London, 1801
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Gabriel Argyll, Duke of Grafton
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I need to get married.
And please understand I don't want to get married.
But I must, all the same.
From my experience, only three kinds of men take on a wife: fools who fall in love, fools who need an heir and... fools who go broke.
Fools, all of them.
You can guess which one I am.
I'll give you a hint: I don't believe in love and I'm far too young to be worried about an heir, (even though my late mother would probably disagree with this last part).
Yes, I am broke.
I have many debts, I owe many favors, I am one month away from having to sell my familyยดs ancestral home of Dunby Place or worry about starving.
Not a good position to be in, but I do have some things in my favor, you see? I may be a social spirit with a soft spot for losing coin on games and women, but here's what you need to know: I'm handsome, I'm a duke and it's social season in London.
For the next three months this town will be drowning in balls and parties filled with young women desperately looking for a husband. They want money, looks and title. I have two of those things, and most people don't know I lack the third.
Fathers would pay me a small fortune to take their daughters off their hands. So all I need is to find a particularly rich one and the matter is settled. A good dowry will fix everything.
This is why I came back to London.
This is why I am now walking into the Purple Dwight, the fanciest gentleman's club in town, where my old friend Peter Lockhill is waiting for me by those leather chairs over there. Do you see him? With his blonde hair and quiet brown eyes. He always looks clueless, but I know him for long enough to know that it's not just a look.
"Your Grace!" he stands to greet me with gleeful intimancy. He is a good friend and not just an old one. We are a perfect pair, you see? I have an act for getting us in trouble and he has a way of getting us out.
"I missed you in France!" I take the drink he offers so we can toast to our reunion.
"I find that hard to believe! I'm sure you were so deep in french women to even notice my absence!" he jests.
"God bless french women" I laugh "But it's the english ones I've returned for"
"So I'm told. Did I read your letter right? You're finally looking for a duchess? Why now?"
"My age... I need an heir? Or something" I grin and Peter knows me far too well:
"You spent your last penny in France, didn't you?"
He needs no reply so I give him none.
"Well..." He studies me carefully "The season is about to begin. The Dorchesters are having a ball at their London house in three days. I'm sure you'll have no problem finding women by the dozens"
"I don't need dozens, Petey. Just one. So, tell me... who is the richest lady to debut this season?"
Peter sighs cause he is trying to pretend that he disapporves me, but we are two peas in one pot and his sigh quickly turns into a grin.
"That would be the Spencer heir" he nods, without a moment of hesitation "Ms. Adeline Spencer"
"I don't recognise the name. I never heard of a house Spencer"
"That's because they have no House"
"A commoner? Good God, Petey, you think me that low?"
"You didn't ask for blood, you asked for money. And no one in this town has more money than Arthur Spencer"
"New money?"
"He is a merchant. He owns a fleet and some business in the Americas. He is said to have made so much money that he owns entire cities over there. But he wants his daughter to marry into a title so she was raised in England"
"He is bitter over having money but no prestige..."
"... and wants his daughter to have both, yes. But it's even better than that, my friend" he laughs "The dowry for the young miss should be extraordinary, yes, but... listen to this: old Arthur has no other children and after three wives, it doesn't look like he can father any others"
My eyes go wide. My jaw drops before I can muster a smirk.
"She is to inherit everything?"
"Every single thing. And he adores her"
"Then it is settled. Come fall, miss Adeline Spencer will find herself the Duchess of Leicester"
"I like your spirit, Gabriel" he laughs "But do remember there will be many others interested in this particular catch".
"I am not worried about competition" Not at all. I know exactly what ladies like to hear from a man.
"All right. And I feel like I should warn you, she is rather plain looking"
"I don't need her to be pretty, Petey" I finish my drink "I just need her to be rich".
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Miss Adelina Spencer
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I need to get married.
And please understand I don't want to get married.
But my father says I must, all the same.
I wanted to travel with him. Go across the ocean and see the places he's been to. Experience life in a land where title and birth don't matter.
That's sound wonderful.
But father said I had to be raised in England, like a proper lady. And what a lady I've been! Hiding away in the country because the British elite doesn't take well to a low born sharing their table.
They had to let me in and smile because father is so rich he could destroy them all, but they never accepted me and they made sure I knew it.
It was all for the best.
If they didn't accept me, I didn't accept them.
I don't want to get married.
And worst of all: I NEVER want to get married to one of them. With their titles and their entitlements, judging themselves better than others because they know who their great-great-grandfather was.
If marry I must, then I'd rather have it be to an american man.
But being born a woman means you can decide nothing but the color of your dress, and sometimes not even that. Like tonight, for instante: I'm wearing blue silk because some matron my father hired said it matched my eyes. My eyes are green and the matron is insane.
Changes nothing though: I'm still wearing blue.
I'm not a fan of blue, but I'm also not a fan of balls. So the night is looking mighty wonderful to me so far, wouldn't you say?
"Ms. Spencer, I would like to introduce you to Lord Wilson Marburry, Viscount of Briar"
He bows and takes my hand.
"Ms. Spencer, my pleasure to introduce you to Lord James Aberdeen, first son of House Everton"
He bows and takes my hand.
"Ms. Spencer, if it pleases you, this is Lord Victor Nas..."
I don't know.
So many men around me all night.
After a while all I hear is: "Miss Spencer? This is Lord Something of Something" A bow. A kiss on my fingers.
They all melt into the same face and the same name.
Father is besides himself with pride and joy. He thinks all these noble men are interested in me and not in his money.
I love my father deeply, but I know he has no self respect when it comes to the British aristocracy.
What I wouldn't give to get out of this place.