The footman nodded and excused himself to see if the duchess was accepting callers.
“And again I am relegated to last when in such illustrious company,” Michael drawled. “This is an extremely nice front entrance,” he added.
There were soft blues, pinks, and whites in the flower beds, and small trees were neatly trimmed. In fact, the entire facade was well presented.
“I don’t usually cool my heels on the doorstep,” Gabe said, looking around him. “But you’re right, it is nice. I’m surprised. I’d thought there would be at least a bed of poison ivy and bushes with thorns.”
“Does it offend your earlish sensibilities, standing about on the doorstep, Gabe?”
“That’s not a word, Abby.”
“It should be.”
“If you will come this way, the duchess will see you now.”
The butler, who had a remarkable pair of eyebrows, reappeared and led them to a set of stairs. The house was an oasis of soft colors and tasteful furnishings.
“Who knew a woman with her fashion sense could have such lovely restful decor,” Michael said.
“It’s to lure people into a false sense of security,” Gabe whispered.
“Have you been here before?” Abby asked. “I must admit to having a far different interior in mind when I thought about the duchess too.”
“More garish colors and sharp edges to hit your shins on, do you mean?” Gabe whispered.
“Exactly.”
The sound of music had every muscle in Gabe’s body clenching.
“Dimity,” Abby whispered.
“Yes.” She played with passion, and to him it had always been a deeper, more intense experience. Dimity played with everything she had inside her, and it came through in the music. Gabe could have listened to her for hours.
“The Earl of Raine, Lady Abigail Dillinger, and Mr. Deville.”
They stepped into the room as Dimity’s head shot their way. She rose from the stool and ran. In seconds, she and Abby were clasped in each other’s arms making a great deal of noise. Sobs, laughter, words, all poured one on top of the other.
“Raine!”
“Duchess.” Gabe dragged his eyes from Dimity and bowed before the elderly woman, as did Michael. She sat upright as she always did, wrinkled hands resting on top of one of England’s most lethal weapons. Today she wore mustard, the color so hideous he wondered if her seamstress was color blind or indeed disliked the woman so much she wanted her humiliated by fashion.
“They have not seen each other for some time,” he said in case the duchess had issue with the reunion, which he was sure was a bit odd to be taking place in her parlor.
“Clearly. I may be old but not blind.”
Michael snorted.
“You have a beautiful house, Duchess,” Gabe said.
“Yes, my late husband had excellent taste. I, however, do not.”
“Oh, well….” He wasn’t sure how to answer that.
“I’m wearing a hideous shade of mustard, as you can see, Raine, and care not one jot. Now you both need to sit and let them have their reunion. Is that my book?”
Gabe sat after shooting Dimity and Abby another look. They were clasping each other’s shoulders and talking nonstop.
She no longer looked rumpled. Dimity’s black hair was pinned on her head, and a cream ribbon wound through the curls. The cream dress was trimmed with emerald ribbon around the cuffs and hem. Cut of simple lines, it clung to her lovely body. She was beautiful, and his body gave that familiar jolt he’d grown used to experiencing when in her company.
