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 A Duke’s Daughters –
The Elbury Bouquet - Book 1

Clean Regency Romance

A Spinster for a Spy

Arietta Richmond
 Dreamstone Publishing © 2019
www.dreamstonepublishing.com
Copyright © 2019 Dreamstone
Publishing and Arietta Richmond,
All rights reserved.
No parts of this work may be copied without the author’s
permission.

ISBN-13: 978-1-925915-13-6
 Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,

organisations, events, and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
 Dedication

For everyone who had the grace to be patient while this book,
and every other book that I have written, was coming into existence,
who provided cups of tea, and food, when the writing would not let
me go, and endured countless times being asked for opinions.
For the readers who inspire me to continue writing, by buying my
books! Especially for those of you who have taken the time to email
me, or to leave reviews, and tell me what you love about my books,
and what you’d like to see more of – thank you – I’m listening. I
hope that you enjoy this new series (which features some
appearances by old favourite characters from the His Majesty’s
Hounds series), just as much as my other books.
For my growing team of beta readers and advance reviewers –
it’s thanks to you that others can enjoy these books in the best
presentation possible!
And for all the writers of Regency Historical Romance, whose
books I read, who inspired me to write in this fascinating period.
 Table of Contents
A Spinster for a Spy
Disclaimer
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Here is your preview of A Vixen for a Viscount
Chapter One
Books in the ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’ Series
Books in ‘The Derbyshire Set’
Regency Collections with Other Authors
Books in the Nettlefold Chronicles
Other Books from Dreamstone Publishing
 Books by Arietta Richmond
His Majesty’s Hounds
Claiming the Heart of a Duke
Intriguing the Viscount
Giving a Heart of Lace
From Soldier Spy to Lord (contains the first three books in one volume)
Being Lady Harriet’s Hero
Enchanting the Duke
Redeeming the Marquess
Finding the Duke’s Heir
Winning the Merchant Earl
Healing Lord Barton
Kissing the Duke of Hearts
Loving the Bitter Baron
Falling for the Earl
Rescuing the Countess
Betting on a Lady’s Heart
Attracting the Spymaster
Courting a Spinster for Christmas
Restoring the Earl’s Honour

The Regency Scandals Series

The Gift of a Christmas Scandal
Lady Mariel’s Scandalous Love (coming soon)
Christmas with That Duke (coming soon)

The Nettlefold Chronicles

The Duke and the Spinster
 To Dance with the Dangerous Duke
A Duke in Autumn (coming soon)
A Christmas Bride for the Duke (coming soon)

A Duke’s Daughters – The Elbury Bouquet

A Spinster for a Spy (Lily)
A Vixen for a Viscount (Hyacinth) (coming soon)
A Bluestocking for a Baron (Rose) (coming soon)
A Diamond for a Duke (Camellia) (coming soon)
A Minx for a Merchant (Primrose) (coming soon)
An Enchantress for an Earl (Violet) (coming soon)
A Maiden for a Marquess (Iris) (coming soon)
A Heart for an Heir (Thorne) (coming soon)

The Derbyshire Set

A Gift of Love (Prequel short story)
A Devil’s Bargain (Prequel short story - coming soon)
The Earl’s Unexpected Bride
The Captain’s Compromised Heiress
The Viscount’s Unsuitable Affair
The Derbyshire Set, Omnibus Edition, Volume 1
(contains the first three books in a single volume.)
The Count’s Impetuous Seduction
The Rake’s Unlikely Redemption
The Marquess’ Scandalous Mistress
The Derbyshire Set, Omnibus Edition, Volume 2
(contains the second three books in a single volume.)
A Remembered Face (Bonus short story – coming soon)
The Marchioness’ Second Chance
A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion (coming soon)
Lady Theodora’s Christmas Wish
The Duke’s Improper Love (coming soon)
Other Books
The Scottish Governess (coming soon)
The Earl’s Reluctant Fiancée (coming soon)
The Crew of the Seadragon’s Soul Series,
(coming soon - a set of 10 linked novels)
 Chapter One

“You, my dear sister, are a spinster. You cannot deny it any

longer.”
Thorne Gardenbrook, Marquess of Wildenhall, smiled smugly at
his sister as he spoke.
“I am not a spinster! Certainly, I may be older than the age at
which most girls marry… but I simply have not yet found a man that
I care to marry.”
Lady Lily Gardenbrook glared at her brother. He shook his head
sadly.
“You delude yourself, Lily. You are two and twenty, and this will
be your fourth Season – why do you not choose a man – it’s not as if
you have no suitors. I have introduced you to half the ton, in this
last few years!”
“I do not choose any of them, because they are all horrible! They
care nothing for me, for who I am – all they see is a Duke’s
daughter with a large dowry, and a figure which is not unappealing.”
Thorne laughed, but his expression was serious when he spoke
next.
 “You may well be right, but I do not know that you can hope for
the sort of love that our parents have – and you have been hoping
for that, haven’t you? Very few are lucky enough to marry someone
that they love. And, in the end, better a marriage based on simple
liking, than a lifetime alone and lonely.”
“I have, indeed, been hoping for love. I am not sure that I could
live with someone I barely liked – and most of the eligible men I
don’t like at all. If you are so sure that I should find someone this
Season, then you had best introduce me to some new possibilities –
for I refuse to contemplate those I already know.”
Thorne frowned, and Lily knew that he truly did care what
happened to her, and to all of her sisters. As brothers went, he was
good – generally helpful, protective, and even willing to join in with
mischief at times. And, though she would not admit it to him, he
was right – she needed to act soon, to find a man to marry – for her
sisters were not married either, and she suspected that they were
holding back until Lily married. She sighed, and forced a smile onto
her face. Thorne frowned again, shaking his head.
“I will try – but, truthfully, those you have not met are not of the
kind of character that I would have my sister marry. Rakes, gamblers
and fortune hunters make up a deplorable amount of society.”
“Thank you - trying is all that either of us can do.”
Thorne rose, and left the room.
Lily leant back into the embrace of the old armchair, staring
blankly into the flickering flames in the grate before her. The book of
poetry which she had been reading when Thorne came into the
room still lay on her lap. Her fingers traced its cover, and her
thoughts twisted in the never-ending circle that they had followed
for three years now.
For there was more to her refusal of all suitors than simply the
fact that none had inspired her to love. Her refusal was grounded in
fear – a fear that her closely guarded secret would be discovered,
that a husband would take from her the one thing which she most
enjoyed. The thing which was, most certainly, not something which
a lady of the ton could do, with the approval of society.

<<<< O >>>>
Trent Weatherton, Marquess of Canterford, inhaled deeply as he
stepped through the door of Bigglesworth’s Books. There was
something about the scent of books which spoke to his soul, which
brought to mind winter afternoons ensconced in his library, by the
fire, with a volume of poetry, or perhaps a history, or even, though
he would not admit it to other gentlemen, a novel.
Mr Bigglesworth greeted him with a smile.
“Good day to ye, my Lord. I’ve a few volumes I think you’ll like, if
you’ve the time after your meeting?”
“Excellent, Bigglesworth – I always have the time for books.”
Bigglesworth waved him past, and he slipped through the dusty
curtain behind the counter, and into the dimness of the back
corridor.
The rickety looking stairs were silent beneath his feet, as always,
and the ancient looking door at the top was solid beneath his
fingers. He knocked.
“Enter.”
 The room was everything that might not be expected. It was
large, clean, and well lit by large glass windows all along one side. A
rug of a quality which would not be out of place in a stately home
graced the floor, and the couches that surrounded it were exquisitely
carved and upholstered. The man who rose from one of them to
greet him was of middling height, unremarkable except for his
piercing grey eyes. Trent went forward to him.
“Lord Setford. I trust that your summons does not come due to
bad news?”
“No, no. Nothing difficult this time, m’boy. Although you may not
be enthusiastic about it. Do sit – the coffee is on the side table, if
you’ve a mind to taste it.”
“Your coffee is always worth drinking Lord Setford.”
Trent sank onto the couch, and poured himself a cup of the
strong bitter liquid from the pot that sat there. He marvelled, again,
at how Setford always managed to have perfect coffee waiting, no
matter when a man arrived at his door.
“Good, Good. Now, let’s to business. You understand the scope of
the responsibilities you’ve been granted, I trust?”
“I do, if that is no more or less than you previously told me.”
“It is. But what you may not have truly grasped, is the way in
which you might best achieve what is needed.”
“Oh?”
“Yes – if you thought that what I asked would allow you to avoid
society events – as I know you’ve had a tendency to do for this last
year and more, since your father’s death – then you were mistaken.
That’s what I wanted to discuss today. If you are going to serve the
Crown by managing and preventing civil unrest and treasonous
activities within England, then you will need to be always gathering
intelligence – not simply through the men I have assigned you, but
yourself. For the greatest threats to England have as often come
from amongst our own, as from abroad, and from amongst the
aristocracy in particular. The poor rarely have the money or the time
to stir up trouble, unlike our peers.”
Trent studied Setford’s face, wondering where this was going.
“I can see the truth in that. But… what do you want me to do? I
freely admit that I am still learning the techniques which you so
effortlessly apply.”
Setford laughed, a full rich sound, and nodded.
“And that is exactly why I chose you, Canterford. You are willing
to learn – you are astute, and observant – and that is exactly what I
am asking you to act on. I need you to get about in society more, to
become the man who is invited to all of the major hostesses’ events,
who is so well known that no one looks at him twice. For when you
achieve that, you can move among them, observing everything, and
no one will notice you doing so. If you get it right, half of them will
even tell you their secrets voluntarily.”
Trent sat for a moment, staring out of the windows at the
rooftops of London, where dirtied snow slowly melted on soot
covered slate. He took a deep breath and turned back to Setford.
“You, my Lord, are quite the most devious man I have ever met.”
Setford laughed again, and gave a little seated bow.
 “Glad you’ve realised that, m’boy.”
“You know full well that if you had spoken of this requirement,
when we first discussed me joining the ranks of the King’s spies, I
would likely have refused you. Instead you played upon my sense of
duty, and my need to do something more than manage my estates,
to move past my grief at my father’s death. And now that I have
fully committed to you, to serving the Crown in this way, you drop
this upon me. I shudder at the very thought of endless evenings
spent in the ballrooms and salons of London, eyed off, like a prime
piece of horseflesh in the ring at Tattersall’s, by all of those husband-
hunting young women.”
“Which is exactly why you are the right man for the job. You’ll be
focussed on what needs to be done, not on carousing and flirting.”
Trent winced, but nodded. Setford had the right of it, and he would
not attempt to back away from the course he had committed to.
Honour demanded that he be true to his word. “I will make it a little
easier for you – I can guarantee you invitations from quite a few
who also have some… relationship… to our work, to smooth your
way into it. But it is up to you to appear as carefree as possible –
like a man recently released from mourning who relishes the chance
to go about in society.”
“I can act the part, but I can’t promise not to curse you in the
privacy of my mind, if I find it all unutterably tedious!”
Setford laughed that hearty laugh again.
“I can’t ask more than that m’boy – and who knows, you might
even enjoy some of it.”
 Trent nodded, but his expression was dubious enough that it
drew another laugh from Setford. Ruefully, he found himself
laughing too.
“Did I really look that horrified by the idea?”
“You did, m’boy, you did.”
“Well then, I will need to practise my dissembling, won’t I? We
can’t have the hostesses of society realising just what I really think
of their balls and soirees.”
“You will indeed. And you can start tomorrow.”
Setford lifted an embossed card from the table beside him, and
passed it to Trent. Trent took it, hesitantly, as if it might bite,
somehow. He felt, in that instant, as if something portentous would
be started, simply by the act of reading that card. He shook the
whimsical thought aside, and bent his eyes to the card.
‘The Duke and Duchess of Elbury would be pleased to
welcome the Marquess of Canterford to a Soiree to be
held at Elbury House.’
The direction followed, and the stated date of the event was, as
Setford had said, the following day.
“What did you tell them of me?”
Setford smiled.
“Very little – except that you are a friend, recently out of
mourning, and wishing to re-establish himself in society. But Marcus,
the Duke, no matter how genially blustering he may appear, is as
astute as you are – he will understand that I have a purpose in
assisting you with invitations, and he will also know not to ask. Just
attend, observe, and try to enjoy yourself and look natural.”
Trent could not prevent the snort of laughter that escaped him.
“Look natural? I have never, in my life, truly been comfortable
amongst crowds of my peers – so perhaps natural is the wrong
word. But I will try to look as if I actually want to be there.”
 Chapter Two

Trent stepped down from the carriage and eyed the imposing
home before him. Elbury House spoke of wealth, and prosperity, in
every line of its façade. A number of other carriages drew up to set
down their passengers as he made his way up the steps. He
wondered just how large this soiree would be – it was only February,
and the Season would not really begin for another month or so – yet
it appeared that this might still be a fairly large event.
He drew a deep breath, his cravat suddenly feeling too tight. He
could not hesitate. This was where the rest of his life began. Since
his father’s death, he had allowed himself to use mourning as an
excuse – an excuse to not step out into society as ‘the Marquess of
Canterford’ – to not discover if the cream of society thought him
worthy to fill his father’s place in the world.
That excuse was no longer available, and his commitment to the
Crown, via Lord Setford, allowed him no further avoidance. Tonight,
he would discover how they had judged him. He was not at all sure
that he wanted to know.
He joined the receiving line, handing off his hat and outer coat to
the waiting footman. He was announced, and went forward to be
greeted by the Duke and Duchess. The Duke was a kindly looking
man, with greying hair that had once been a rich mahogany colour,
of which traces remained. Trent bowed, and the Duke looked him up
and down, then gave the tiniest nod.
“It’s good to see you out and about, Canterford. Mourning saps
the energy out of a man, after too long. Do let us know,” here he
inclined his head in the direction of his Duchess, who was smiling
broadly, “if you’d like an introduction to anyone.” He then indicated
the young man standing at his other side. “Let’s start that with an
introduction to my son. Canterford, may I present Thorne
Gardenbrook, Marquess of Wildenhall.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. Wildenhall – I am pleased to make your
acquaintance.”
Trent moved on into the large parlour, where other guests milled
about. It was not too crowded. Footmen circulated, offering drinks,
and a small group of musicians played softly from a rather cramped
spot in one corner of the room. He accepted a drink and looked
about, desperately hoping to see someone whom he knew well
enough to wish to talk to. That wish appeared to be in vain. Across
the room, he saw a cluster of young women, who had enough of a
similarity about their features that he concluded they must be sisters
– most likely the Duke’s daughters – there were seven of them,
Setford had informed him.
Their hair varied in shade, from light blonde to a rich golden
brown – all were beautiful, yet each distinctly different. He
wondered what it would be like, to be part of such a large family.
 The girls moved about, speaking to each other and to some of
the guests, and he found himself idly watching as he sipped the
wine in his hand. One of them turned, and he saw her face directly,
for the first time. The noise around him faded away, and everything
else seemed somehow less clear and sharp, as if the light from the
chandelier above fell only upon that one woman.
He felt an odd rush of warmth through his body, and his breath
came short. With difficulty, he dragged his eyes away from her. What
had just happened? He did not know, but he found that he needed
the drink in his hand, needed to remind himself of the reason he
was here, the reason that he would be attending so many more
evenings like this. And that was to observe and listen, not to stand
staring rudely at one of his host’s daughters. He turned to watch the
other side of the room, and nearly collided with Wildenhall.
“Canterford, there you are. The majority of the guests have
finally arrived, and I have escaped the receiving line, thank God. I
thought I’d find you, and follow through on that offer to introduce
you around.”
“I’d appreciate that. I was never much for city society, and then
the year of mourning pulled me away from everything – I find that I
am lamentably unaware of who is who and what the fads and
fashions are.”
“I doubt I can help with fads and fashions, but let me start by
introducing you to my sisters. It’s my official brotherly duty to
introduce them to every eligible man in society.” Trent must have
winced a little, for Wildenhall laughed and went on, “I assure you,
they are not your typical society misses.”
 “No? That sounds interesting – what makes them different?”
“A grim determination to do things their way, regardless of what
society expects. And far more intelligence than is regarded as
suitable in a woman. If they ever all agree on something, they are a
force to be reckoned with. But never fear, the chances of them all
agreeing are slim.”
His words startled Trent to laughter, which he quickly repressed.
They reached the cluster of young women, and Trent wondered at
their ages – for all seven of them to be there, the youngest could
not be less than fifteen, which would make the eldest over twenty –
a highly unusual age for an unmarried woman of good breeding who
was possessed of a sizeable dowry. He pushed the consideration
aside, as Wildenhall launched into introductions.
“Sisters, allow me to introduce you to the Marquess of
Canterford. Canterford, these are my sisters – Lady Lily, Lady
Hyacinth, Lady Rose, Lady Camellia, Lady Primrose, Lady Violet and
Lady Iris.”
Wildenhall indicated each one as he spoke their name, and Trent
dutifully bowed to each. But his mind was a jumble after the very
first one – for Lady Lily was the woman whose beauty had so
stopped everything around him, when he had sighted her across the
room. That he even managed to respond politely to the others
astounded him. They each considered him with curious eyes, and he
felt self-conscious – how did they perceive him? Did they think him a
fortune hunter, or worse? Lady Lily spoke first.
“Lord Canterford – It is a pleasure to see a new face – society
can become so dull after a while!”
 Her voice was soft, melodious, yet very clear and carrying. A
voice which would do equally well with singing, or with conversation,
and not tire the ear of the person listening. Lady Hyacinth nodded
her agreement.
“A pleasure indeed, my Lord – and a pity that there is not to be
dancing this evening, for a new possibility for a dance partner holds
great appeal.”
Lady Hyacinth’s voice was sharper, and held an edge of intended
cynicism. Her words were bold and forward, yet her smile defused
that, and left him wondering if he had imagined the edge to it. Lady
Lily cast a glance sideways at her sister, and pursed her lips a
moment. So, he was not the only one to detect that edge. He felt
the need to respond, and for a moment a desperate fear filled him –
he simply was not good at this social banter! But Setford’s face rose
in his mind, calmly believing that he, Trent, could do this, and he
swallowed.
“A pity indeed, Ladies, although, perhaps, an advantage for me –
for should I be called upon to dance with each and every one of you,
as of a certainty I would be, for it would be rude to do otherwise – I
fear that I might suffer exhaustion by the end of the evening.”
They laughed at his words, and he felt a little better – until he
caught Lady Lily’s eye. Her expression told him, quite clearly, that
pretty words meant nothing to her, and that, perhaps, his riposte
had reduced him in her estimation. He found that an unpalatable
realisation – he did not wish to be poorly regarded by Lady Lily.

<<<< O >>>>
 Lily was finding the evening surprisingly dull – she had looked
forward to it, as a taste of the Season to come, but it was less than
thrilling – the same faces, the same conversations, even much the
same gossip. Until the moment when her brother appeared beside
her, with a man she had never seen before.
When she had suggested that Thorne should introduce her to
some eligible men that she had not previously met, she had not
expected him to manage to do so – for he had been right in his
comment that many of the possibilities, if not all, were rakes and
wastrels. Yet here he was, barely a day later, achieving the
impossible. The man beside him was tall, with dark, almost
mahogany toned glossy hair, undeniably good-looking, yet not
ostentatiously so. His attire was elegant, understated, perfectly
tailored. But when Thorne introduced him, what caught her attention
most was his eyes, which met hers as he bowed over her hand.
They were the shade that was often referred to as hazel – a gold-
green-brown tone, that seemed to shift with the light. Bright
shimmering gold flecks swam in their depths.
For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away – the
sounds in the room diminished, and she felt flustered, uncertain. Yet
he had done nothing but bow, perfect in his politeness. Then the
spell was broken, and he moved on to greeting her sisters, as
Thorne introduced each of them. Once the introductions were
finished, there was a moment of awkward silence, in which Thorne
looked pointedly at Lily. She flushed a little – his meaning was clear
– here, as promised, was a new man for her to consider – she
should at least attempt to converse with him! But words seemed to
have deserted her – what could she say to this man, who so
disconcerted her?
“Lord Canterford – It is a pleasure to see a new face – society
can become so dull after a while!”
She was horrified at how clumsy her words sounded, but they
were spoken. Thorne raised an eyebrow at her, obviously wondering
what had caused his normally articulate sister to deliver such a poor
conversational opening.
Lord Canterford was obviously uncertain how to respond, and as
he hesitated, Hyacinth, in her usual bold manner, spoke up.
“A pleasure indeed, my Lord – and a pity that there is not to be
dancing this evening, for a new possibility for a dance partner holds
great appeal.”
Lily almost winced, only just managing to stay absolutely still.
Why, Hyacinth had, with those words, almost demanded that, at the
first opportunity, Lord Canterford ask her to dance! Lily found that
the prospect of Lord Canterford dancing with Hyacinth did not please
her. Silence fell again, and Lily turned her gaze back to Lord
Canterford, curious – what could he possibly say in response? And
would it be simply polite, or would it be flirting and flattering? Would
his words reveal his character to be no different from all of the rest
of the unappealing men available to her? An odd expression flitted
across his face – one she could not interpret, then he spoke.
“A pity indeed, Ladies, although, perhaps, an advantage for me –
for should I be called upon to dance with each and every one of you,
as of a certainty I would be – for it would be rude to do otherwise –
I fear that I might suffer exhaustion by the end of the evening.”
 Lily looked away, her heart sinking. Flattery, almost flirtation. So –
he was no different from all of the others. She had hoped… but it
seemed not. Thorne would just have to try again. Still, perhaps she
should not completely discount Lord Canterford yet – that fleeting
expression intrigued her.
They spoke for a little longer, and Lily, later, could not remember
a word of what was said, beyond the fact that he was polite even to
the youngest of her sisters, who was rather flustered by that fact.
Then, as was appropriate, Thorne led Lord Canterford away, moving
about the room, introducing him to other guests.
Lily’s eyes followed him – she seemed unable to prevent herself
from watching. Once the evening was over, she would have many
questions for Thorne – who, really, was Lord Canterford? Why had
she never seen him before? What did Thorne think of his character?
The compulsion to know all that she could of the man surprised her,
and she shook her head in annoyance, dragging her eyes away from
him, and turning back to her sisters.
“Taken with him, are you?”
Hyacinth’s tone was sharp, amused, and Lily gritted her teeth a
moment before replying sweetly.
“No more than you are, dear sister, if your bold suggestion of
dancing is any indicator.”
“Ha! What was I to do, after your terrible conversational
beginning? And at least I did not stand there making calf eyes at the
man. Still, we must agree – any new man is worth considering, if
any of us are ever to find husbands we can stand to spend our lives
with.”
 Iris and Violet stared at their eldest sisters, their faces a little
shocked at the discussion, then turned away, giggling together. The
rest of her sisters ignored the whole thing, all but Camellia, whose
response was as cheerful and hopeful as always.
“He did seem quite nice, Lily, if rather quiet. Perhaps he is not
used to large families. Did you truly like him? It would be wonderful
if you did – surely you will find a man worth loving soon.”
“Oh Camellia, you are ever the optimist. We have only just met
him – how can I possibly know, yet, if I like him?”
“Well… I rather think that you might know, if he is truly the man
for you. Bella says that she knew, from the first moment that she
saw Lucian. Even if he took rather a long time to realise…”
Lily laughed lightly – Camellia’s view of love had been coloured
by the recent wedding of her best friend, Miss Isabella Morton, who
was now the Duchess of Hartswood. But her sister’s words did make
her think – there had been that odd moment, when she had first
looked into Lord Canterford’s eyes… could that mean anything? She
was not sure at all.
And then the thought rose in her mind – even if she did like him,
was he a man who could accept her secret?

<<<< O >>>>
Trent felt, as Wildenhall led him across the room, away from the
sisters, as if he was waking from a terrifying dream. He could barely
remember a word that had been spoken, the swirl of cheerful young
women had dazzled and confused him. Having grown up with just
one sister, the large family overwhelmed.
 What was still clear in his mind was the momentary look of
disappointment on Lady Lily’s face, when he had made that reply to
her sister, about dancing. What was it that had so displeased her in
what he had said? For a moment, it had transported him back to the
moments in his childhood, when his father had shaken his head
sadly, as if Trent could never measure up to his father’s hopes.
He pushed that thought aside. His father was gone. He was no
longer that boy. And by his commitment to the Crown, by accepting
the tasks that Lord Setford offered, he had set himself on a path
where he had no choice but to succeed, no matter how many people
he disappointed in the process. But that look upon her face had
hurt. For some reason, her opinion of him mattered – a great deal.
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