“The honor is mine,” he dutifully answered.
“Please, sit,” Lady Baldwin said, perching her own ample self on the settee and spreading her orange and red striped skirts over the cushions.
Gavin waited for Lady Charlene to delicately sit on one of the two chairs before the hearth while he took the other. Usually, he was impatient during these sorts of formal calls. However, he would do anything to please Lady Charlene.
“We have tea,” Lady Charlene said, indicating a tray on a side table next to her chair, “and some sandwiches. Would you care for refreshment?”
“Tea would be nice,” he answered, and watched with approval as she poured just the right amount in a cup and lifted the creamer to see if he wished any. She was grace personified.
For the first time, he was glad, no, overjoyed, that he had not married Elin Morris.
“No cream,” he said to her unanswered question. “I’m surprised you had the tray ready,” he managed. He found himself surprisingly tongue-tied, another first.
She smiled and handed him his cup. “There is always a hot kettle in our kitchen and we had time to prepare for you.”
“You knew what time I was coming?” he said, flattered at the thought they had been poised at any moment to receive him.
“You were out on our front step for a bit of time,” she said, the most charming light in her eyes. “Would you care for a sandwich?”
At her mention of how long it had taken him to gather his courage to knock on her door, Gavin felt a dull heat creep up his neck. In another time or place, he would have laughingly tossed out some witticism about having important matters on his mind. After all, he was a duke.
However, with her, he seemed struck mute.
With a shake of his head, he declined the sandwich and she turned her attention to preparing tea for Lady Baldwin and herself.
He watched her every move, marveling at her perfection. He was also aware that the maid had entered the room. She stood by the door, and he had the uncomfortable sense that instead of being properly servile, she was taking in all that was happening as if weighing him for her own opinion.
Gavin tried to block out her presence, but she had a thorniness that was hard for him to ignore.
Lady Charlene did not seem to notice her servant. Instead, she offered Lady Baldwin a cup of tea and then saw to her own. She liked her tea with cream and a sweet. She stirred the cup and smiled at him. “We enjoyed your ball last night,” she said.
“Yes, Your Grace, it was excellent,” Lady Baldwin agreed.
“The evening ended far too early,” he admitted, and then dared to add, “Before we could have the dance you promised me.”
A blush rose to her cheek. Lady Charlene smiled. Her dark lashes lowered shyly against her cheek as she confessed, “It was probably just as well. I’m a terrible dancer. I always step on someone’s feet.”
Gavin could have promised she was free to tromp on his feet all she liked. “I shall keep that in mind when we do have that dance,” he answered, and she laughed, the sound as light and musical as angel wings.
And then they fell into silence.
And Gavin, usually able to make conversation in any other circumstance, did not know how to break it.
He didn’t dare say or do anything that might possibly make her disapprove of him, and consequently was paralyzed. He looked around the room, noticed the gigantic arrangement of roses that he’d sent to her. It was a wonder he hadn’t noticed them immediately. Their scent owned the air.
The arrangement was really too ostentatious and he experienced a stab of panic. No wonder she was quiet. The flowers were exactly the wrong gift. They were over the top. She probably thought him a braggart.
Charlene was uncomfortable in the silence.
She felt she should say something but what does one say to a person one doesn’t know? Especially if the person is the Duke of Baynton.
It was one thing to have met him in his home with all the trappings, but to have him here? On Mulberry Street? Char was certain he must think them several steps below him.
She glanced at Sarah, who stood like a humble maid waiting orders. As Char had hoped, Sarah knew she was in over her head. Sarah helped her out.Horses, she mouthed.
Oh yes, every man liked to talk about horses. “Tell me about your horses,” Char said.
The duke jumped at the topic. He was proud of his grays and had bred them himself. He carried the conversation, and all Char had to do was appear interested. She was so relieved.
