Slipping the sketch from his waistcoat pocket, he gazed upon the face that had piqued his interest from the first time he'd seen it months ago, when Elizabeth had given him the drawing along with a request to meet Mrs. Brown at the dock. It was one of the most attractive faces he'd ever seen-lovely not simply because of the pleasing features but due to the joy that flowed from her smile. The warmth and laughter shining in her eyes. And the sense of mischief and fun that seemed to radiate right off the vellum. He would have no trouble recognizing this woman in any size crowd. Indeed, his pulse quickened at the very thought of seeing this lovely creature in person. As he knew Elizabeth had hoped.

Tucking the sketch back in his pocket, he recalled the comment Elizabeth had made just before he'd departed Bradford Hall yesterday. Perhaps you'll like my friend, she'd suggested-a phrase he'd heard from the female members of his family more times than he could count. Ever since he had casually mentioned last year that he'd like to settle down and start a family, his sister, sisters-in-law, and his mother were only too eager to toss eligible females his way. At first he hadn't objected to their efforts, since his own search for a wife wasn't yielding any results. And he couldn't deny that he'd met an amazing number of charming ladies, some of whom he'd liked quite well, and several with whom he'd discreetly shared far more than a waltz.

However, as time wore on and he hadn't chosen a bride, the introductions had grown awkward, and his family, most especially Caroline, had grown impatient with him. "What on earth is wrong with you?" his sister now demanded every time he didn't fall madly in love with the latest woman she'd brought his way. "She's beautiful, charming, amenable, docile, wealthy, and for reasons I cannot explain, she adores you. What the devil are you looking for?"