Rosy turned to Mother. “Youunderstand, don’t you, Mama? Papa gave up everything to marry you. Not that Lord Winston would necessarily wish to marry me, and I wouldn’t expect it, but if he did—”
“I didn’t realize that Geoffrey had already investigated the man’s reputation,” Mother said, “but since he has, I agree with your brother. We should be careful around the fellow, aroundallthe gentlemen, to be honest.”
Mother released a heavy breath. “As for your father . . . you can’t compare him to Lord Winston. Unlike you, I had no fortune. That was before my own papa became so rich. So there was nothing in it for your papa but me. Lord Winston, on the other hand . . . Why, you barely know the man. It can’t hurt for you to meet a few more gentlemen before you make any decisions.”
“That’s all I’m saying,” Geoffrey put in. “From everything I’ve heard, Lord Winston is best known for his skill at getting into women’s beds.”
“Geoffrey, good Lord!” their mother chided.
“Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t. “Just being around the man is liable to tarnish your reputation, Rosy, and I’d hate to see that when you have a bright future ahead of you.”
Rosy shot him a sad look. “Admit it—you despise men like him because of Papa. You always say people in high society act as if they’re better than everyone else, the way Papa sometimes acted. But you’re just as bad, talking with Grandpapa about the ‘swells’ in London as if you weren’t born to be one, saying how they don’t have any idea what the world is like. It’s two sides of the same coin. You look down on them and they look down on you. Now that you’re a duke . . . you can look down on everyone, and they don’tdarelook down on you.”
That stung, partly because some of it was true. He and his late grandfather had shared a fascination with civil engineering, which was why Geoffrey, and not his father, had ended up a partner in Stockdon and Son, even though his grandfather had left his father the company in his will. But who could have guessed thatFather, a mere third son of a viscount, would have inherited the dukedom of Grenwood if not for his untimely death? That Geoffrey would himself end up inheriting the dukedom from his distant cousin?
Suddenly Geoffrey owned a ducal estate—Castle Grenwood in Yorkshire—and the hunting lodge in Richmond. There was also Grenwood House opposite Hyde Park that he’d been given to understand was for the Brookhouse bachelors. He hadn’t had the chance to look it over, too busy with meetings about the Teddington Lock to do so, although he intended to use Grenwood House as the family’s main residence while Mother and Rosy were enjoying the Season. The Richmond hunting lodge was too far from the city to be practical for Rosy’s début.
His traveling coach shuddered to a halt, and he looked out to see that they’d apparently reached their destination. He checked his pocket watch to find it was 10 a.m., not too early for a business call in the City, he’d been told. A groom ran out to take the horses, and one of his own footmen put down the step.
He asked the footman to wait. He had to finish this discussion with Rosy before going inside. “I tell you what, poppet. If you’ll agree to participate fully in your début this Season and put your best effort into it, then if you can’t find a husband you like or you don’t succeed at moving about in society, or even if you merely find yourself miserable at the end, I won’t push it anymore. One Season is all I ask. After that, you can do as you please. Just give it a go. For me. And Mother, of course.”
Her gaze narrowed on him. “What if I decide at the end that I want to marry Lord Winston, assuming he would even offer for me?”
It infuriated him to think of such a thing, but how else could he get her to put her best foot forward for her début? He only hoped that after meeting several other eligible gentlemen, she wouldn’t be as inclined to fix on Lord Winston for a husband. “That would be your choice,” he said, trying not to choke on the words. “But he still isn’t allowed to call on you until you’ve had a decent Season.”
She cocked her head, as if trying to make out if he meant it. Then she nodded, looking for all the world like a princess regally bestowing a gift on him.
“Swear it, Rosabel Marie Brookhouse,” Geoffrey said. “On Father’s grave.”
“Geoffrey!” their mother hissed. “She shouldn’t be swearing, and certainly not on Arthur’s grave. It’s not genteel.”
He snorted. As if his mother had any idea whatgenteelwas, although he wouldn’t say that to her for all the world. Thanks to Father, gentility was important to her.
But Rosy said primly, “My word is my bond.”
Geoffrey fought the urge to laugh. “You don’t even know what that means.”
That took some of the starch out of her spine. “Fine. Then I swear—on our father’s grave—that I will give my début a good chance. All right?”
He probably should take that for the olive branch she meant it to be. “That will do nicely, angel.” He would simply have to hope thatsomerespectable fellow offered for her before the end of the Season.
After jumping down from the coach, he helped them both out. But when he turned to face the building, he realized that the offices of Elegant Occasions were apparently in an impressive town house on a grand-looking street in Grosvenor Square. How peculiar. Then again, the companywasrun by a woman, so perhaps she preferred a more “genteel” setting.
He escorted his mother and sister up the steps. When they reached the top and he knocked, the door remained firmly closed. He knocked again. Nothing. Only after the third knock was the door opened by a butler who looked decidedly unsociable, especially after he surveyed them all and apparently found them wanting.
“I’m Grenwood,” Geoffrey said, “here to consult with Mrs. Pierce of Elegant Occasions.”
That didn’t change the fellow’s expression one whit. “Wait here.”
When the butler started to close the door, Geoffrey thrust his foot forward to block it. “We are expected.”
The butler looked as if he might contest that. Then he sighed. “Very well.” Opening the door wide, he gestured to them to enter. “I shall still have to consult with my mistress. She and her sisters assumed you would arrive later, during the usual hours for paying calls.”
Sisters? Had he come to the wrong house? But no, given the butler’s surliness, the man would have sent him packing if Geoffrey had come to the wrong place. Instead, the butler pulled aside a footman and whispered something in the fellow’s ear that had the footman scurrying up the stairs.
Geoffrey stared the butler down. “You realize this isn’t a social call. Thesearethe ‘usual hours’ for conductingbusiness, are they not?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The servant chilled him with one look. “But the ladies were out quite late last night at an important affair for a very important client.”
