Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(80)
Cotswold groaned at the joke.
“Do you suppose I could have a word in someone’s ear about this whole scandal thing?” Eleanor said with a wink.
Cotswold snorted and shook her head. “I can’t keep up with you, my lady.” She gestured at Eleanor. “You’re done for now.”
Eleanor rose, her mood growing somber again. “Curse Della,” she muttered. Cotswold didn’t reply; there was nothing more to say on the subject. If her sister hadn’t been so foolish as to run off with someone so unsuitable, she wouldn’t have had to be shoring up the family’s reputation on her own seemingly average shoulders.
And even before Della had run off, the girls had all known they would have to be settled in marriage, since they were all only girls. When their father died, the title and all the holdings would go to their cousin Reginald, who was pleasant enough, but already had a wife and a brood of children. The only thing the Howlett ladies had in their favor were their substantial dowries.
It had been a distant prospect, back when they were all together. They’d each talked about finding a gentleman to marry, one who was kind, and handsome, and cared for them.
Not that Lord Carson was not a pleasant enough gentleman; he was very courteous, and had a respectable fortune, and was of moderate good looks.
It was only—well, he was average, like she. And she wasn’t being given a choice, not now when Della had made their reputations so precarious.
They would marry, and likely they would not argue. But neither would they spark together in passion, all outsized emotions, and she’d never feel what it would be like to practically vibrate with feelings, and wants, and pleasure.
For a moment, her mind drifted back to the gentleman from the bookshop. He certainly seemed outsized—literally, he’d been quite tall, as far as she could tell from his lounging position on the floor. And he had been passionate enough to find that book with those pictures and be looking at it in a bookshop. He was a gentleman—she’d been able to tell that from his clothing and manner of speaking. But he was an overwhelming gentleman. The kind that unmarried young ladies were not supposed to pay attention to, but did nonetheless. The kind that would ignite all sorts of feelings in a young woman’s breast.
The kind that was not even close to average.
If only she could have a few moments of sparking passion and outsizedness and overwhelmingness—then, perhaps, she could enter this average marriage with more than average expectations.