to discuss the details of the forthcoming marriage.”

The forthcoming marriage. Rosalind stiffened. Could the gentleman be any more impersonal? Any more disinterested?

“Am I to suppose that you would rather not participate in said marriage?” Rosalind asked.

He did not flinch. “Would you?”

She experienced a flicker of hope. There was nothing she or her mother could do to change a legal document, but perhaps His Grace had more influence. “Have you studied the contract yourself?”

“I have. And I have discussed it at length with my solicitor. Regardless of your preferences or mine, our fathers drafted an inviolable bond. According to the law, not only is the release of significant estate funds tied to our marriage, but neither of us is free to wed another.”

“Why?” Rosalind’s voice was barely above a whisper, and yet it echoed around the room. “Why would they do this to us?”

“Because they wanted what was best for you,” her mother said. “Your father and the late duke had happy marriages that were arranged for them at birth. I allow that such contracts are less common now than they were fifty years ago, but that does not signify that they are inherently bad.

“You were our firstborn, Rosalind. Had we not had Jonas a few years later, the Langton estate would have been entailed to another, and your future would have been in jeopardy. Your father sought to protect you through this marriage contract.” She turned to face His Grace. “I believe the same can be said for your father, Your Grace. As the sole heir to the entire Kelbrook fortune, you would have been the target of every fortune-hunting young lady—and her parents—in England. I believe the late Duke of Kelbrook wished to spare you that.”

“I have no doubt the contract was drawn up in good faith, my lady, and I am grateful that my father chose to align my family with one as upstanding as yours.”

It was decided, then. Tears threatened, and Rosalind hung her head to hide them.

The duke cleared his throat. “Is there someone else whom you would prefer to marry, Miss Ainsworth? For my part, there is no one.”

Startled by the personal question, and his own admission, Rosalind looked up. He was watching her. His formal mask was still in place, but she thought she saw hesitancy in his eyes. A vision of the many gentlemen who had sought her out at social functions this Season flashed through her mind. Lord Montgomery, Mr. Coombs, Mr. Sellers, Lord Marshall, and Lord Eppingham. Their attentions had been flattering, and she could own to being somewhat enamored by Lord Montgomery’s friendliness and Mr. Sellers’s handsome appearance. And yet, neither of them had invaded her dreams at night or captured more than a few minutes of her thoughts each day. She supposed that, at least, was something to be thankful for. “No, Your Grace.”

She caught something—relief, perhaps—in his look before he spoke again. “Then, would you do me the honor of marrying me the day after your twenty-first birthday?”