Mr. Hunt, I Presume (Playful Brides, #10.5)(37)

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Mother continued, passing a perfectly manicured hand over her perfectly pressed skirts. “I don’t expect you to make the match of the Season.”

Delilah blinked. “The match of the Season?” Surely, her mother didn’t mean—

“I’ve heard the Duke of Branville is looking for a bride this year.”

Drat. That’s exactly who her mother meant. And it was true. The Duke of Branville had long been the most coveted bachelor on the marriage mart. Until this year, he hadn’t shown an interest in finding a bride. She and Lucy had already spent the better part of the Season avidly discussing his prospects. It was one of their favorite pastimes actually. “Yes,” she murmured in response to her mother. “The Duke of Branville is certainly eligible.”

Her mother’s lip curled. “As I said, I’ve no expectation that you could secure an offer from the likes of Branville, for heaven’s sake. No. I think someone a bit more, ahem, reasonable would be best.” She sat up even straighter if that were possible. “To that end, I already have chosen someone for you.”

Delilah’s stomach performed a somersault. “Who?” Cold dread clutched at her middle.

“Clarence, of course.”

Delilah’s jaw dropped and her brows snapped together. “Clarence ... Hilton?”

Her mother directed her gaze skyward for a moment. “Of course, Clarence Hilton, who else?”

“Oh, Mother, no!” Delilah couldn’t help the disdain in her voice. “I’m certain I can do better than Clarence Hilton.”

“Oh, really?” Mother drawled, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding Delilah down the length of her nose.

“Yes, really.” Delilah nodded vigorously. She’d rather marry a good-natured goat than Clarence Hilton. The man was portly, smelly, and rarely spoke, and when he did, he had nothing interesting to say.

“Very well.” Mother stood from her seat and made her way toward the door. “I’ll give you until your birthday to secure a better offer.”

Delilah clenched her jaw. Her mother didn’t think much of her. She certainly didn’t think Delilah was capable of attracting a worthwhile suitor, and she obviously didn’t think Delilah could attract anyone better than Clarence Hilton.

Anger bubbled in Delilah’s chest. Normally, she did her best to keep it at bay. Anger was an emotion, after all. But sometimes, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep such thoughts from throbbing in her brain. She was a butter stamp of her father in more ways than one, and the current way involved being madly stubborn and ridiculously determined once she set her sights upon something.

By God, Delilah would show her mother. She would prove to her that she wasn’t the lost cause Mother thought. Besides, who better to make the match of the Season than she herself? She was an excellent matchmaker, wasn’t she? She had done it before. More than once.

“You’d do well to remember that Clarence Hilton is the heir to an earldom,” Mother intoned.

“I’m well aware.” Delilah tried and failed to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“Don’t be impertinent. You truly believe you can secure an offer from someone with better connections than that?”

Delilah raised her chin and met Mother’s glare. She would die trying. Because her mother had just issued a challenge of sorts, and unfortunately, Delilah—emotional, too-loud, eccentric Delilah—had never been able to pass up a challenge.

Besides, her odds of success had to be better than average. Her best friend, Thomas, was always talking about odds. Numbers leaning this way or that. He put great stock in them. Delilah rarely gave odds much thought, but now she had to believe they were in her favor. After all, Delilah had the infamous Duchess of Claringdon, Lucy Hunt, in her corner, and that woman was undisputedly the best matchmaker in the land. “Yes,” she declared. “I believe I can.”

“Fine.” Mother paused in the doorway and turned to regard her daughter, a hint of disdain in her forced smile. “Do you have anyone in mind? Any prospects?”

Delilah straightened her shoulders. Her mother’s lack of faith in her hurt, but it also made her resolute. Her birthday was the twenty-first of July. She had just over a month to accomplish her goal. Her perhaps overly insanely lofty goal.

“Yes, in fact.” Delilah stood from her seat and met her mother’s stare with her own highly determined smile. “I intend to secure an offer from the Duke of Branville.”