“My dear, you’re home. How lovely that you can join us for tea. Now, who do you have with you?”
Julian looked up to find not one duchess, but several of them sweeping into the entry hall.
The first was tall, silver-haired, and stately enough to make a crown seem superfluous. Behind her came a buxom redhead and a beaming blonde, all three dressed as though they had been expecting guests far grander than a painter and a soot-smeared puppy.
“My goodness,” the redhead said, giving Julian an appreciative once-over. “Are we speaking of the handsome man with her…or the dog?”
“I was referring to the rather aromatic dog, Bianca,” the silver-haired duchess replied crisply.
The blonde stepped forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I told you she had a man with her.” Her gaze floated boldly over Julian. “And a very nice-looking one.”
A fourth duchess appeared just in time to hear that—a petite, gray-haired woman with laughing eyes.
“Darling, who is this nice young man you’ve brought home?” she asked, delighted.
Serafina began, “Your Graces?—”
“Aunt Sophy, my dear Serafina,” she corrected gently. “Remember, we are all your aunts.”
“Precisely.” The silver-haired duchess took command. “Allow me to make the introductions before our tea gets cold. I am the Dowager Duchess of Richmond—Aunt Dora. This,”—she indicated the redhead with a tilt of her head—“is the Dowager Duchess of Leighton, Aunt Bianca. And this is the Dowager Duchess of Glanville, Aunt Rosalind. And this”—she nodded to the petite gray-haired woman—“is the Dowager Duchess of Featherly, Aunt Sophy.” You have now met the Golden Duchesses—minus the gold, I fear, until we dress for dinner.”
Serafina smiled nervously. “Aunt Sophy, Aunt Dora, Aunt Bianca, Aunt Rosalind…may I introduce Mr. Julian Kerr, an artist visiting Bath, who helped me climb out of the ash pit next to Uncle Carlton’s club?”
Julian bowed. “It is an honor, Your Graces.”
“Oh, an artist! What a pleasure to meet you,” the Duchess of Glanville said.
The Duchess of Featherly gasped. “Pray tell, what were you doing in a trash pit full of coal dust and kitchen leavings?”
Before Serafina could open her mouth to reply, Bianca issued an operatic sigh. “Oh dear…what shall we do with a dog? Asmellydog, at that.” Her gaze drifted back to Julian, brightening considerably. “Now, if you saidMr. Kerrwas staying with us, I wouldn’t complain. But a dog?”
Willow gave a wounded little harrumph, as though personally offended.
Julian tried—unsuccessfully—not to smile. Chaos, it seemed, came in duchess-shaped clusters.
Before he could fully recover, the silver-haired duchess clapped her hands with military precision. “Well! Standing in the entry hall like beggars won’t do. Come along—tea awaits, and explanations are always best taken with refreshment.”
Julian barely had time to register the command before he and Serafina were shepherded down the corridor by a flurry of silk, perfume, and authoritative tutting about puppies, artists, and ash pits.
A few minutes later, Julian found himself seated in an elegant drawing room, a steaming cup of tea in hand and a plate overflowing with every appetizing offering the duchesses had within reach. He counted one cinnamon scone, two slices of currant loaf, three lemon biscuits, and four cucumber sandwiches. At this rate, he could excuse his carriage and roll home by himself.
His eyes met Serafina’s, and she gave him a soft smile that made his breath catch. By God, she was pretty. She absently stroked Willow’s head, and Julian felt an absurd pang of envy for the little pup—swaddled in a thick towel and softly snoring on Serafina’s lap. Clearly, the pup had the best seat in the house.
“Miss Davies mentioned that you were considering commissioning a portrait of the four of you,” Julian said.
“We are indeed,” the Duchess of Leighton replied. “Are you interested, Mr. Kerr?”
Julian inclined his head. “I’m not usually a portrait artist, but I would welcome the challenge.”
“We shall consider that seriously,” said the Duchess of Richmond. “Perhaps you might return and show us some examples of your work?”
“I would be honored,” Julian said. “Though I must confess, I brought only a few landscapes with me, and two or three portraits of my horse.”
“Your horse must be very important to you,” Serafina said.
“He is,” Julian replied. “I’ve had Spirit since I was eleven. My father gave him to me for my birthday. He’s the best horse a man could ask for.”
“Did you bring him with you?” she asked.
