“That,” Lord Penwood said in answer to Cummings’s question, “would appear to be the Duke of Brunswick.”
Sarah clenched her jaw. Brunswick had bought the house next door years ago, but whenever Mama had invited him to join them for dinner or to take tea, he’d not even deigned a response. He was the very personification of pure arrogance - the sort of man who looked down his nose at those who ranked lower than he. Which included most of England.
“I didn’t even think to include him,” Mama murmured while Brunswick drew ever nearer.
Of course she wouldn’t have. Perhaps that was why he’d shown up? Because he felt overlooked? Sarah stared at him, attempting to gauge his motive. Tall and lean with almost black hair matching the shade of his eyes, an angular jaw, and a perfectly shaped nose—if that were even a thing—he was without doubt one of the most striking men Sarah had ever seen. He might even have been the handsomest if not for the slightly condescending tilt of his lips.
This was the sort of man who believed he was better than everyone else - who was sure he could have whatever his heart desired. All he need do was snap his fingers and his every wish would come true. And yet, even as she made this assessment, Sarah noticed a slightly haunted look about him. Mostly in the vicinity of his eyes.
She shook herself. It had to be a trick of the light.
He halted a few feet from where she stood. Utterly serious, with his mouth pressed into a firm line of pure determination, he met her gaze. Sarah’s heart began racing. Something wasn’t right. He’d no cause to be here. What on earth could he possibly want?
The answer to this question became clear within the next second when he dropped to one knee. Sarah’s mother gasped and Sarah almost leapt to Brunswick’s aid, certain he must have suffered some sort of seizure. It was the only thing that made sense until he looked up and she noticed he was holding a ring.
What. On. Earth?
“Marry me.”
No declaration of love, no explanation for why he’d chosen to pose such an impromptu question to someone he’d never even been introduced to. Just a demand.
Indignation poured through her until she fairly shook with an almost mad desire to fall on him like some enraged harpy and pummel him until he cried for mercy. Thus far, this had been the most humiliating day of her life, but until this precise moment, she’d still been able to chalk it up to one of those things one simply forgot and moved past.
Well, there was no moving past a kneeling duke. By the time the last guest departed, word would already have spread to every corner of every parlor in London, mostly because of what she knew she would say. There wasn’t a choice.
Best get it over and done with then.
“No.”
Her mother gasped again. The other gentlemen went so still Sarah could actually feel their shocked expressions upon her skin.
Brunswick blinked. “I said, marry me.”
As if the disaster warranted repeating. Good lord. Perhaps she should try a different response.
“No, thank you,” she said. That was really the extent of what she could manage right now in terms of politeness. When Brunswick remained where he was, still holding his ring forth like some sort of trophy he’d won in a joust, Sarah turned to her mother. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I completely understand,” her mother said, frowning at the duke.
Determined to ignore him, Sarah addressed the other gentlemen present. “Thank you so much for coming. I’m much obliged to all of you for taking time out of your busy schedules in order to be here. Shall I expect to go fishing with you tomorrow Mr. Dunnings, or am I to ride with you in your curricle, Lord Endry? I’m not entirely sure we agreed on when I’d be seeing whom.”
“Ah...” Mr. Dummings said, sounding much like a man getting strangled. “Now that I think of it, I do believe I have some business that will take me out of Town for a while.”
“Me too,” Lord Endry quipped, to which Mr. Cummings and Lord Penwood hastily nodded as if they too intended to make themselves scarce for a while.
Sarah stared at them all as realization dawned. The spectacle Brunswick had caused, coupled with her act of publically turning him down, had made the other men re-think their interest.
“In that case, I bid you good day,” she told them curtly. Her only goal now was to escape the humiliation. And so she hurried away, without a backward glance to check if Brunswick was still on bended knee in the grass.
MATTHEW STARED AFTER Miss Townsbridge in baffled astonishment. She’d rejected him. A duke. The most desirable option available on the marriage mart.
For years he’d had to fend off debutantes and their mamas. And that was without taking into account the widows looking to aim a bit higher on their next trip to the altar.
“Would you like a hand, Your Grace?”
Matthew glanced at the young man offering assistance. He wasn’t the only one staring. A small crowd of onlookers jostled each other for a good look at the man who’d failed to secure the hand of a woman who ought to be thrilled with his offer.
“That won’t be necessary.” Irritated, he rose. Every gentleman here had been invited to vie for Miss Townsbridge’s hand. When Matthew had realized what was going on – that a very deliberate effort was underway to marry her off – he’d made a snap decision to snatch her up before anyone else had the chance.
It never once occurred to him that he might not succeed. And yet here he stood. Rejected.
“Perhaps you’d like some lemonade?” a footman inquired.
Only if it was spiked with brandy. Matthew scowled at the servant until the smile slipped from his face and he retreated.
“May I please have a word with you?” a woman asked.
Swinging around, Matthew dropped his gaze until he located Viscountess Roxley. “About what?”
She leveled him a dry look. “Your offer, of course. My husband will want to meet with you to discuss the terms.”
“But–”
“In the future, it might serve you well to treat people with the sort of respect you expect in return. After all, one never knows when a slight may come back to haunt you. This way.”
Lady Roxley swept past him with the regalness of a queen. Matthew stared after her a moment, glanced at the other gentlemen milling about, and decided to follow.
“Simmons,” Lady Roxley told the butler who’d admitted Matthew when he’d arrived, “please make sure the other gentlemen are shown out in an orderly fashion. Once they’ve gone, you may ask my husband to find me in the parlor. Come along, Your Grace.”
She ushered Matthew into a neat room with stylish yet comfortable looking furniture and gestured toward an armchair. “Please have a seat while I fix us each a drink.”
“While the request you’ve made for our daughter’s hand is greatly appreciated,” Lord Roxley said some fifteen minutes later after his wife had apprised him of the situation, “I’m not sure I understand the manner in which you chose to go about it. Or your reason for acting so rashly. As far as I know, you’ve never shown any member of this family much interest before, even though you’ve resided next door to us for...well, it must be about ten years by now.”
“I prefer to keep to myself,” Matthew said.