by Drew Moncrief, Duke of Arden
- Do not let the pursuit stop with the wedding. Be the one I seek out to discuss the news of the day or the latest land reforms (you are not the only one who wants to see England become a better version of herself).
- Do not toady to my foibles and vanities but appeal to my better self. (Men are sometimes but not always thin-skinned narcissists.)
- Allow me to relax in your company. Let me do this without fear that in sharing my true self I provide you with the tools with which to hurt me.
- Hold loose the reins but tightly to trust. Keeping our own friends and interests will ensure plenty of tantalizing tidbits to devour when we converse alone, but trust is what will bind us for eternity.
- Nurture your beauty inside and out. I will never stray far if just looking at you makes me hunger to bed you, but the truth is my “heart love” came as a response to the beauty of your generous soul.
- Never underestimate the power of a stray touch — you might ignite a fire at breakfast with your fingertips that you won’t be able to put out until after dinner has past. (Perhaps a pitcher of water should be kept nearby just in case…)
- Remember a thirst for knowledge coupled with an inherent curiosity is a heady combination in a woman. If you can make me laugh, well, all the better.
- Save your warm gazes only for me. Jealousy is a new emotion for this nobleman, but jealous of sharing you, I am indeed.
- Never lose your generous, passionate spirit as it not only distinguishes you from the icicles of the ton but has a way of slipping under my guard. (Am I wrong for wanting some of that generosity lavished on me when we’re alone?)
- Value me for me — not my wealth and title. Truth be told, even the richest nobleman in the land is, at heart, always just a boy searching for someone to love him for himself. (Now I’ve gone and said too much. My peers at the club will not forgive me for putting such knowledge in the hands of the opposite sex.)
Pray note, Gentle Reader, that the above counsel is directed solely toward the object of my affection, Miss Roslyn Loring. I have no desire to encourage the aspirations of the other marriage-minded misses who have hounded me for years. In truth, the very thought makes me shudder.
Should Roslyn’s courtesan friend, Fanny Irwin, cite me as a source for her soon to be published book, “Advice to Young Ladies on Capturing a Husband,” I shall deny any involvement. I have my reputation as London’s most cynical rake to uphold, after all.
Dukes — even those who have been created as romantic heroes, as I have been — do not share their most intimate feelings with anyone. In my era, what you call SNAGS (Sensitive New Age Guys) have not yet come into fashion.