Page 20 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

I watch them over the rim of my cup, my heart pounding as they grab the sheets off the bed. Will they be able to tell? Will the evidence be so glaringly obvious that they’ll cry foul to the dowager duchess?

Thankfully, no one seems at all aghast at the linens; however, one of them stops by the edge of the bed where Charles filled me up last night. “Did we not have a blanket?” she asks the other maid.

“I thought we did. ‘Twas a cool night, but perhaps there was no need?”

All three look at me, and I gulp down a bit of chocolate. “I can assure you I was quite warm and well through the night with what was on the bed. Do not worry yourself over me.”

The trio nod and go back about their business as if that answered all of it. I suppose I should be grateful they don’t scrutinize my words any further. Somehow, it still doesn’t stop that gnawing in the pit of my stomach. Unable to drink another sip, I put the cup down and wash at the basin while the maid brings my morning dress.

We stay silent as she gets me ready. All the while, I can’t stop worrying about what may happen or be said. Did we truly act so scandalously and not get burned?

Soft laughter and voices drift up the stairs as I make my way down for breakfast. There, at the table, the triplets tease each other back and forth while the dowager duchess looks on with smothered amusement. Off to the side, Charles sits, his face buried in a paper while sipping on some coffee.

Once they notice me, my friends squeal and jump up, dragging me over to the buffet table as they urge me to fill up my plate. Unfortunately, nothing looks appetizing. I wasn’t planning on Charles being there after what we did.

“Your plate is barely filled,” Sophia states, her tone soft and filled with concern. “Are you ill?”

“Come,” Penelope cries. “Look at her cheeks. Such a flush on them. I dare say if she is ill, she is lovesick.”

Lovesick. Now, what little chocolate I had threatens to rebel, rising in my throat as I do my best to keep the flush off my face. Between the three of them, they miss nothing.

Georgiana squints at me, studying my expression before shaking her head. “I do not see how she can be lovesick when she doesn’t even know the man. I dare say it’s more likely a case of nerves.”

“Oh, you,” Penelope seethes. “Never one for any fun. ‘Twas a lark and nothing more. Of course she’s not lovesick. ‘Twas said only in jest to get a reaction out of her.”

As the sisters argue amongst themselves, I take my plate and sit across from Charles. He pulls his paper down long enough to glance at what little is on there and raise his eyebrow.

“Something amiss this morning, Miss Campbell? I’ve seen you load your plate with far more in the past.”

“Charles, really,” the dowager duchess chuckles. “You ought not question a woman about her choice and amount of food. ‘Tis unseemly.”

“Right,” Penelope says, dragging herself away from the heated conversation with Georgiana. “Most unseemly.”

“So is quarreling with your sister at the breakfast table,” their mother counters, raising an eyebrow of her own. Easy to see where Charles gets it from. “Miss Campbell,” she says, her smile warming the chill. “I trust you slept well?”

I nearly choke on the small sip of chocolate as I catch the twitch of Charles’s lips as he looks at me from over the paper. “As well as can be expected in a strange bed.”

“Is there anything we can do to make your stay with us even better?”

Her gaze travels down to the bread she’s buttering, not at all noticing the odd glances Charles gives me. But Georgiana notices. She sits forward and scrunches her face as she looks between him and me.

“Charles, why are you making such an odd expression? Is the coffee not to your liking?” Now, of course, everyone looks at him, and all I want to do is slide down to the floor and hide under the table.

He clears his throat and rattles the paper before bringing it back up to conceal his face. “Simple matters of Parliament. You, of course, would not understand.”

She scrunches her face again as she goes back to her breakfast. “Just because I am a woman doesn’t mean I don’t understand things.”

“On the contrary,” he murmurs. “I find you to understand far more than you should. Now that I’ve concluded my breakfast, I shall attend to matters of less frivolity. Mother. Sisters.” He pauses a moment before bowing low. “Miss Campbell.”

Miss Campbell. Not Cynthia. Not vexation. Just plain Miss Campbell. But then, I knew this was happening. I expected this. Glancing down at my plate, I find that what small bit of appetite I had to be completely vanished.

“Come,” Penelope laughs, her face just beaming with happiness. “Let us finish as well so that we may change and go calling!”

“Who would we call on?” I ask, confusion muddling my brain a moment. All I wanted was a quiet few weeks to lick my wounds while awaiting my fate. I should have known better with the triplets at the helm.

“You are to be married,” she insists. “Who better to call upon than those already in such a state?”

The dowager duchess merely shakes her head as she gives an indulgent chuckle. The contrasts between her and my mother are so startling. Emotions well in my very soul as I watch the four of them interact.