I am still getting used to having both those things—a valet, and many fine clothes to choose from.
“Does it meet with Your Grace’s approval?” John asks in his dry tone once I am dressed.
“Yes,” I say as I examine myself in the tall mirror. I am not certain if the garments are the ones best suited to my purpose, but it does not signify. The only opinion that concerns me is that of the Lady Freya. And I have a niggling suspicion she will not care how I am dressed when she learns the cause of my visit.
I clench my jaw against such misgivings. I cannot afford to give in to doubt—I have already examined the issue from every angle and thought through every possible contingency. It is true my mission sets me ill at ease, but if I want Lady Freya to be mine—and I cannot possibly live with her wed to another—there is nothing for it.
My waistcoat is perfectly fitted to my frame, my cravat spotless and tied, my boots well-polished. I have even managed to tame my wild mane. There is no other detail to attend to, and yet, I linger, pretending to fuss over my appearance. In truth, I am digging deep for the courage I need to pull this off.
I will make no friends with this move, and surely a handful of enemies, at the least.
I must have her,I tell my reflection and see the clench of my jaw in the mirror. I stand taller and square my shoulders.She will be mine.
As though John can sense the change in my mood, he says, “Shall I have the carriage brought around?”
“Yes. I shall need it.” I pick up my black top hat and set it upon my head.If this does not go well, His Highness shall never let me hear the end of it.
It is all I can do to maintain my composure as I wait for Lord Denham. I was shown promptly into his drawing room, though it feels like it was an hour ago. I silently curse myself for having left my pocket watch behind. I am unaccustomed to my new position, and I fear it will show as plain as the freckles on my face.
What respectable Duke forgets his pocket watch?
I am certain I have memorized every detail of the drawing room, from the high ceiling, to the gilded gold molding that offsets the light blue paint of the interior. A glittering crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and golden sconces are set against the wall. The only art in the room is a portrait of the Lady Denham above a small wooden writing desk. The archway is gilded, too—and empty. I curse myself as I look again, then force my eyes back down to the cream oriental rug with swirls of red and goldenrod.
The upholstered settee upon which I sit is comfortable enough, but the business I am about is a heavy stone in my stomach. The cause is not what I must do to have her—merely the uncertainty of how it will all unfold.
“My lord.”
I snap my head up, startled at the sudden sound, to find the Lord Denham here at last, with his head inclined. His chestnut hair is exactly the color of Lady Freya’s, the only difference being a few shiny threads that weave through—silver against the dark. But he is a most impressive man, his regal bearing making me feel quite the pretender as I stare back at him, my heart hammering a bit harder than before.
“Ah, forgive me—Your Grace.”
I rise to my feet and wave a hand to dismiss the apology. “No need to be so formal, my lord.”
“Please, do have a seat.”
“Thank you,” I say as I resume sitting on the edge of the settee. I have spent an age wishing I might call him to the room by sheer force of will, but now that he is here, something has shifted in the air. All tension and impatience have given way to doubt. Until now I have felt so sure of myself, but as he sits in the armchair across from me, his face grave and commanding, I cannot deny the slightest flicker of uncertainty.
My arms feel stiff and awkward, and though I balance them on my knees, that feels all wrong. Ungentlemanly.
Get ahold of yourself, Greyonyx! Do what must be done!
“It is I who wishes to thankyou, Your Grace.”
I blink in surprise, and stammer, “W-whatever for?”
“For your quick attention to my daughter. I am very indebted for your swift action on her behalf, Your Grace. Why, if you had not found her… I shudder to think of her falling ill on the balcony all alone.”
His obvious deep concern tells me that he is in earnest.What has she told him? Clearly not our conversation… he seems to be under the impression I merely happened upon her! Then again, I already know her to be a great keeper of secrets.
“I was already on the balcony when your daughter came outside,” I say. The sudden arching of his eyebrows—though he quickly composes his expression—confirms my suspicion. “Lady Freya and I had but exchanged a few pleasantries when she…”
“Ah, yes. As I said, I owe you my gratitude. If there is ever anything I can do to be of assistance…” He pauses meaningfully, and we have arrived at this moment far faster than I anticipated.
“As a matter of fact, my lord, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”
Lord Denham sits back, his posture ramrod-straight. This is nothing but what he expected, it is plain.
I idly wonder what he thinks I, a newly appointed duke, will ask of him. Surely, whatever he imagines, it cannot come close to the truth.
