The Duke’s Imperfect Match (Preview)

Prologue

It’s always dreary in England, Everett Coldwell, the Duke of Ridgewood thought as the carriage clattered along the London street. Even in this newly fashionable part of the city, the dreariness was palpable. The skies overhead were gray, misty rain filled the air, and water splashed up from the wheels of the carriage. 

If I had my way, I would have stayed in France forever. 

But that wasn’t an option. Not any longer. 

In his lap, the duke fingered the letter that he had been reading and rereading for the past several days on the journey through France, across the channel, and now to London. He was exhausted, and rereading the letter, which should have brought only relief, was only making him more nervous. 

Not that he showed this, of course. To any outsider, he knew he would look like the epitome of a calm, measured duke, returning home for the first time in eleven years. 

The carriage rattled to a halt, and Everett glanced out of the window. The townhouse that rose up in front of him wasn’t the largest or grandest in London, but it was impressive nonetheless: at least three stories high, with tall windows and an elegant 18th-century facade. 

“Otto has done well for himself, I see,” he muttered to himself as he admired the building. 

“We’ve arrived, Your Grace,” the footman said as he swung down from the front of the carriage, where he’d been riding with the driver, and opened the door. 

Everett stepped down from the carriage just as the door of the townhouse swung open, and his best and oldest friend, Otto Sheridan, Esquire, stepped out onto the drive, a broad smile on his familiar—if older—face. 

“Everett!” his friend boomed, raising his hands wide in greeting. “Or should I call you Your Grace now?”

Everett laughed. It had been so long since he’d laughed, and the feeling felt wonderful, if a little strange. The muscles in his face weren’t used to moving like that. 

“I very much hope you will still call me Everett,” he said as he came to stand in front of Otto and held out his hand. Otto raised an eyebrow, then pulled him into a hug. 

“Welcome home, my friend,” he said, squeezing Everett tight. When he released him, his eyes were bright, but he quickly coughed and looked away. “London hasn’t been the same without you.”

“Indeed, it looks like London has become even better,” Everett said, nodding at the townhouse. “This isn’t the residence where you lived last time I was here.”

“It turns out I’m as talented of a lawyer as my father was,” Otto said with a chuckle. “Things have gone well, and despite my lack of pedigree, I’ve managed to make a name for myself as the attorney for the peerage.”

“You’re more pedigreed than they realize,” Everett said, shaking his head. While his friend was the son of Everett’s father’s attorney, he actually had aristocratic ancestors on his mother’s side. However, he was without a title or land, and so had to make his living in trade. It had never stopped him and Everett from being friends, despite what others had thought of a duke’s son and attorney’s son being such close friends.

“Well, it wasn’t pedigree that got me to where I am,” Otto said. “It was sheer luck.”

“And talent!”

“Well, I was at least very lucky in my choice of wife.”

“Ahh, yes, the famous Mrs. Sheridan.” Everett smiled. “I’ve been eager to meet her.”

His friend ushered him inside, and the footman followed with the package he’d brought for Mrs. Sheridan. In the hallway, they were met by the butler, and by Otto’s wife, a beautiful and practical-looking woman who was clearly pregnant. 

The moment he saw her, Everett’s heart leaped. He turned to Otto, his mouth slightly ajar. “You didn’t tell me that Mrs. Sheridan was expecting.”

“We wanted to surprise you,” Otto said, his eyes twinkling as his arm circled around his wife’s waist. 

“Congratulations,” Everett said. He smiled at Mrs. Sheridan. “To both of you. 

“Thank you,” she said, curtsying and smiling slowly. “And it’s wonderful to meet you, Your Grace. I’ve been so eager to make your acquaintance. Otto talks of little else other than your childhood adventures. He tells me that he was always getting you into trouble.”

“That is true,” Everett said, his heart momentarily aching as memories of his childhood—life before the military—flitted through his mind. It had been such an innocent time. “He was the mischief-maker. I was always much too serious, even as a child.”

“And now?” Otto asked, tilting his head to one side. “Are you still far too serious?”

“Well, not too serious,” Everett said. “One cannot be too serious when one is a colonel in the British Army.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Mrs. Sheridan said. 

“I brought you a gift,” Everett said, turning to her. “Something from France, for the wife of my oldest and dearest friend. I hope you won’t find it too extravagant.”

He motioned for the footman to bring forward the box with the gift in it, and Mrs. Sheridan smiled with delight as she opened it to find a beautiful hat in the latest French style. 

“I was told this is all the rage among the most fashionable ladies of France,” he told her. 

“It is beautiful,” she said, bringing a hand to her chest. “Thank you, Your Grace. I have never received such a luxurious gift.”

Everett smiled, relieved, at least, that he’d managed to win over his friend’s wife. He’d been nervous to meet her; not because he doubted his friend’s choice in bride, but because he had spent so long in the army that he feared he had become too severe to charm young ladies. 

Which made the letter now in his pocket all the more of a relief.

“Please, call me Everett,” he said, and she and Otto exchanged a surprised and grateful glance. 

“Only if you call me Mabel,” she said kindly. 

“Would you like to wash and change for dinner?” Otto asked him, and Everett nodded. His footman brought a small case with a change of clothes, and then the butler showed them to a guest room, where he bathed quickly and then put on a fresh shirt, jacket, waistcoat, and cravat for dinner. It was a relief to bathe; he’d been traveling for days and hadn’t been able to rid himself of the feeling of griminess.

Downstairs, Otto and Mabel greeted him in the drawing room, where Otto handed him a glass of whiskey. After a few minutes of comfortable conversation, they went into the dining room, where the Sheridans were serving an elaborate and delicious traditional English dinner, the piece de resistance of which was a stuffed pheasant. 

“You must have a taste for French food now,” Mabel said after the first course. “After all those years in France.”

“I’ll admit I have not missed English cooking,” Everett said. “But this is delicious.”

“You’ll need to set yourself up with a French cook,” Otto said. “If your future wife will allow such a thing!”

At the mention of a wife, Everett felt his stomach jolt slightly. He hadn’t mentioned his plans yet to Otto, and he had a feeling that his friend would disapprove. 

“By the way, I wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about the death of your father,” Mabel said, more softly. “I know that Otto was able to write and extend his sympathies, but I wanted to give mine as well.”

“Thank you,” Everett said automatically. His chest felt tight. He didn’t like to talk about his father’s death, if he could help it. It had been very sudden, and his whole life had felt as if it had been in freefall ever since. The things he had been expecting for himself had all changed, and he still hadn’t oriented himself to the new reality. 

He was quiet for the rest of dinner, which made him feel guilty; he didn’t want Mabel to think he didn’t appreciate her hospitality. But she was affable enough as she bid them goodnight before going upstairs, leaving him and Otto to sit in the parlor and have a nightcap. 

“It’s strange to be back,” Everett said as he sipped his brandy. “Even hearing people around me speaking English is bizarre.”

“It will feel less strange once you’re back at your townhouse,” Otto observed. “This is a new environment. But your home will feel familiar.”

Everett wasn’t sure about that, but he didn’t say so. His townhouse was in the most fashionable district in London and considerably larger than Otto’s, which made sense with it being a ducal residence. Not that Everett cared about that kind of thing. 

“Sybil will be there,” he said after a moment. “She has not yet moved to her dower house.”

Otto nodded. “Are you nervous about seeing her?”

“A little,” Everett admitted. “I don’t wish to speak about my father with her, and I’m sure she will be in need of comforting.”

“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” Otto offered. “I could certainly use the company, and it will allow you to acclimatize to life in Britain before you see your stepmother.”

Everett fidgeted. “I don’t want to inconvenience you…”

“Nonsense! You will be most welcome.”

“Well, thank you…”

Otto smiled, then said gently, “And I can assure you, Sybil is the same kind-hearted woman that you knew when you were young. I saw that whenever I visited your father, and I promise you, she is eager for your return. If you don’t wish to speak of your father, she will understand and give you privacy. You are both grieving, after all.”

“Yes,” Everett grunted. His stepmother had always been kind, but their relationship was still awkward; he didn’t want to have to ask her to move to her dower house, but he might have to if the new duchess didn’t want the old one looking over her shoulder. 

Speaking of which…

“I’m taking a wife,” he said suddenly into the silence of the room. He knew he would have to tell Otto eventually, and it was best to just to get it over with. 

His friend blinked, taken aback. “You met someone in France?” he asked after recovering himself. 

“No.” Everett shook his head. “The lady is English.”

“But then, how—”

“I have never met her.”

This really took Otto back. He stared at Everett with his mouth slightly agape. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve arranged a marriage for yourself?”

“Don’t make it sound so old-fashioned,” Everett said with a grimace. “But yes, I suppose I have. I wrote to an old friend of my father’s to see if he knew any suitable brides, and he wrote me back that his daughter fits all the criteria I am looking for: well-educated, demure, responsible, and, most importantly, not looking for a love match.”

“But…” Otto frowned. “Have you considered a love match? Or at least a woman you know and like? I can assure you, marriage is a serious business, and it is much more palatable when it is with a woman you admire and respect. Mabel is the woman of my dreams. I love her very dearly, and that love helps us through the more difficult moments of marriage.”

“You and Mabel are lucky,” Everett observed, “but most people are not so fortunate. Love can be blinding, my friend. It convinces you someone is a match for you when they are anything but. It is much better to be rational and practical in one’s choice of spouse.”

Otto shook his head, clearly skeptical. “I still think you should at least meet the woman you intend to marry before you do so. For both of your sakes. This isn’t the Middle Ages!”

“I understand your point of view,” Everett said patiently, “but this is for the best. I am the duke now, which means I have certain responsibilities to fulfill. And the most important of those is producing strong, healthy heirs with a woman worthy of running the household of a duke. More frivolous concerns—love, companionship—cannot concern me right now. My first and most pressing concern must be for my duty.”

Otto nodded slowly and took another sip of brandy, but Everett was sure he could see the uncertainty in his eyes. 

“Well, you must do what you think is best,” his friend conceded at last. “But I think even a duke is allowed to enjoy the companionship of his wife.”

He doesn’t understand, Everett told himself, as he helped himself to more brandy. He doesn’t have a dukedom to run. 

Otto was a lawyer; he didn’t feel the full weight of his family’s history on his shoulders. Everett’s time in the military had taught him that fulfilling one’s duties was the most honorable thing a man could do. 

Still, as he lay in bed that night in Otto’s guest room, Everett was restless. Sleep eluded him. He wasn’t used to sleeping in such a comfortable bed, after so many years on campaign in France. The comfort made him feel soft and weak, not like the Colonel he’d been, but like the pampered duke he feared becoming. 

At last, when sleep still wouldn’t come, he got up and went to the dressing table, where he lit a candle and fished the letter out of the pocket of his jacket. 

The letter was from his father’s friend Baron Marshall Pruitt, describing the daughter, Cordelia, that he proposed Everett marry.

I can assure you, she is a quiet, obedient, and intelligent girl, well-versed in music and many languages. She will make a fine wife, as well as the mother of a future duke.

The words were reassuring, but Everett still felt nervous. Everything was happening so quickly. And while he knew it was his duty, that he was doing the right thing, he couldn’t quite rid himself of the feeling that he had forgotten something important. 

Snuffing out the candle, he returned to bed, where he repeated Baron Pruitt’s words over and over again, until, at last, he fell into a restless sleep.

Chapter One

“This factory is everything we have been looking for, Your Grace,” Julian said as they walked between the rows of churning machines, examining everything around them. “Well, everything I have been looking for,” the steward amended. “Your father was less keen on these innovations, but I am hoping that you will see the necessity of them, in order to keep the estate running smoothly.”

“Yes, I do,” Everett said, glancing at the aging steward, who was looking around anxiously. He knew that Julian had been overwhelmed ever since the late duke’s death, when the responsibility of running the estate had fallen to him until Everett could return from France. The steward had written him multiple letters urging him to return home as quickly as possible, and they had hastened Everett’s return—and his search for a bride. 

“But I’m still not certain that this factory is the right fit for our needs,” he continued, glancing around. “There are more questions I need to ask.”

“You sort of have to say yes to it, though, don’t you?” Julian asked anxiously. “Since Baron Pruitt is your future father-in-law.”

Everett grimaced. “That’s probably true. I just want to make sure that I put my father’s business first.”

“It’s your business now, Your Grace,” Julian said gently. 

Everett swallowed. He hoped that Julian couldn’t see any of the nervousness he was feeling. It had been years since he’d conducted business, and he was a little out of his depth. However, he had spent the last few weeks familiarizing himself with his father’s business. 

“It is your decision to make,” Julian continued tactfully. “Even if Baron Pruitt doesn’t take kindly to it. I doubt he would deny you the marriage to his daughter if you decided against the factory.”

“No, perhaps not, but I’m also sure that he hopes the marriage will also secure my business.”

They continued down the row of machines to the office, where they were greeted by the factory manager. 

“Ahh yes, the baron said you would be stopping by today,” the man, Mr. Shaw, said, when Everett introduced himself. “Needless to say, we are honored to have you here, Your Grace. And we are thrilled that you are considering processing your crops with us here. I can assure you that we use the newest machines, the fastest and most efficient methods, and of course, all at the cheapest expense possible for our customers…”

Mr. Shaw went on in this same vein for some time. Everett tried to pay close attention, but throughout, he kept finding his mind wandering. 

Is this the decision my father would have made? Am I fulfilling my duty to his memory and our family name by choosing this?

He wanted to ask Julian for his advice. The steward, after all, had been close to his father, but he didn’t want to admit any of his doubts. 

Mr. Shaw brought them on a tour of the factory, where he pointed out where the product—stonefruit, in Everett’s case—would be processed and made ready to sell in bulk packaging. It was quite sophisticated, and Everett couldn’t help but feel impressed. 

Still, you never knew. When someone was trying to sell you something, they always showed you the best parts. His father had always had a business savvy that was unrivaled, and Everett couldn’t help but wonder what his father would do in order to find out if everything the manager was saying was really correct or if it was simply his way of trying to sell him on buying their services. 

“Ahh, and here is the baron himself,” Mr. Shaw said as they rounded a corner and saw a broad-shouldered man with a large mustache standing a few paces away, checking something in a ledger. The baron looked up, and when his eyes fell on Everett, they lit up. 

“My good man!” Baron Pruitt said in a loud, congenial voice. “How wonderful it is to see you again after so long!” 

Next to him, Everett felt Julian stiffen. He didn’t like that Pruitt was being so informal with him, Everett knew. The steward was a stickler for propriety and would have preferred if Pruitt had called him Your Grace. But Everett ignored this; he might go into business with the man, and he didn’t want to embarrass him. 

“Baron,” Everett said, holding out his hand. The baron took his hand, shook it, and then bowed his head as well. 

“Your Grace, we are honored to have you here,” he boomed as he looked back up. “And I’m certain you have been impressed by everything you’ve seen today?”

“Certainly,” Everett said. 

“Capital, capital!” The baron smiled, his eyes crinkling with pleasure. “We pride ourselves on the speed, ingenuity, and innovation of our factory. I knew you would not be displeased.”

“I was just showing His Grace to the storage rooms,” Mr. Shaw said. 

“Capital! Then I will let you get on with the tour. And Your Grace…” Baron Pruitt’s eyes softened a little. “I was sorry to hear about your father. The late duke was an exemplary gentleman, and his presence will be missed far and wide.”

Again, the strange, restricted feeling came over Everett, like he couldn’t breathe. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, although the words didn’t come easily.

The baron clapped him on the arm, bowed his head again, and said, “Well, I must get going, but you’re in good hands with Mr. Shaw. We shall speak soon.” He gave Everett a meaningful look, then moved away down the corridor, whistling as he went. 

They continued on the tour, Everett thought over the interaction with Baron Pruitt. He seemed like an affable, kindly man, and every time he was introduced to any of the factory workers, all of them had good things to say about the owner. 

But how true is that? he wondered. Are they only saying this because Mr. Shaw is here? I must know what they say when their manager isn’t with me…

Which is how he formulated the idea of sneaking away after the tour. As it was drawing to a close, he turned to Julian and murmured in his ear, “I’d like to see the place without Mr. Shaw present.”

Julian nodded, and his eyes lit up. “That’s very astute,” he murmured back. “Exactly what your father would want, too.”

Everett felt a rush of pride. Exactly as my father would do. 

“Don’t worry, Your Grace, leave it to me,” the old steward whispered. 

When they arrived back at the office, Julian said that the duke had to leave but that he, Julian, would stay and would like to look through the storage units again. 

“We must make sure the stonefruit doesn’t go bad!” he declared. 

Mr. Shaw looked slightly annoyed, but he quickly nodded. “Of course, anything you want!”

Everett made a big show of saying goodbye to Mr. Shaw, thanking him for his service, and leaving the office. Then he slipped behind a pillar and waited; a minute later, Mr. Shaw and Julian left the office as well and headed in the opposite direction along the corridor, toward the storage rooms, leaving Everett free to wander back into the halls where the workers were processing food products. 

At last, a sense of ease came over him. It had always been like this in the army as well; when he was on a mission with a clear objective, everything became clear. 

He had just turned another corner, where several workers were talking and laughing together, when he saw the strangest sight: a young woman—not just a woman, but a lady, from the looks of her—standing with the group of workers, laughing at something one of them said. 

Everett froze. He was shocked to see a woman down here, on the floor of a factory. Even more bizarre, she was talking to the workers as if she were friends with them. He tried not to stare, but something in his gaze must have attracted her attention, because she looked up suddenly and locked eyes with him. 

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The woman was beautiful. She was tall, curvaceous, and bold in the way she didn’t blink or look away, with the most stunning brown eyes he had ever seen, big and beautiful, a little innocent, which seemed to contrast the bright, bold, intelligent look in them. Her hair was a luscious auburn, and she had it tied back in a simple, practical coiffure that was so different from the elaborate styles he so often saw on society women. Her curvaceousness was another marked difference from the thin, bird-like look of most women of his acquaintance, who never seemed to eat much and took pride in being fragile and dainty. 

Everett felt his heart begin to race. His palms started to sweat, and the back of his neck prickled. 

As fast as he could, he dodged down the nearest corridor. Even as he did, though, he felt foolish. Why am I running away from a young lady? What is she going to do with me? 

But his heart was racing, and all he knew was that he had felt as if he’d been caught. Which was outrageous…

“What are you doing here, sneaking around the factory?” a voice said from behind him, and Everett turned. His heart leaped. Standing at the end of the corridor, watching him with a coy smile, was the lady. She took a step toward him, and he swallowed. Her eyes were sparkling, even as they were narrowed with suspicion, but the smile on her face told him that she wasn’t too angry. 

“Is it a crime now to walk around a factory one is considering engaging the services of?” Everett asked, pulling himself upright and affixing his most imperious look on his face. 

“It is if you are here without the manager’s permission,” the woman said, her eyes narrowing even more. “And you would be with him, if you were really interested in engaging our services. Not sneaking around like someone trying to spy on our operations and report back to his boss on how he can outdo us.”

Everett raised an eyebrow. “Do I really seem like someone’s underling, my lady?”

He thought she might prickle at the arrogance of his words, but she surprised him by laughing. “No, I suppose you don’t,” she said, looking him up and down. “And your accent tells me you are someone important. But you could still be a spy. Perhaps the owner of a rival factory.”

“I assure you: I am not.”

She put her hands on her hips. It was a surprisingly beguiling way of holding herself, and his heart leaped again. “Then why are you sneaking around as if you are guilty of something? It is not exactly good etiquette.”

“Good etiquette?” He stared at her, incredulous. “You are a young lady of good breeding—don’t try to deny it, I can tell by your accent and everything else about you—and you are chatting with factory workers, unchaperoned! You are not exactly in a position to lecture me about etiquette.”

“How do you know I’m not married?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. “Perhaps I don’t need a chaperone.”

“Believe me: no man would let a woman like you laugh with other men, if he were lucky enough to be your husband.”

Everett was not entirely sure what had possessed him to say this. He wasn’t usually the type to flirt with young ladies. But there was something so bold, so unapologetic, so dazzling about this woman—with her quick wit and independence—that he’d spoken without thinking.

She blushed at his words, but when she spoke again, she sounded determined. “I’m not unchaperoned.”

Everett looked around with wide eyes. “Oh? And where is this chaperone?”

The girl flushed. “She got lost in the factory. I was just looking for her.”

“Ahh.” He understood now. “So I am not the only person who is sneaking around? You also managed to give your chaperone the slip.”

“No,” she said quickly, but he was sure that she was lying from the pink tint in her cheeks and the small smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“And you were hard at work looking for her by speaking, unchaperoned, with a group of men?”

“I know those men well,” she said contemptuously. “I have been interested in their lives now for some time.”

A thought occurred to Everett then. He took in the woman, her bright, intelligent eyes, her smart but conservative dress—so different from the society ladies who were obsessed with fashion and the most provocative dresses possible. At the same time, he recalled Mr. Shaw’s words, the palpable fear the man had shown at the thought of there being some kind of spy at the factory.

Is this lady some kind of journalist? Is she not supposed to be here? Is that why she is questioning me, to find out if I’m going to tell Shaw and Baron Pruitt about her being here?

The thought was a little exciting, even if it was also a little preposterous. There were lady journalists these days, but they were very rare. It would shock him to learn this lady worked for one of the investigative newspapers. At the same time, he couldn’t quite think what purpose she had being here, unchaperoned, talking to workers she clearly knew well.

But this also opened up another possibility: that she could tell him the truth about the factory and whether or not he should bring his storefront here for production.

“If I had to hazard a guess, it would be that you shouldn’t really be here,” he said after a moment. “And that if Mr. Shaw, or worse, the baron were to hear of your presence, they would be most displeased.”

From the slight stiffening of her shoulders, he could tell that he had guessed correctly. She glanced around, then moved a step closer to him.

“You’re not going to tell the baron, are you?” she murmured.

“I am not. Because, as it turns out, I also am not supposed to be here.” Her eyes went wide, then narrowed: she had suspected as much. “Perhaps we might be able to keep one another’s secrets if we can help each other out,” he continued. 

“And how can I help you out?” She was still looking at him with deep suspicion.

“Well, I am considering bringing some of my products here to be put into bulk and sold. But I need to know if the baron is trustworthy, if the factory works efficiently, if the manager is honest, and if the workers are hard working. That kind of thing. It’s important information to have before I invest a substantial sum into the enterprise.”

The lady’s expression softened, and she looked a little surprised now.

“This factory is one of the best in England,” she said at once. “You would be very wise indeed to bring your products here. Mr. Shaw can be aloof, but it is only because he is deeply protective of the factory and its workers. He is a good, honest man. As for the baron, well…he is also a good man, good-natured and practical. Not perhaps the most visionary, but that was the late baroness’s role.”

Everett watched her closely. Her eyes had begun to sparkle as she spoke about the factory, and he could tell that she had a deep passion for what she was saying.

“That is good to know,” he said slowly. And while this was reassuring, he now felt more confused than ever. Maybe this woman wasn’t a journalist? What was she then? And why didn’t she want the baron to know that she was here?

He opened his mouth to ask this question, but before he could, she spoke.

“Well, I have helped you, and now you must help me. My request is simple…Please tell no one that I was here. That is all I need.”

“I can do that,” he said, bowing his head.

She smiled, then laughed. “It seems we are both bad at sneaking around.” He laughed as well, marveling as he did so at how good it felt to laugh with her. He hadn’t laughed much recently.

“Well, I really must run.” She sent him one last coy smile. “Good luck with your secret plans.” And she turned and disappeared back down the corridor.

For a long moment, Everett continued to stand there, watching the place where he’d last seen her. He felt lightheaded and a bit disoriented. It had been a very long time since a woman had made such an impact on him. And even though she was gone now, it felt as if he could still feel her energy still, hear her voice, smell her scent in the air…

Footsteps sounded down the corridor ahead of him, from where she had just disappeared, and he stared hopefully at the corner, wishing with every fiber that she was about to round it.

But it wasn’t the mysterious woman. It was Julian.

“There you are, Your Grace!” Julian looked relieved as he hurried toward him. “I was looking everywhere for you. Did you find out what you needed to know?”

“That and more,” he murmured, still lost in the daze the woman had left on him. “I just met the most fascinating woman.”

“Ahh, so you did meet her.” Julian looked nervous now. “I wondered when I saw her leaving the factory just now. What…what did you think of her?”

“You know her?” Everett’s heart leaped. “We had the most scintillating chat.”

“Ah, so, you make a good match.” Julian laughed now, a little bit with nervousness, a little bit with relief.

“Of course not,” Everett said, prickling at once. “It was merely an interesting conversation. And even if we were a good match, it wouldn’t matter. I am engaged to be married.”

Julian’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes went wide.

“Ahhh…well, Your Grace, you see…that was Cordelia Pruitt, the baron’s daughter. The one to whom you are engaged to be married.”

Everett’s heart stopped for a beat, and when it started again, he felt a great shock, and joy washed over him.

“Is that so?” He murmured as he stared back down the corridor, as if she might reappear. “Well, that is certainly interesting.”

What he wanted to say was: How did I get so lucky?