“This is Aunt Agatha’s home. I wouldn’t want to displace her.”
“Goodness.” Miss Randall looked toward the parlor door, as if she could take in the entire house with one glance. “There must be upwards of twenty bedrooms here. Surely there’s more than enough room.”
“I’m happy to leave the estate in the dowager duchess’s hands.” He didn’t mention that moving to Darton Hall would be the proverbial straw that caused his back to break.
“But it’s a lovely estate. Certainly, you’ll take up residence here when you choose your own duchess?”
She was so forthright it made him wince. “Are you suggesting yourself for that position?” He couldn’t help the coldness in his voice.
“Oh, heavens no!” She gave him a horrified look, so genuine he believed her. If she truly were angling for him, she would have responded with a great deal more coyness.
Relief tangled with his injured pride. “I believe myself slighted.”
She glanced down, a blush coloring her cheeks. “My most sincere apologies, Your Grace. I spoke thoughtlessly, and meant no insult to you. I only meant that myowntaste in a husband might differ. Thetonfeels differently, as you’re no doubt aware.”
He gave a single, sharp nod. At the few events he’d forced himself to make time for, the debutantes swarmed around him like bees circling a particularly fragrant flower. Or wasps about a rotting apple; he couldn’t decide which.
“Tell me about these cousins of yours arriving tomorrow,” she said, pulling a small notebook and stick of graphite from her reticule. “I’ve jotted down some further ideas for games, but some of them require a certain number of participants. And the younger set can’t be expected to frolic late into the evening. How old are the children?”
Philip wasn’t intending tofrolic late into the eveningeither, as she put it. Truly, Miss Randall was a creature of much flash and little substance. Perfect for Christopher, really. They deserved one another. Particularly as she’d just made it abundantly clear she was not at all interested in Philip.
Nor was he interested in her, he reminded himself. He should begladof her disregard.
“Lord and Lady Danville are my second cousins on my aunt’s side,” he said stiffly. “They have three children: Olivia, who is nine, and the twins, Roger and Reginald, who are seven. And, to put it mildly, full of energy.”
If anyone could match their wildness, though, it might be Miss Catherine Randall. She would, he thought, make an excellent mother to rambunctious children.
What was he thinking? He yanked his mind away from anything that might lead him into carnal musings about the lady in question. No matter how soft her skin or tempting her lips…
“Excellent,” she said, scribbling in her notebook. “We’ll have such fun.”
After another half-hour, where Philip agreed to a number of amusements and vetoed others, Miss Randall pronounced their work finished.
She closed her notebook with a snap and grinned at him. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it? A word to the butler and housekeeper, and we’ll have games right up until Christmas. What night is the Cotillion again? The twenty-third?”
“Yes.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to think if he’d missed anything on his aunt’s list.
He’d been up at first light, drafting a letter to the Ladies Auxiliary. When it was finished, he’d sent Smith into the village to deliver it to Mrs. Abernathy, who was apparently in charge of such things, and to secure the Assembly Rooms. Of course, no one else would dare to hold an event while the Duke of Darton-on-Rye was considering hosting a ball there, so the rooms had been entirely free.
The Darton Hall guests had arrived, with the exception of the cousins, and had turned out to be fewer, and perhaps less burdensome, than he’d originally feared.
Christmas dinner delivery—well, he’d speak with Aunt Agatha about that in due time.
Thanks to Miss Randall’s help, games and prizes were well in hand, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps the holidays at Darton wouldn’t be so excruciating after all. Especially if Christopher continued in his tardy ways.
“Where did you go?” Miss Randall was leaning forward, full lips pursed, giving him an intent look. “I didn’t suspect you of being a daydreamer, Your Grace.”
“Ha.” The bitter laugh was out of his mouth before he could contain it. “Nothing of the kind. I was merely going over my various responsibilities in my head. My apologies for neglecting you for a moment.”
“You need one of these.” She brandished her notebook at him. “As a matter of fact, I might have an extra one with me that you could have.”
He glanced at the riotous bouquet of flowers illustrating the cover of her notebook, and quickly shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Oh.” She followed his gaze, then burst out laughing. “Never fear! I’ve one bound in burgundy leather. Surely that won’t offend your masculine sensibilities.”
Burgundy leather seemed a tad ostentatious. Why not plain brown? But it would be impolite to refuse her a second time.
He gave her a reserved nod. “Very kind.”
