Leslie Lafoy by The Dukes Proposal Page B

as Fiona looked up from her plate to see the footman standing in the doorway, a paper packet in his gloved hand.
    “This has just arrived via a courier, Your Grace,” the man replied, advancing to the table, “and to your immediate attention.”
    “Thank you.”
    The footman bowed and left as Drayton cocked a brow, broke the seal, and opened the folds. Reading, his brow inched ever higher.
    “So?” Caroline prompted. “Are you going to tell us what it is? Or make us guess?”
    “It’s from Dunsford,” Drayton answered, still reading. “The settlement offer for Fiona’s hand that he and I discussed yesterday. At least it bears a vague resemblance to what we decided.”
    “Oh?” Carrie prodded diplomatically.
    “I can conclude one of two things,” Drayton said as he refolded the document. “Either he’s consumed with guilt and remorse for his conduct last evening and is attempting to make amends, or he’s in such physical pain that he’s drunk himself to the point of wild generosity.”
    Carrie chucked and Drayton grinned. Fiona looked back and forth between them and then finally asked, “Physical pain?”
    Her sister cleared her throat softly and then replied ever so sweetly, “Jane made a concerted effort to unman him. In his shock, he toppled backward into the sofa, sitting down rather hard on a pair of champagne flutes. Apparently that pain moved him forward, but not quite to his feet. He toppled off the sofa and face-first into the carpet where he was left alone to contemplate his poor judgment and then collect what he could of himself to get home.”
    “How horrible,” Fiona murmured. He’d been a cad, yes, but—
    “He’d have been in worse shape,” Drayton growled, “if he’d still been lying there by the time I heard what had happened.” He held up the packet. “Do you want to see what His Grace is offering? Bearing in mind, of course, that the settlement should have no impact one way or the other on your ultimate decision to marry him or not.”
    Without a word she took the packet from him, opened it and began to read. There was a clause pertaining to the soundness of mind of the signatories—her and Ian respectively—and another clause regarding the freedom of their individual wills. Following that was a rather lengthy and surprising provision transferring the titles of two houses—one in London’s Mayfair district and one in Scotland—into a trust for perpetuity, regardless of the length of their marriage and whether or not she produced any children for him.
    The most shocking discovery Fiona made, though, concerned the amounts of money the Duke of Dunsford was delegating as annual stipends for her and their eventual children. She read the passage twice, but even then found the figures hard to grasp. To call such a staggering amount an allowance would have been ludicrous.
    After the section detailing the yearly income, there was a clause concerning the disbursement of the estate in the event of Ian Cabott’s death. She read that passage three times, unable to imagine sums that large, but understanding that the funds and property he intended to leave her would likely make her one of the wealthiest women in England. The provisions for any children they might have were just as large, just as generous. Clearly, as the Duchess of Dunsford, she would never want for money or the things it could buy.
    If only it could buy her love and happiness.
    She knew full good and well that Ian Cabott hadn’t offered to marry her out of the demands of his heart. Given the incident in the Miller-Sandses’ library, he obviously had no great and abiding aversion to scandal, either. No, he’d made it clear in his initial proposal that he was motivated primarily by the need to fulfill his obligations to the peerage, to produce the expected male heir and a spare so that the title would continue on. His secondary motives were no more complicated or personal; he needed someone to manage his home and a