“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.”
Mr. Hunt, I Presume: A Playful Brides Story Page 12
