“Edith,” Fable said, putting down her spoon. “I’ve asked myself this question over and over. Maybe you can answer it. Why would a duke care one whit about a street urchin, except for pity’s sake?”
“What’s wrong with pity’s sake, Miss? I’d proudly serve a compassionate master rather than a merciless one.”
Fable agreed, although she had no intentions of servinganymasters.
“Is the duke compassionate then?” At least he seemed to be–
“No, not usually,” Edith told her. “This is the most I’ve ever seen of his warmer side. None of us knew it existed.”
“C’mon now,” Fable shooed her away. “Don’t you try to tell me you didn’t know the duke was so kind.”
“He’s only been back to Colchester House for three years–”
“Three years is long enough,” Fable told her.
“Miss, I can tell you this. He is the king’s soldier first and foremost. He’s never had us beaten, but no one has ever disobeyed him.”
“Well,” Fable said, confidently. “I’m sure if any of his servants was injured or ill, His Grace would do anything in his power to help.”
Edith went about her work with a smile while Fable’s mind raced with a million different images of the duke dancing downstairs. Who was he with? Was he really choosing a wife down there? Fable’s heart faltered. Was he? Would she lose him forever to some nobleman's daughter?
The longer she sat there without him coming to her, the more restless she became. The second Edith left, Fable hurried out of bed. She swayed a little, feeling lightheaded from not being on her feet for days. She waited until her head cleared and then padded out of her rooms.
She had to get to the top of the stairs to see into the ballroom. She just wanted to take a peek. She stayed down low to remain unseen as the guests filed into the house.
There were very few men entering. Most of the guests were young ladies with their mothers, though she could scarcely tell who was young and who was older thanks to their powdered faces and high powdered wigs. They were all here to snag the duke as a husband. Fable was reminded of a documentary she saw once about animal auctions. The duke was the animal up for sale to the highest bidder.
It fired Fable’s blood.
Then she saw him. He stopped in her view, just a side view, but, oh, her gaze fastened on him in an aubergine-colored, velvet justaucorps worn open to reveal his tight physiquein a silk-velvet vest and breeches. He stood with his hands folded behind his arrow-straight back. Of course, he wore a high, elaborately-tied, uncomfortable looking cravat beneath his square chin and carved jaw. He wore a black wig with two horizontal rolls above his ears and a ponytail tied with a black ribbon at the back of his nape.
As if sensing her, he turned to look outside the open doors of the ballroom.
Fable quickly hid in the shadows. But she watched him look her way. Her knees almost gave out with the threat of being caught spying on him like a fool. But…it was more than that. She felt weak at the sight of him, the way his eyes promised her deep, intimate things and said:You’re all I care about. First before all else. The reason I live or the reason I die.
It tempted her to step out of the shadows so his eyes could find her and pour out things he couldn’t say.
Edith entered the ballroom and beckoned the duke for a word just out of Fable’s sight. It didn’t matter. He came into view an instant later and left the ballroom with Edith following behind. And headed for the stairs!
Fable held her hands over her mouth while she gasped and took off running to her rooms. She almost made it to her door when her slippered foot stepped on something small and shot a hot streak of pain through her leg. She went down like those pitiful women in the movies who fall while they’re trying to escape.
“Fable!” his voice reached her when he called out.
She swore and tried to get back on her feet.
“Miss Ramsey!” the duke commanded while he sprinted to her and scooped her up off the floor.
She wanted to disappear into the woodwork.
“What are you doing out of your room with no shoes?” he asked, carrying her into her sitting room. He sat her down on the settee and knelt to examine her foot.
“Are you choosing a wife tonight?” she boldly asked as if that was a sufficient answer to his question.
“No,” he let her know. He looked up from her foot and covered it with his hand. “I want no wife.”
She chewed her lip. “But you never know. You might meet that one woman who makes you change your mind–” Was he smirking at her? It was subtle, but it was there. “Oh,” she smirked back, “you don’t think you’ll ever meet her, Your Grace?”
“I’ve no doubt I will. She might turn my head, but my heart remains steadfast to a cause bigger than love and devotion.”
