“Or more, and the gossipmongers will love you for it. A titillating story makes them money. And look on the bright side of this.”
“Is there one?”
“Of course. This could encourage other ladies to arrive at your door unannounced.”
“I don’t see any harm in that as long as they are younger than a dowager.”
Morgan clapped Race on the back, and they laughed as they rejoined the party.
Several games of cards and at least two glasses of wine later, Race was enjoying another good hand of cards at a table with two delightful young ladies and their father, when Morgan tapped him on the shoulder.
Race looked up at his cousin and frowned.
Morgan leaned down and whispered, “Have you met with the mysterious duchess?”
“Not yet,” Race said, glancing down at the amazingly good hand he had been dealt. “I was giving her time to have a cup of tea.”
Morgan cleared his throat and whispered, “She’s been in the music room over an hour. I think her cup might be empty by now.”
That got Race’s attention. “Has it been that long?”
Morgan nodded. “She’s probably fuming by now.”
Race downed the remaining wine in his glass, and with a grimace asked his cousin, “Do you mind taking over this hand for me? Some problems just won’t go away without a little push.”
Once again, Race excused himself from the game and headed for his music room. Upon entering, he saw a prim-looking gray-haired woman dressed in black, sitting in a side chair with mountains of furniture piled up behind her.
Race stopped in front of her, bowed, and then took her hand and kissed it. “Your Grace, you should have joined us. I take it you aren’t fond of cards, but I trust my servants have made every effort to keep you comfortable.”
“Please, my lord, I am Mrs. Princeton.” The tall woman rose and backed away from him while she curtsied. “May I present the Dowager Duchess of Blooming.”
The woman pointed to a much younger lady who stood by the window, staring at him with an amused expression on her lovely face. Race’s heart skipped a beat. The dowager was not an old, unattractive lady. She was a stunning beauty.
She walked toward him with a slow, confident stroll, stopping a respectable distance away. “You know, I’ve heard that about you,” she said.
His stomach did a slow roll. “What’s that?”
“That you can charm a leopard out of its spots and a nun out of her virtue.”
Race raised one brow. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the gossip pages.”
“In your case, I think they may be right.”
Race let his gaze slowly peruse her. He appreciated the fact that she looked him over as closely as he looked at her.
She had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. They were a light shade of green, large and expressive. She wore a forest-green traveling dress banded at the high waist by a black velvet ribbon. Her shiny, dark-brown hair was swept up to the top of her head with soft, wispy curls framing her face.
“Then tell me, Your Grace, are you a leopard or a nun?”
Mrs. Princeton gasped.
Race cleared his throat. For a moment, he’d forgotten the other woman was in the room.
The dowager quickly hid her grin behind her hand, not answering his question at first, but finally saying, “I can see you are surprised by my age, as most are,” the duchess continued. “My husband died a short time after we married. His son from his first wife is now the Duke of Blooming, and he and his duchess reside at Chapel Glade in Blooming. I live nearby at Chapel Gate.”
Her words brought to mind the vague memory of a young lady who married an older, reclusive duke because of an indiscretion. Could she be that lady?
“I see,” he said. “I have to admit that you have caught me at a busy time, Your Grace, and I feel at a complete disadvantage.”
