A polite way of saying her matchmaking was a service to the duke.
Iwas the service.
My face was a mask. I’d come to play my part in this little scheme to make the duke look better to his prospects. I hadn’tany real hope for a match, though her disapproval stung. “Of course.”
Mrs. Johns stood as we made our way to the door.
When we reentered the carriage, Maggie chatted all the way home about potential suitors and her anticipation of watching me find a match, as though I truly could.
Mrs. Johns certainly had the connections; she kneweveryone. She would tell a gentleman of my mistakes, of my flaws, even the purported ones that were worse than anything I could or would ever do in my lifetime. If someone of standing heard all that and still sought me out ... well, that would be a shock.
By the time we returned to Ashburn Abbey, it was time to dress for dinner.
“The men have left for White’s,” Maggie told me in the drawing room. “Just us and Her Grace tonight.”
Thankfully, Her Grace was bolstered by Maggie’s retelling of our visit with Mrs. Johns.
“Lady Diana accepted Marlow’s invitation to Drury Lane at week’s end. I think he is starting to come around to the idea.” The duchess dipped her spoon into her brown broth.
Maggie nodded thoughtfully. “Do you suppose he would tell us what he truly thinks of her? Or would he just one day decide to propose, and that is that?”
Her Grace’s laugh was a lilting, regal sound. “He is not as shy as he was as a boy, but he still struggles to express himself. I would not be surprised of the latter.”
“The duke, shy?” I interjected. “I can hardly imagine it.”
“He was always very quiet and kept to himself as a boy,”Maggie said from across the table. “Always with his nose in a book. His tutors loved him.”
“And, yet, if you put a violin in his hands, he could bring the whole room to tears. Even his father. And that boylovedhis father.” Her Grace lifted her wineglass, hesitating as memories passed behind her eyes. She smiled ever so gently.
“I lost my father too.” I couldn’t say why I shared it. I rarely talked of Papa. But I understood that smile ... the memories behind it. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Her Grace sipped from her glass, then set it down and looked up. “Tell us about your family. You live with your brother? I do hope his wife is well.”
And so I told them about life after Sir Ronald’s party at Lakeshire Park. How Amelia came straightaway for the wedding. How simple the morning had been, but perfect for them. Amelia had looked absolutely beautiful. Not just because of the dress she wore—though it had been lovely—nor her carefully arranged hair or the light rouge on her cheeks.
It was the way she had looked at my brother, and how their hands had joined so tightly as the vicar spoke.
I wasn’t sure either of them realized how lucky they were.
The ache I’d felt upon leaving Mrs. Johns’s home returned, and I hated it. I wanted to be back in the barn with Mercutio, lost in a book and decidedly avoiding my future.
As it turned out, taking your own future by the reins was exhausting, emotional work.
After dinner, I took the grand staircase up to my room, my hand trailing the smooth mahogany banister. We’d dined late, and I was tired, but not too tired forThe Mysteries of Udolpho. Ineededthe escape of a good book. I needed toforget where I was and everything Mrs. Johns had said about my potential for matchmaking failure a second time round. Tonight, I wanted to fall into someone else’s thoughts for a change. And I had found the perfect reading spot, far cozier than the barn with Mercutio.
I had the final half of the last volume to read, and I could hardly wait. I’d stay awake all night reading, for I had nothing to wake early for.
I told Jane my plan, and she helped me into a robe to cover my thin nightdress. I took my time brushing out my own hair and securing it back in a loose chignon at my neck, and, since no one would be about, I tugged on some warm wool stockings too.
Then, I waited.
Waited until the hour grewverylate, so there would be no chance of running into Her Grace. I wrote in my diary. Watched the stars appear one by one. Examined my face a little too closely in the mirror.
My cozy spot was but a few doors down in the library, a cozy settee with wingback chairs opposite a warm hearth, the night sky twinkling out the window to the left. It was an utter dream.
When the clock struck eleven, I tiptoed down the hall, book in hand.
The house sat still, sleepy and unhurried.
