Well, she dare not scrutinize her fondness for the Duke of Lachlan.
Put him out of your mind, she thought, taking the last bite of compote.
Finish the meal.
Review plans for the morning.
Excuse yourse—
Just then, the girls’ giant cat ambled into the dining room dragging a fat, squirming mouse between his teeth.
The girls reacted with gleeful horror, their pudding forgotten. They leapt up and darted around the table, rattling china and turning up corners of the rug. The cat, suddenly aware of his error, froze for half a beat and then galloped away in a fluffy blur. The girls let out a yelp and gave chase.
Drew made more mental notes.They mustaskto be excused from the table.
Activities such as cat chasing and yelping are allowed, but only in the privacy of family meals at home.
“Pray, Ian,” said Lady Tribble, rising next. “What direction does my bedroom window face? I should like to read the stars while twilight is unclouded.”
The duke cocked his head, studying his sister. His expression was disbelieving but also sad; like he’d watched every last passenger disembark from the mail coach only to find that his long-awaited guest had not made the journey.
“Is it... north?” Lady Tribble speculated.
“West,” corrected the duke. “Your bedroom faces west, Timmie.”
“Oh, lovely,” said Lady Tribble, arching her wineglass in a simulated wave. Following an s-shaped path that only she could see, she quit the room, dragging the tail of her shroud behind her.
And just like that, the dining room was empty except for Drew and the Duke of Lachlan.
Footmen, previously more numerous than family members, had suddenly vanished.
Up and down the table, the remains of chocolate compote congealed in crystal goblets.
Candles jumped and gutted.
From a distant room, she heard a grandfather clock. The slow tick mocked the sudden fast drum of her heart.
All the terrible behavior to which she admitted when talking to the girls came rushing back to her mind. Had he heard?
It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. Her place in this house was to guide and advise the twins. Anything else, especially the times she found herself alone with the Duke of Lachlan, was not important.
She felt inclined to look at him—one generallyacknowledgedthe only other person in a room—but she couldn’t. It was as if her head wouldn’t swivel left. She felt suddenly intrusive. She felt as if he’d designated the end of the table for the highly private work of signing secret documents, or scolding a servant, or removing his shirt.
Well, he’s not doing that, she thought, blinking at the empty doorway.
She heard a creaking noise from his end of the table.
Next, the heavy,thump, THUMPof something slamming into the tabletop. She jumped.
“Miss Trelayne?” he questioned.
“Yes.” A whisper.
“Are you—?” He stopped.
She waited, her heart pounding like marbles spilling from a crate.
He sang, “Hello?”
