Her absence made him question her even more.
Austin set his glass down carefully. “She shouldn’t be.”
“She is,” Dominic said simply. “Deena trusts others and she cares deeply too, even when she’s angry.”
Austin stared at his plate, appetite gone.
Deena should be angry. She has every right to be angry.
He had pushed her, teased her, kissed her senselessly in a moonlit meadow, and still expected her to trust him and help him find a wife who wasn’t her. He was a scoundrel who betrayed a woman once scorned, and now his title was in her hand.
The dowager’s voice suddenly rang out, cutting through the low murmur of conversation.
“My darlings!” She rose at the head of the table, glass raised. “Before we move to dessert, a small announcement. Our winner of today’s obstacle course, His Grace, the Duke of Windemere, has earned himself an incredibly special prize.”
All eyes turned to Austin.
He inclined his head and kept his expression carefully neutral.
The dowager beamed. “Tomorrow evening, the Duke may choose one lady for a private dinner. Not completely isolated, of course, we must maintain propriety, but in the small rose salon, with only a few trusted chaperones nearby. A chance for intimate conversation, and even courtship.”
A ripple of excited whispers spread through the table.
Lady Amelia flushed pink. Lady Ann straightened, smoothing her napkin with sudden purpose, and the Countess of Harrow winked at him from across the table. Austin felt every gaze on him like an unwanted weight.
The Dowager Duchess looked directly at him. “Well, Your Grace? Have you a lady in mind?”
Silence fell when Austin rose slowly, glass in hand. He looked around the table, at the hopeful faces, the practiced smiles, and the eager eyes. But none of them stirred anything in him.
Not a single one.
“I appreciate the honor,” he said, voice carrying easily. “But I find I’m not yet ready to choose.”
A stunned hush fell.
The dowager’s brows lifted. “Not ready?”
Austin inclined his head. “I’ll redeem my prize tomorrow if that’s all right with you, Your Grace? After I’ve had time to… consider.”
He set his glass down with a soft clink.
“Good evening.”
Without waiting for replies, he walked out and heard the room erupt into whispers.
Velvet Stains
My dearest readers,
Prepare yourselves. Today, we must speak of stains.
Velvet, as we all know, is one of the most luxurious fabrics. Soft, rich, inviting to the touch. It drapes beautifully, catches the light with a subtle shimmer, and whispers promises of indulgence with every movement. It is, in short, the verymaterial our most celebrated bachelor has been titled: the Velvet Duke.
And oh, how well the name suits him.
We have already recounted one particularly vivid tale from last Season: a certain Lady X., as I’m sure you all remember.
Velvet stains, my darlings. It catches every mark, every spill, every careless drop of wine or perfume, and once stained, the mark is almost impossible to remove without damage to the fabric itself. So too, it seems, with the Velvet Duke. He glides through the Season leaving behind a trail of flushed cheeks, racing pulses, and secret letters that will never be exposed. Ladies sigh his name in their sleep; matrons fan themselves when he passes; debutantes dream of catching that slow, devastating smile meant only for them.
