“Lord William Oswyn is not interested in me,” Madeline said. “We are friends. He is in love with the governess, and she with him. I will not stand in their way.”
“Commendable, but I doubt the duchess would approve of William marrying a commoner. I know when the old duke was alive he was vehement that all of his children marry people of impeccable lineage.”
“Then changing her mind will be our goal.”
Lord Dumont laughed. “First you arrange a romantic rendezvous between Winfield and your mother, although it came to naught. Next you set your sights on matchmaking William and the governess. I would suggest you help my poor brother, Trent, find his heart’s desire. But you must take care that you do not forget your own happiness.”
“My mother has often said much the same. But have you noticed there is less risk in helping others find their soulmates than in seeking our own?”
As Madeline and Lord Dumont approached, Lord Greyson rose from the table and gave a slight bow of greeting.
She acknowledged Lord Greyson with a smile. “It was kind of you to save a table for us.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said with another bow. “Might I fetch refreshments? A hot chocolate, perhaps?”
“That sounds wonderful,” she said. “And welcome.”
He hesitated a moment longer. “Would you do me the honor of the next set?”
She nodded a yes, as he smiled again and disappeared, presumably to procure hot chocolate.
“You have made a conquest, Miss Mercer. The duke approaches.”
The duke bowed toward Madeline. “Miss Mercer. A private word. It is most urgent.” He offered his hand as though she had no choice in the matter. “I would like a dance, to apologize.”
“I thought you disapproved of dancing.”
“You are mistaken. I disapprove of your dancing with anyone but myself.”
He was trying to flirt with her, but she was in no mood for light banter. “You mentioned an apology.”
He dropped his hand to his side and moved closer. “My words twist and turn in your presence and spill out in a jumble. I did not mean to offend when I commented on the subject you had chosen for your sketch. I merely offered a suggestion.”
“You said my sketches were inappropriate for a woman.”
“And so they are. You must agree that the sketch of the driver in the violent throes of death was a gruesome topic for a lady.”
“But if a man had sketched or painted the driver, that would have been a different matter?”
“But of course.”
She narrowed her gaze. “If you will excuse me, Lord Greyson has requested the next dance.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Robert paced in front of the fire in the great hall of the inn as he watched Madeline dance with the peacock, Lord Greyson. The man was not worthy to breathe the same air as Miss Mercer. Yet she smiled at him as though he were a lord of the realm.
“Will you please stop pacing, Your Grace,” Elizabeth said, sipping her hot chocolate. “You will wear a path in the floor.”
“I am restless.”
“You are jealous,” she corrected. “You should ask Miss Mercer to dance.”
“She refused me.”
Elizabeth’s eyes shone with merriment as she gazed at Robert over the rim of her cup. “Well done, Madeline. Perhaps she is angry with you.”
He paused from watching Madeline. “Why would she be angry with me? I saved you both from death when I stopped the runaway carriage.”
