“Well grandmother has been married thrice, and I do not think it has affected her freedom terribly.” Cecily gestured to the Dowager Duchess Caverton who had just entered the church and was laughing raucously.
The Dowager Duchess was three times a widow, and one of the richest women in England. She was the reason that Andrea had managed to buy her house in the first place.
“Maybe I do not have to give it all up.” Andrea muttered as the Dowager Duchess caught her eye and waved cheerily. “She certainly did not.”
“So you will come to the ball then?” Cecily’s smile was so wide, Andrea could not help but return it.
“Yes, I will.” Andrea nodded. “And Lord Crossley can find himself another victim.”
Cecily laughed, and it buoyed Andrea. Perhaps there was some hope after all.
ChapterTwo
“Oh goodness, is that Lord Byron?” Frederick Felton, Duke of Caverton, pointed to a spot in the distance.
Everyone around him whipped their heads around to look in the direction he was indicating, and Frederick took their moment of distraction to slip quietly away.
The garden of his London estate was teeming with people, and everyone seemed determined to get some little piece of him. He had thought that the crowd would be too busy congratulating his cousin on his son’s baptism to bother him.
Unfortunately, this had not been further from the truth. The last group had cornered him for nearly an hour.
“I cannot believe that old trick still works.” He grinned to himself. “That must be at least the fifteenth time I have used it.”
He ran a hand through his hair, and shook out his shoulders. Straightening his coat lapels, he strode towards the maze and the hidden door in the westernmost hedge that would allow him to make his escape.
A harried looking servant walked past him, holding a plate of small quiches and assorted pastries. The smell caught his attention, and Frederick turned around, flagging the servant down and helping himself to a handful of quiches.
“Thank you.” He covered his mouth as he spoke around the quiche.
Frederick turned around, ready to complete his escape, when he found himself staring down at a woman with an extravagant bun, wrinkles and sharp blue eyes. She was a head and shoulders shorter than him, though her hair was so high that it towered above him.
“Ah, Frederick. Just the man I was looking for.” His grandmother, Agatha Felton, Dowager Duchess Caverton, smiled at him. “I trust I am not interrupting anything.”
She glanced at the maze behind them and arched an eyebrow at him. Frederick kicked himself.Drat – undone by food, again!He would not have put it past his grandmother to have sent the servant there in the first place.
“Grandmother.” His mouth was still full of quiche, it seemed to grow with each chew.
“Do not speak with you mouth full, Frederick. It is a deplorable habit.” The Dowager Duchess looped an arm through his and began to walk in the direction of the garden pavilion and the party he had just escaped.
Frederick’s heart sank. “My apologies.”
The words were muffled by the last vestiges of quiche and his grandmother rolled her eyes. “If you insist on behaving like a school boy, I will treat you as such. Remember, when Colonel Brandon visited last summer?”
Frederick nodded and swallowed his final mouthful. “You caught him about the ear and dragged him down to the scullery. Though I cannot remember what he did to deserve it.”
His grandmother laughed. “He made one too many comments on the quality of the food. Oh, nothing so brash as to outright insult me, but enough that he wore my patience rather thin.”
Frederick had not liked the Colonel much. The man had been far too loud for his taste, and upset more than one maid. He had enjoyed watching his grandmother treat him like a child. Of course, his grandmother could do that, she was the richest person in the ton, thrice a widow and no one with a lick of common sense would upset her.
“This sort of behaviour is exactly why I tried to convince your father not to send you to Eton. Boys come back with all the right social connections, and the table manners of a wild animal.” His grandmother shook her head. “Though one would think at thirty you would have regained some of that good sense.”
Frederick gave the Dowager Duchess his most charming grin. “What need have I of sense when you have more than enough for both of us?”
She shook her head, but Frederick could see the small smile on her face. “Perhaps I grow tired of being sensible. I am old, and I find it rather tiresome.”
“Then why should I be sensible?” Frederick teased.
His grandmother gave him a flat look. “Because you are young. And a duke. Though it would seem that far too many of the ton have taken leave of their good senses.”
