Free The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) by Meara Platt Page A

want the food in the stable trough, but wouldn’t let the other animals have it either.
    He ought to have been overjoyed for Dillie. Charles Ealing was a good man. A decent man. A simple man. Too bad Dillie would be bored to tears within a month of their marriage. “Give her my congratulations. I’m sure she’ll make him a fine wife.”
    Graelem frowned. “She would, but he’d make her a terrible husband. We need your help to stop the wedding.”
    Ian had been in ill humor all day. The news about Dillie only put him in fouler temper. Dillie in love and getting married? He couldn’t wrap his brain around it. He didn’t want to think of the girl in another man’s arms. He didn’t wish to think of the girl at all. “There’s nothing to stop. He hasn’t asked her yet. Right?”
    “That’s right,” Graelem said.
    Ian lifted a cue off the rack and pretended to study it. In truth, he had the violent urge to break it over Ealing’s head. Good thing the clunch wasn’t at White’s. Ian wasn’t sure he’d let him escape this stodgy establishment alive. “Why are you two so eager to meddle in Dillie’s affairs?”
    “Bugger,” Graelem muttered. “It isn’t us. It’s our wives. Dillie’s sisters. They’ve got it into their heads that Dillie can’t possibly love him. They’re worried that she’s feeling lonely because they’re all married and out of the house. They don’t want her to make a mistake she’ll regret for the rest of her life.”
    “She’s a clever girl, not likely to make such a blunder.” But he’d seen the way Dillie had looked at little Ivy, the way she’d lovingly held her and inhaled her baby scent. Dillie was all about love and nurturing. She must have felt terribly alone these past few months, rattling about the empty halls now that all her sisters were gone.
    He understood about loneliness. He’d spent most of his life feeling as though he were entombed in a coffin, trapped in a breath-stealing nothingness while everyone around him went about with their lives.
    Dillie’s sisters were busy leading their own lives, raising their own families. Dillie no longer knew how she fit in.
    But how could he help? He wanted Dillie out of his life, out of his thoughts. How else would he ever regain control of his traitorous body? “There’s a simple solution. Buy her a dog.”
    “Dillie needs a husband. The right husband,” Graelem said, “not a damn dog.”
    “You’re wrong. Dillie needs something to occupy her attention. A pet will do the trick.” But Ian’s heart was a pounding, thrumming riot as they stood glowering at each other in the private gaming room. The steward chose that moment to enter with their drinks. It was about time. Why couldn’t he have come a little sooner, preferably before the conversation had turned to Dillie?
    Ian was certain he heard the old man’s knees creak as he doddered in. More creaking as he set down the bottle and glasses, then ever so slowly made his way out. How much time had elapsed? Hours? Weeks? Eons?
    Well, perhaps he was a bit impatient. Patience had never been one of his virtues. Not that he had any virtues. Rakehells never did. So why were his friends dragging him into a Farthingale problem?
    Graelem settled into one of the soft leather chairs while Gabriel grabbed one of the cues and set the balls on the table.
    “Care to place a bet?” Ian asked.
    Gabriel shook his head. “No. You always win. I prefer better odds when I wager.”
    Ian led off, giving his ball a sure, swift strike so that it hit the others with a precise spin. One ball rolled into the left corner pocket. Another caromed off the maroon felt backing and fell into the right corner pocket.
    Ian called his next shot, made it, and then walked around the billiards table to face Gabriel. “Out with it. Why did you tell me about Dillie? And when did you two turn into a couple of old women? I’m not getting involved. I won’t meddle in a wedding that may never take