Rosemary’s arm shook ever-so-slightly as she poured rich brown coffee, still steaming, out of a silver pot and into a cup. Carrying the cup around the front of the sofa she delivered it to the duke, and as she passed it from her hand to his, their fingers brushed. When a jolt passed through her at the small, accidental contact, she gasped and nearly spilled the hot liquid down the front of his shirt.
“You’re a sweetheart,” he groaned as he guzzled the coffee.
Rosemary experienced another jolt.
The Duke of Hanover had just called her a sweetheart.
Her, Rosemary Amelia Ursula Stanhope.
Clearly, he did not know to whom he was speaking.
Or maybe he did, and he was just being extraordinarily kind.
Like a baker who threw spare breadcrumbs for the pigeons.
Or a philanthropist who donated his old clothing to orphans.
“I…thank you, Your Grace.”
“Have we met?” As he finished his coffee, his eyes–gray with thin streaks of red through the white–traveled across her with unnerving intensity. You look familiar. Wait–let me guess,” he said when her lips parted. “You’re Lord Henley’s eldest daughter. Lady Victoria.”
As shyness overtook her, Rosemary could only bite her lip and shake her head.
“No?” The duke’s brow creased. He sat up even taller. “Lady Emma Crowley.”
Lady Emma Crowley was blonde with green eyes.
She shook her head again.
“Hmm. I was sure I had it that time. Ah! Now I remember.” With a roguish grin, he snapped his fingers. “Miss Penny Snow. How could I forget? Especially after that night we drank the champagne beside the fountain and you asked for me to search for your missing hairpin.” He lifted a brow. “Such an odd place to find it, beneath your skirts. But there it was.”
Heat exploded across Rosemary’s face. “I-I-I am not Penny Snow,” she stammered.
The duke’s brow lowered. “Well then, who the devil are you?”
“N-no one of consequence, Your Grace.”
“You have to besomeone. Surely I would have noticed you before, unless…will this Season be your first? That’s it,” he said confidently. “You’ve not yet made your debut.”
“I’ve attended every ball that you have been at for the past three years, Your Grace.” Rosemary was not offended that he could not remember her name or even recall her face. Given how well she and the back corner were acquainted, she’d be more shocked if hedidknow who she was. A horse didn’t notice a patch of weeds in the middle of its field. And the Duke of Hanover had no reason to notice a wallflower whose head was buried in a book more often than not.
“My name is Miss Rosemary Stanhope. I am under the guardianship of my grandmother, Lady Ellinwood.”
The duke’s gaze showed no signs of recognition.
“My cousins are Miss Evelyn and Miss Joanna Thorncroft,” she tried as a last resort.
“That’swhy you appear so familiar to me. You look like them.”
“I do?” she asked, inordinately pleased by the comparison. Evie and Joanna were two of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. If the duke thought she and her cousins shared similar characteristics, then that could only mean he consideredherto be beautiful as well. Evie’s refashioning had worked! Before all that awful bandoline had been yanked out of her hair, no one had ever told her that she was beautiful. Mostly because they’d never taken the time to notice her, but also because she wasn’t. Beautiful, that is. But who was she to argue with the Duke of Hanover? Even though he hadn’t said as much in so many words, the implication was almost certainly there!
“Eh…” Lurching to his feet, he scraped a hand across the bristle covering his jaw and peered at her more closely. “Maybe not.”
“Oh.” Disappointment caused her shoulders to hunch, a bad habit that her grandmother had been trying unsuccessfully to break her of since adolescence. “That’s–that’s quite all right.”
“’Tis your eyes. They’re not blue enough.”
“I’m…sorry?” she offered.
