Clonmere was by the window, looking bored and handsome. “Enough. Falmouth, the ladies either open their gifts in age order, or I walk out of here without a prospective duchess. Before witnesses, I’ve expressed my willingness to honor my father’s wishes, however vague and however many years have passed without the late duke informing me of same. Your quibbling over this detail is unbecoming and more than my patience will allow.”

The clock ticked. Nobody so much as breathed, though Iris wanted to kiss Clonmere for that little speech alone. Falmouth was turning pink. Cousin Hattie was positively beaming.

“But,” Falmouth sputtered, “Iris is not even…”

“Falmouth, have a care.” Clonmere spoke softly. “You never once consulted your daughters about their wishes regarding this scheme of yours. If I insist on a modicum of convention regarding the order in which the gifts are opened, you will accommodate me.”

“Not well done of you, my lord,” Everhart said, looking much like his ducal cousin. “Your daughters are intelligent young women, and marriage is a very serious matter.”

Falmouth looked like Puck just before that cat disrespected a carpet. “Iris, open your box.”

Clonmere passed her the box, the first time he’d looked directly at her. He winked, though his expression remained so grave, so very dignified, Iris doubted the evidence of her eyes.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Holly had scooted to the very edge of her chair, Hyacinth was holding Holly’s hand. Mr. Everhart stood behind Lily’s chair. They made a handsome couple, and they deserved a chance to be a couple. Holly and Hyacinth shouldn’t have to adjust to one of them marrying into an exalted station. This whole blasted month had been wrong for all concerned.

Iris had formed the intention to refuse to open her box when Clonmere spoke.

“My lady, you keep us all in suspense. Won’t you please unwrap my gift? My dearest wish is that you open that box.”

His dearest wish had been a woman who’d entrust her heart to him. Iris’s heart thumped against her ribs like a kettledrum, but Clonmere’s regard was so steady, so trust-worthy, she tugged on the purple ribbon encircling her box.

“As you wish, Your Grace.” She wanted to preserve the lovely paper, and she wanted to tear it to shreds. Cousin Hattie took the ribbon, Lily leaned closer, and Iris gently slid a finger beneath the paper.

“Do hurry, Iris,” Holly muttered.

Iris lifted the lid of the box, but could not make her gaze drop to the contents.

“Oh, my,” Hyacinth said.

“Well, what’s in it?” Falmouth barked.

“A tiara,” Cousin Hattie said. “A lovely, sparkly, antique tiara that the duchesses of Clonmere have worn since the days of Good Queen Bess.”

Falmouth’s harrumphing was drowned out by Lily, Hyacinth, and Holly’s squealing and the applause of the three gentlemen.

“That’s decided then,” Clonmere said, taking Iris’s hand and bowing over it, “assuming you’ll have me?”

He was asking, he was sincerely, honestly asking, and for that Iris fell in love with him all over again.

“Court me for a month,” she said, “court me, save your waltzes for me, introduce me to your family, make my dearest wish come true at least a dozen times over, and then I’ll give you my answer.”

Clonmere kissed her knuckles. “Only a dozen?”

Somebody sighed, certainly not Iris, for she was too busy admiring her prospective husband.

“Let’s move to the formal parlor, shall we?” Cousin Hattie said. “A toast is in order. Falmouth, bestir yourself to order the champagne brought up, and somebody have the coach brought around. We have trousseaus to shop for.”

Falmouth scowled at the three unopened boxes. “Trousseaus, plural? Harriet, do you know something I don’t?”

“I know much that exceeds your grasp, my lord, but even you must recall that a couple embarking on a courtship is entitled to some privacy.”

“That they are,” Everhart said.

“’Deed,” Amherst added. “A fine tradition.”

Falmouth looked like he wanted to rattle the remaining boxes,or perhaps even sniff them. Dersham gave the earl a little shove toward the door. “Champagne, my lord. Along with cakes, some chocolates. Amherst and I have a few matters we’d like to discuss with you.”

“As do I,” Everhart said, offering Lily his arm.

The lot of them trooped out, leaving Iris alone with her duke. “I am most exceedingly relieved to have found the Clonmere tiara in my box.”

She was so relieved, she had to kiss him… and kiss him, and kiss him. Clonmere was apparently relieved as well, because he gave as good as he got, until Iris was perched on the desk with a duke wedged between her legs.

A heavily breathing duke whose hair was awry, and whose cravat was off center.

“What if the tiara hadn’t been in my box?” Iris panted, holding him close. “What if… I can’t bear to think of the fussing and carrying on and harrumphing.”

“Neither could I,” Clonmere replied, “which is why the ancestral tiara wasn’t in your box. That little bauble is paste.”

His heart was cantering along at a marvelous clip. Iris pressed her ear to his chest for the pleasure of feeling his heart beat. Though what had he said about…?

“Paste? Because a fortune of jewels shouldn’t be carted all over Mayfair? Very prudent of you, Clonmere.”

He took her hand and helped her down from the desk. “Not prudent, desperate. Open the other boxes.”

He was looking both sheepish and proud, also a little disheveled. Kissably disheveled.

Iris used the penknife on the desk to slit the ribbons on the other three boxes, and opened them one by one.

“Oh, Clonmere, you clever, determined fellow you.” Three identical tiaras glittered in the three boxes. “As long as I went first, I’d find a tiara even if the labels somehow got confused.”

“Because I could not trust Falmouth to leave well enough alone, and I suspect your siblings might have been tempted to meddle as well. Hattie warned me to plan for every contingency.”

“And you did.”

She hugged him, because she could, because she had to.

“I have a new dearest wish, Lady Iris.” His voice had dropped to a register Puck’s purr approximated when the cat was exceedingly content.

“Do you?” Iris nuzzled Clonmere’s throat. “This is an interesting coincidence, because my own dearest wishes are growing in number. One of them involves a special license.”

“One of mine involves a very slow coach ride over to Ludgate, where we’ll find a jeweler who can fashion you an engagement ring.”

Oh, he smelled wonderful, of flowers and excellent ideas. “A very slow coach, Your Grace?”

“Very slow and comfortable.” He gathered up all four boxes. “How soon can you be ready to leave?”

“Five minutes.”

She and Clonmere were out the door in two minutes, and though His Grace did get a special license, he also spent the next month making every one of Iris’s dearest wishes come true, and far more than a mere dozen times.



FROM GRACE BURROWES


Greetings, Dear Readers!

I hope you enjoyed Henning and Iris’s story. The inspiration was a family incident recounted by my Aunt Sharon, about somebody (who shall remain nameless) purposely switching the tags on Christmas presents. Does every family have such a story?

If you’re looking for a full-length Grace Burrowes Regency, I just released When A Duchess Says I Do, the second tale in my Rogues to Riches series. Duncan Wentworth meets his match in Miss Maddie Wakefield, provided they can overcome a few pesky obstacles relating to international intrigue, a scorned suitor, the king’s justice, and (of course) meddling family members. Excerpt below.

If you’d like to stay up-to-date on my new releases, pre-orders, and discount deals, following me on Bookbub is a good way to do that. If you’d like the coming attractions reel and kitten pictures, as well as cover reveals and exclusive excerpts, my newsletter is the better bet. I am also fiddling around on Instagram as graceburrowesauthor and having great fun there too.

Happy reading!

Grace Burrowes


From When A Duchess Says I Do….

A stolen moment catches Duncan and Matilda by surprise….


“I am embroiled in a situation that has consequences at the highest levels, Mr. Wentworth,” Matilda said. “If I share with you what I know, you will find yourself embroiled along with me.”

She’d expressed a wish to study their chess game, but now she was taking pieces off the board, lining them up in order of rank. Her white pawns, Duncan’s black pawns. Her bishop, knight, rook, and queen, her king.

“Matilda,” Duncan said, getting to his feet. “Please calm yourself. You have made a minor slip by letting Stephen see your prayer book. He will carry your identity to his grave if need be, as will I. I’d rather not. I’d rather see you free of the burdens you carry, else I shall never have an opportunity to properly court you.”

She went still, Duncan’s king in her hand. “Did I hear you, aright, Mr. Wentworth?”

“My name is Duncan. Your hearing is excellent.”

She set the king down slowly, next to the white queen. “You seek to court me?”

“I most assuredly do.”

Based on the lady’s expression, this disclosure astonished her almost as much as it surprised Duncan.


Order your copy of When A Duchess Says I Do!




LOVE LETTERS FROM A DUKE



MAY


GINA CONKLE






PREFACE


The Duke of Richland needs a proper duchess, but he wants his thoroughly fun, entirely inappropriate neighbor, Mrs. Charlotte Chatham. She’s widowed, older, and if the whispers prove true—barren.