Free Romancing the Rogue by Kim Bowman Page B

“And if you opened any book at all, it would be to your benefit.”
    “Why does Madeline get riding lessons in the afternoon while we are stuck with literature and arithmetic?”
    Sophia closed her eyes and sighed. “Because she is nine. And speaking of age, at nineteen and sixteen respectively, Elise and Mary, I wonder if your debut is much on your mind?”
    Mary groaned and Elise’s mouth pulled into a smile Sophia was familiar with; a vain platitude usually followed.
    “All I need is to follow the three S’s of snaring a man: smile, sashay, and satisfy. A girl who is very pretty, dances well, and compliments her beau has all the virtues she needs.”
    “And from whom did you learn that, Elise?”
    “Madame Depaul. She and her daughter Eugenie had us over for tea when we lived at Beaufort.”
    “And to whom did Madame Depaul make a match for her daughter?”
    “Well, the vicar, but — ”
    “I do not care for the marriage market as an institution myself, and I am sorry I must play the accomplice in your debut. However, play we must, and play it well.”
    Elise and Mary leaned in, eager.
    “Imagine yourselves at a ball in London this moment, at the townhouse of, oh, say Lady Lambrick. You were invited because your last name is Cavendish and your uncle is Lord Devon, so your connections are desirable. So far as I am aware, no scandal has compromised your reputations. You both are lovely girls, in fact, among the most admired in London.” The girls beamed, and Sophia almost hated to deflate them.
    “Congratulations: you are two among eight hundred eligible debutantes of the ton . Never fear, you have an advantage. Between your inheritance and Lord Devon’s generous endowment, you rank among the two hundred most privileged maidens of the ton . That makes you both what we term diamonds of the first water.”
    “Two hundred?” Elise gaped, and Sophia pressed a finger to the girl’s chin to close her mouth.
    “Yes. You compete with no fewer than two hundred girls who are as pretty and wealthy as you. Do you know how many eligible bachelors came up to scratch last Season? And by eligible, I mean titled or well-connected, younger than forty, financially solvent, and without unforgivable flaws of character.”
    At this point, Sophia was completely inventing her anecdote, but at least her point had merit. “I counted seventy-five marriage announcements in the Times last Season between couples such as I described. That means seven out of eight girls passed the Season without making the match they wanted. Most settle for an older man, a poor man, a foreigner, or worse, a tradesman.”
    “Jenna Fayolle married an American last year. A gambler.” Elise sounded like Jenna had gone to the scaffold.
    “So you know your competition, Elise, Mary. Now back to Lady Lambrick’s ball. Who should arrive but none other than her brother, the Duke of Salisbury?”
    Elise squealed in excitement. Mary gasped.
    “His Grace is tolerably handsome, more than tolerably wealthy, and as luck would have it, quite charming. Although he is a bit rakish, he must marry this Season by edict of his mother and doesn’t dare provoke her wrath. You know this because Lady Lambrick just told you so. He is this Season’s on-dit , and every eye watches him. As if on cue, the duke comes to greet his aunt, and Lady Lambrick introduces you. Here is your chance. What happens next?”
    Sophia knew Mary was going to shrug but had a hand in place to push her shoulder back down before she could do it. Such a French gesture, or American, but hardly elegant. Elise looked genuinely worried, which meant Sophia was finally making an impression.
    “You smile and curtsey, then His Grace asks you to dance to please his aunt. You are now among the luckiest forty girls who have earned such attention from one of the most eligible lords in England. He will marry one of those forty. He must.”
    Mary wrung her hands and Elise nervously twirled a strand of hair.