"Aunt Agatha isn't a disaster," Gabriel said. "She's more of a natural phenomenon, like a plague of locusts or that rain of frogs they recorded in medieval times."
"Your biblical catastrophes aside, she'll be here in approximately three minutes, and you should be at the door to greet her properly."
"Must I? Can't I lurk dramatically in the shadows and make my entrance after she's been sufficiently softened by tea and whatever miraculous pastries Cook has produced?"
"Cook has made lemon cakes, your aunt's favorite according to the intelligence I gathered from your cousin's lady's maid, and no, you cannot lurk. Lurking is what got us into this situation in the first place."
"I prefer to think of it as maintaining a dignified distance from society's expectations."
"Society expects you to greet your aunt at the door like a proper duke, not hide in your study like a recalcitrant schoolboy."
Edmund looked between them with undisguised glee. "Oh, this is delightful. She manages you perfectly, Gabriel. Are you sure she's just your housekeeper?"
"Miss Whitfield is whatever she needs to be to ensure this household runs smoothly," Gabriel said carefully, very aware of Clara's eyes on him.
"And what she needs to be right now is invisible while you greet your aunt," Clara said, dropping a curtsey that was perfectly proper and somehow still managed to remind him of how she'd looked this morning. "I'll be supervising the tea service if you need me."
She left, and Gabriel tried not to watch her go, failed miserably, and caught Edmund smirking at him.
"Whatever she needs to be?" Edmund quoted. "That's rather comprehensive."
“Hold your tongue.”
Edmund's smirk widened. “I daresay I neglected to inform you that Miss Penelope Ashworth is accompanying her.”
Gabriel felt his blood run cold. "Ashworth? As in Lord Ashworth's daughter?"
"The very same. Eighteen years old, accomplished, beautiful, and in possession of a dowry that could restore this estate three times over."
"No."
"I'm afraid yes. Your aunt has decided that if she can't have you declared incompetent, she'll settle for seeing you wedded to someone she considers appropriate."
“I shall have them both removed from the property.”
"You'll do no such thing. You'll be charming and civil and prove that you're perfectly capable of interacting with eligible young ladies without sending them running in terror."
"I don't want to interact with eligible young ladies. I want to…" Gabriel cut himself off, acutely aware that what he wanted was currently arranging lemon cakes in the parlor.
"You want to what?" Edmund prompted innocently.
“It is of no importance. I'll endure whatever matchmaking torture Aunt Agatha has planned, and then she'll leave, and I can return to my peaceful existence."
"Your peaceful existence of sharing a bed with your housekeeper while pretending you're not completely besotted?"
"I'm not besotted. I'm... temporarily infatuated."
"For someone who's temporarily infatuated, you certainly spent a long time staring at the door she just walked through."
"I was admiring the woodwork. We had it polished."
"Of course you were. The woodwork. Not the way that dress fits her perfectly, or how the morning light caught her hair, or…"
"Edmund, I'm warning you…"
The sound of carriage wheels on gravel interrupted what would have been either a threat or a confession. Gabriel straightened his cravat, assumed what he hoped was an expression of ducal dignity rather than barely suppressed panic, and went to meet his doom.
Lady Agatha descended from her carriage like a general arriving to inspect troops she fully expected to find wanting. She was wearing purple again, a different shade that somehow managed to be even more aggressive than the last as her expression suggested she'd been practicing her disapproval during the entire journey.
