Aideen’s eyes widened as redness now travelled up Mrs Beckford’s neck, tinting her like a rose.
“Is it not? But we fight and bicker. Nothing like your Sophie and the Earl of Kelmarsh.”
“That is their character. Those two enjoy tranquillity, but… I know you will not believe it now, but when my husband was young, he had quite the temper and I was no namby-pamby miss either.” She coughed gracefully.
“Really?”
Mrs Beckford flicked open a fan, which lay on the chaise, and wafted it vigorously. “We had some skirmishes, but I knew, deep down, he was the only man for me. And the making up can be most…agreeable.”
Aideen coughedungracefully.
The fan snapped shut and earnest eyes shifted to her. Despite having difficulty following Mrs Beckford’s etiquette guidance this Season, Aideen had great respect for her. And she so desperately needed advice.
“You have to search deep down, Aideen. Not on the superficial surface but within. Do you want this man for the rest of your life?” Mrs Beckford patted a cushion nervously. “I will not say this again as ’tis a dash indecorous, and dukes may sleep differently, but…well, do you want to see his face across your pillow every morning?”
Yes, yes, yes, Aideen’s heart screamed, but so many inner concerns yelledno, no, no.
“I can’t be a duchess,” she wailed. “All the formality! I have no manners and should’ve been a boy like m’da always–”
“Anyone can learn manners and social graces.” Mrs Beckford hastened over and jostled up on the ottoman, leaning close. “What cannot be learned is kindness and humour and understanding, and you have those in abundance. As for your father… Did you know I visited Waterford before your birth?”
Aideen shook her head.
“Your mother was sure you would be a girl. So excited, she was.”
“Didn’t she want a boy? Like Da.”
“No, she didn’t. And your father couldn’t have cared less at the time either – anything to make her happy. But when she died… Well, he lost himself and I’m afraid you were lost too. He turned his focus not to you, his daughter, but inwards, and anger consumed him. It still does. I thank God for your Uncle Seamus, even though he did teach you some highly inappropriate conduct.”
“Oh.”
“And I also doubt you know that your father was the one to name you.”
“What?” She gasped.
“Hmm. Said any girl of his was bound to be fiery and stubborn.”
Lips parted but Aideen was once again unable to speak.
“I shall leave you to think,” said Mrs Beckford, patting her knee. “But one other matter to ponder on.” She pursed her lips. “I talked of the duke being a man of years and experience. A man that should know better. So, the only reason for him to make such a grave impropriety is because you must call to him in some way. He does not appear to be a man controlled by lust. Far from it, his reputation is somewhat priggish.” Mrs Beckford stood. “So, to make such a severe slip demonstrates profound…emotion.”
Aideen’s lips snapped shut.
Bejabbers.
Chapter Seven
Tempus fugit.
The Duke of Rakecombe really didn’t have time for this.
After last night’s little rumpus, he’d headed out for a pre-arranged meeting with his resourceful informant Bluey, but he hadn’t been able to uncover the merest trace of Stafford.
Bluey would continue to ferret away though, and today, he himself was supposed to be scouring coffee shops for gossip.
Instead, he was winding the lengthy way around Grosvenor Square with his grandmother’s ring in his pocket.
For once, he hadn’t wholly formulated a plan yet. He often did his best thinking in bed, but restless memories of that deuced kiss had occupied his thoughts.
