Speaking of refusals of marriage from eminently eligible gentlemen…
Amelia’s gaze shifted and landed on Delilah. “You know, Delilah,” she began, settling back to allow a servant to remove her soup bowl, “you received a perfectly good proposal of marriage from Mr. Oliver Quincy.”
Having only just eaten her last spoonful of soup, Delilah nearly succumbed to a coughing fit. She held up a finger and downed several unladylike gulps of water before clearing her throat on a loud harrumph. “Perhaps the Italian heat has muddled your brain, Amelia,” she said, her voice scratchy. “There was and is nothingperfectly goodabout that marriage proposal.”
“Oh, come now,” said Archie, no mistaking the tease in his voice, “just imagine spending the rest of your days in worship to a man who loves nothing more than to pontificate about the nobility’s right to rule or the importance of achieving a perfect knot on one’s cravat.”
Delilah primly wiped each corner of her mouth. “I don’t believe I shall.”
“By the by,” said Archie, “we’ll have guests for supper.”
“Just tell me the night,” said Amelia, “and I’ll arrange it with the servants.”
“Oh, well, that’s easy.” Archie smiled the too-charming smile she knew to be wary of. “Tonight.”
Amelia willed the patience of Job into her response. “But supper has already begun, Archie.”
“I’d forgotten you eat when it’s still daylight.”
Amelia ignored the jibe. “And who are these guests?”
“As it happens, one is Ripon.”
“The Duke of Ripon?Here?” The very idea walloped Amelia over the head.The Duke of Ripon?Inherhome? “Oh, Archie, why have you gone and done that?”
“The man is a legend,” he said, as if that explained it.
It explained nothing.
“From the gossip about him last night,” said Amelia, “it’s quite clear the man is ascandal.”
“Weare a scandal,” said Delilah with no small amount of glee.
Which was exactly why they needed to distance themselves as far away as possible from the man. Did her siblings understand nothing?
“Ripon is a scandalanda legend,” said Archie.
Before he could regale them with the legendary exploits of the Duke of Ripon—and, in truth, Amelia was just a wee bit curious—in strode a tall, striking man known to all in the room.His Grace Sebastian Crewe, the Duke of Ravensworth.Amelia reckoned he was the other guest that Archie hadn’t yet mentioned.
Two dukes to an informal supper.
Only in Italy.
“Seb,” said Archie, standing and giving his friend a great clap on the back before indicating Ravensworth take the seat beside him. Amelia gave a servant a quick instruction to set the duke’s place for supper.
The instant Ravensworth sat bottom on seat, Delilah shot to her feet, her chair nearly toppling over behind her. Without a word, she marched from the room in a fury. One never knew what form Delilah’s moods would take from one moment to the next.
“Actresses,” said Archie, dismissive.
“I’m certain it’s nothing to do with you personally,” said Amelia, as ever smoothing over the ruffled feathers left in her siblings’ wake.
“Oh, it has everything to do with me personally,” said the duke, unfussed, his gaze lingering on the doorway Delilah had disappeared through. “Further, I can’t blame her for seeing herself as in the right.”
A beat of silence followed, but Ravensworth clearly didn’t feel the need to elaborate, and no one could make a duke expand on a topic if he chose not to. Especially a duke like Ravensworth, who possessed a surety and seriousness that intimidated even Amelia.
Archie picked up the conversation. “I was just about to tell them about the night Ripon rescued that first-year.”
“Rescued?” asked Amelia, despite her intention to show not a speck of curiosity about the blasted man.
