Eyes blinking awake after dawn, helpless frustration and worry warped Evelina’s insides. She wanted to despise Dorian—but she could not. He irked her to the last fraying strand of her patience, but if she looked at it objectively, he had saved her from a very horrible fate.
What I don’t know is, what will I do from here on?
She turned her head and something crinkled under her cheek. “What the—” she lifted and snagged the paper off her pillow and blinked at it, “—is this a recipe?”
The handwriting was slashing, and it had measurements and ingredients for meal preparation and cooking. At the bottom, Dorian had written, “Be a good girl and cook dinner for us. I’ll bring dessert.” She sat up. “The nerve of him!”
Jumping off the bed, she grabbed her wraps and stormed to find Dorian—only to find him gone. In the kitchen was a basketof raw ingredients, pots, pans and knives, all laid out with precision. “How thoughtful of him.”
Dorian was a contradiction in himself, he had the grace of a ton gentleman, but the gruffness of a scoundrel. He teased and taunted her like a little boy but kissed her like a seducer.
She had a quick bath and dressed quickly, then planted her feet in the kitchen and gazed at the instructions. “Mince pies,” she murmured to herself. “How hard can it be…”
I wish I were anywhere but here, hobnobbing with these toffs. A luncheon is not what I need now.
“Your Grace,” Carrington’s rough voice drew his attention from the whisky in his hand. “Do you have a moment?”
The deference in Sterling’s voice while they were in public amused Dorian, as anywhere else, the power dynamic would have shifted. He turned to find Sterling there, with Mr. and Mrs. Langford, Evelina’s selfish and traitorous relatives. If he had the power and the means—and he soon would—he’d give the two social climbers their just desserts.
“Carrington,” he inclined his head and then nodded to the two. “Friends of yours?”
“In a sense,” Carrington’s smile was brittle at the corners. “They are my guests. Mr. and Mrs. Langford, it is my honor to introduce His Grace, Duke of Wolfthorne, Dorian Beaumont.”
Mrs. Langford wore the most insipid pink eyesore, trimmed with miles of ribbon and lace, and with panniers suitable for Queen Elizabeth’s court. The wide skirts had the most flounces Dorian had ever seen on a single piece of clothing.
No wonder Evelina has that nightgown.
The lady curtsied deeply enough that her nose was almost a foot from the floor while her husband nearly fell over his feet bowing.
“Pleased to meet you, Your Grace,” Mr. Langford nodded, his forehead beading with sweat.
“Yes, yes, very pleased to meet you,” his wife gushed, with stars in her eyes.
“These two lovely people are the relatives of the dear Miss I was about to marry,” Carrington said, his mouth ticking down. “Unfortunately, we still have not found the girl yet, but we have hopes she will return soon. It is not easy for a gentle born girl to live out in the world on her own.”
Mrs. Langford gave a long-suffering sigh. She pressed a hand to her breast. “I am so sorry, my lord. My husband and I know we have raised our niece better than that.”
Sticking a hand into a pocket, Dorian bit back the harsh, venomous cutting words brimming on his tongue. “Did the little Miss know about the engagement prior to this?”
The two shared a look, to where the man shook his head. “Not… exactly. But we knew she had poor options of marriage, so we chose the best for her—” the wife wrung her hands, “—she is an orphan, Your Grace, and her father was destitute by the time he passed. You know how these things go. Without a dowry, who would take her?”
“To a man thrice her age?” Dorian quirked a brow. “Isn’t that unfair to the young Miss?”
Mrs. Langford grew flustered. “We didn’t think it wise to arrange a marriage to a younger, well,poorerfellow as it would not help either of them. The dowry, you know.”
“Not like our daughter,” Mr. Langford hastened to insert while waving to someone. “She has a very generous dowry—” a young woman joined them, and the man dropped a hand to her shoulder, “—my dear, it is my delight to introduce you to His Grace, Duke Wolfthorne. Your Grace, this is my daughter, Harriet Langford.”
The chit was dressed in a pale ivory gown, the cut of her neckline left her shoulders bare, dipping to a daring vee between her bosom—utterly inappropriate for a debutante.
What struck him was—the girl looked entirely uncomfortable in the gown, and when she did curtsy, she did all she could tominimize the dip; he felt as if she wanted to slap a hand over her bosom and run away if she could.
His gaze flickered to the two behind her; how was it that these two atrocious souls could produce a decent girl?
“Pleased to meet you, Your Grace,” she said quietly.
He dipped his head. “Miss Langford. I am sorry to hear about your cousin. How are you coping with that?”
She shook her head. “I am worried for Evelina every day. She was my constant companion as we grew up and she is such a sweet soul. I wish I had not left that room that day at the church and left her alone to get abducted.”
