“May I present Miss Fleur Hamilton to those of you who did not make her acquaintance last evening?” his grace said, a hand at the small of her back. “Miss Hamilton is Pamela’s governess.”
“You are dismissed, Miss Hamilton. Tea in the saloon immediately, Jarvis.” The light, sweet voice was that of the duchess.
Fleur turned and fled without more ado and half-ran up the stairs and along the corridor to her room. How unspeakably embarrassing!
She stood at her open window, enjoying the breeze, unwilling to lie down despite her tiredness. Sleep would only bring the nightmares again.
Once he had been young and handsome and carefree. Once he had thought the world to be his oyster, life a priceless pearl. In his pre-Waterloo days, as he had described them. And yet he had spoken sadly, as if those dreams had proved to be empty, worthless ones. What could possibly make the Duke of Ridgeway less than satisfied with life? she wondered. He had everything.
She still felt like crying, she realized suddenly. Her throat and her chest were aching with a nameless something that made her feel indescribably sad.
“CONFOUND IT,” THEDUKEof Ridgeway said, “I am not going to a royal banquet, Sidney.”
“I’ll be finished in a twinkling if you will just keep your chin from clacking,” his valet said, putting the finishing touches tothe folds of his master’s neckcloth. “You do have guests for dinner, after all, sir.”
“Damn your impudence,” his grace said. “Are you finished now?”
“And thankful to be, sir,” Sidney said. “I’ll take myself far away from your temper as soon as I have tidied up in here.”
“You wouldn’t have to be anywhere near it at all,” the duke said sharply, “if that shell had just bounced three inches closer to you at Waterloo.”
“That I wouldn’t, sir,” his valet agreed, turning away to tidy scattered garments and brushes. “But then, neither would you have had to dress for your guests if your shell had bounced half an inch closer to you.”
Sidney wisely ignored his master’s retort. His sensibilities had grown immune to far worse blasphemies and obscenities during his years with the British army.
His grace gazed irritably at his reflection and at the skillfully knotted neckcloth that he was about to display for the admiration of his wife’s guests. He hated to be a dandy at any time and in any place. But in his own home! And for two nights in a row. Last night’s ball had been enough formality to last him a month.
He had neglected the guests during the day. Most of them had not been up before noon, and he had made an excuse about business keeping him at home during the afternoon rather than join them on their walk. Confound it, he had a right to some privacy.
But they were his guests.
Of course, he owed something to Pamela too. She was a child and entitled to his time and company. He had been giving her both while Sybil was preoccupied with entertaining her guests and enjoying herself. At least, that was what he had told himself earlier.
He was going to have to stay away from her more often. Or else he was going to have to take her out more—it was hightime she learned to ride, though she had always shown a reluctance to do so.
What he was really going to have to do was stay away from the schoolroom. If he was strictly honest with himself, it was not just—or even mainly—Pamela who was drawing him there, or to the library at the crack of dawn each morning lest he be too late and miss her.
Sidney had commented only that morning, as the duke rose from bed, yawning after the late night, that he must be touched in the upper works to rise so early. Perhaps Sidney was right.
And he had woken up suddenly in the night and caught himself in the act of dreaming about waltzing on a deserted path with a woman whose eyes were tightly closed and whose fire-gold hair was loose and spread like a silken curtain over his arm.
It would not do. It just would not do. He should have had Houghton send her elsewhere. It had been madness to have her sent to Willoughby.
The door of his dressing room opened suddenly, without warning, and the duchess stood there, one hand still on it, looking lovely in pale pink lace and considerably younger than her twenty-six years.
“Oh,” she said sweetly, “are you still busy? Is it possible for Sidney to leave?”
The valet looked to his master with raised eyebrows, and the duke nodded.
“If you please, Sidney,” he said, rising to his feet. “What may I do for you, Sybil?”
She waited for the door to close. “I have never been so humiliated in my life,” she said, looking at him with large hurt eyes. “Adam, how can you do this to me, and in front of our guests, too?”
He looked steadily at her. “I gather you are referring to the incident with Miss Hamilton,” he said.
“Why did you bring her here?” she asked, clasping her slim white hands together at her bosom. “Was it to hurt me beyond endurance? I have never complained about your long absences in London, Adam. And I have always known why you must go there. I have borne the humiliation without reproach. But must I now endure having one of your doxies in this very house? And in close communication with my daughter? You ask too much of me. I cannot bear it.”
“It is a shame you have no audience beyond me,” he said, his eyes fixed on her. “Your words are very affecting, Sybil. One might almost believe that you cared. We were coming from the long gallery into the great hall. Does it not seem peculiar to you that we would have chosen such a very public setting for a clandestine rendezvous?”
