Viscount Pickford chuckled. "When we appear this season all the mamas will go wild with delight. Frankly I don't know of four more eligible gentlemen in the ten thousand. I hear Lord Morgan's daughter is going to make her bow under the sponsorship of her aunt, the Dowager Marchioness of Rowley. Now there's the girl for you, Quint."

"I shall have a harder time than any of you finding a wife," the duke responded seriously. "While my blood is the bluest in England, even bluer than the king's, my purse is virtually empty. My antecedents had the rather romantic notion of marrying for love, and by God, they did! Far worse, most of them had a passion for gambling. This estate of mine is intact by some miracle, but look around; Hunter's Lair is falling down about my ears. The lady I choose must be wealthy enough to put it all back together again, and bring me enough income so I may get on my feet. Unlike my father, and those before him, I have no desire to gamble, nor necessarily marry for love. I must wed for practical reasons. Then I will put my estate back in order and make it prosper. If I can find a lady noble enough, and rich enough to have me," he concluded.

"Then it's Lord Morgan's daughter for you," Viscount Pickford insisted. "She's quite the heiress."

"Her blood is barely blue," the earl noted. "Her father is only the second to hold his title. The family were London merchants, and he is still involved in business. Her mother, however, was the old Duke of Arley's youngest child. Ran off with some Italian count when the daughter was two, and her brother eight. It was quite a scandal at the time. Lord Morgan divorced her, of course, but has never remarried. Then the son was killed a few years ago. Lord M. has devoted himself to his remaining offspring ever since. She is indeed fearfully rich, Quint, but her pedigree ain't good enough for you."