“Nothing to forgive,” Cori muttered.
“Come along,” the duke said to his daughter. “We’ll find Miss Roseberry and return you to the nursery.”
“We have to take Marmalade back to the kitchens,” said the girl.
Linthorpe took Marmalade from Hannah's arms, mindful of his hind legs, then held out his free hand to his daughter, who took it and stood with the ease of a child who had learned to trust that hand completely.
"Say good night, Hannah," he said.
"Good night," Hannah parroted around a little yawn. Then with the thoroughness of a five-year-old who wanted to be certain all-important things had been addressed, she added, "You should come and see Biscuit soon. She is very small but very loud about everything."
"She sounds like someone I would very much like to meet," Cori said.
Hannah smiled with her whole face, the way she did, and allowed herself to be steered back down the corridor.
Linthorpe glanced back once, at the turn.
Cori’s cheeks warmed. Goodness! He’d caught her sitting on his floor. On his floor for pity’s sake. She wished that very floor would open up and swallow her whole.
The duke inclined his head and then disappeared around the corner.
Cori found her way to the retiring room and managed not to sag under the weight of her own embarrassment once she arrived. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror for a moment and sighed. Her third choice of gown had something on the left shoulder that looked almost certainly like fluff from a white and orange kitten. She closed her eyes, her embarrassment complete, and her cheeks stung from the experience.
Chapter 2
The last carriage had gone, Mills had taken himself off to bed, and the drawing room had settled into the quiet of a house that had been full of people not long ago, but was now empty of all but two.
“Well—” Daniel toasted James with a glass of brandy from where he lounged in a chintz chair, his long legs stretched out before him “—you survived.”
Indeed, and it hadn’t been nearly as bad as James had feared. Still, he’d never admit as much to his irritating, jackanapes of a brother. “Barely,” he grumbled.
Daniel laughed, the same warm good-natured laugh he always seemed to possess. “You forget, my dear brother, I’ve known you all of my life. You did more than survive this evening. I daresay you even enjoyed yourself.”
“I enjoyed you being at the other end of the table.” James poured himself a glass of brandy and then made his way to the settee, near his brother. Dear God, he would miss Daniel when he left for Bermuda. Of course, he would never?—
“Cait’s sister almost made you laugh this evening, which I want you to know I have been keeping track.”
“Have you?”
Daniel agreed with a nod. “And the current tally stands at two, which is twice more than you almost laughed at the last dinner party you attended, in case you were wondering."
"I wasn’t." James settled back in his seat and cradled his drink in his hands.
“I thought not," Daniel said. "Still, it bore mentioning.”
“Did it, indeed?”
Daniel’s eyes twinkled with just a hint of mischief, just like when they were children. “Of course, such novel occurrences ought not to be brushed aside. As you almost laughed twice this evening, I want you to be careful you don’t crack that stiff exterior of yours when you’re not looking.”
“I shall endeavor to be careful,” he replied dryly which earned him a smirk from his brother.
Daniel took another sip of his brandy. " It was good to see you actually enjoy an evening for once."
It had felt good too, a momentary respite from the thoughts that were increasingly plaguing him. “It was a good evening,” he agreed. “Or mostly.”
“Ah.” Daniel nodded. “I understand Hannah escaped the nursery again this evening.”
“A trait, apparently, she inherited from her uncle.”
