Drew did not stop.
Footmen held open the doors, and she stepped out. Inside the antechamber, bickering persisted. The commotion of little boys filled every corner. Drew sailed through, ignoring it all. The next doors led to the landing that would take her to the grand staircase. She hit them at a near sprint.
“Miss Trelayne,” the duke repeated, his voice curt and impatient. He kept pace behind her.
Outside the antechamber, Drew stopped. She closed her eyes. A railing lined the balcony, and she reached out to steady herself. She turned.
The duke came up short behind her.
“Forgive me,” she breathed, throwing out the words like a protective hand over her face.
“Look at you,” he said dryly, “quick as the birds.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind,” he said. “Look, congratulations. Apparently this will happen.”
“Your Grace...” she began.
“Forgive me, I loathe surprises. The truth is, you’ll do as good as any.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Look—Miss Trelayne.Royal edictwould never be my first choice for making decisions about staff, but honestly, I don’t care who manages the twins. They must have someone. Dolph and his wife have every faith in you clearly.”
“I—” began Drew, but she paused.
Cynde had faith in her because Cynde held her in great affection.
The prince had faith in her because he loved Cynde.
Their loyalty was sweet, but this job had been earned through nepotism, there was no way around it.
“I am very devoted to the craft of styling debutantes,” Drew finally said. The truth.
“Devoted, are you?” said the duke. “Diplomatic, too, I take it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I may be a pariah Miss Trelayne, but I’m not an idiot. Can we both agree that you have no experience, no credentials, and we are likely your first clients?”
“Ahh,” hedged Drew.
“If not, you’d have a full roster and no need of the influence of the royal family. Your ‘devotion,’ however, is not in question. You seem very devoted indeed.”
He looked her up and down then, his gaze nothing like that of an employer. He looked at her...person. Not at her styling. Not her posture. Not even her face. He was looking at her... well—atallof her.
Drew fought the urge to duck her head. She was not accustomed to being assessed by men. For one thing, her very tallness meant that most men had to look up to see her. Although notthisman.Thisman had a good three inches on her.
When men had taken the time to study her, it was to marvel. They showed the same kind of sneering appreciation they might show a dog who’d eaten a living turtle, shell and all.
The Duke of Lachlan looked at her like he’d been stopped by something unexpected that had caught his attention. A treasure in a shop window. A peacock. A shooting star.
Drew was uncertain how to go on.
“I really don’t care about your credentials,” the duke finally said. “The twins are, in a word,disasters. My sister is a widow and entirely out of her depth as a parent. Correction: she is out of her depth in most things. They have only just returned to Avenelle, my estate in Dorset. Oh, but wait—perhaps you already know all of this?”
Drew shook her head.
