Page 64

Olivia had never been so conscious of the way she walked. Every step seemed to announce that she was the Duchess of Glenmore, every rustle of her skirts reminding her that dozens of eyes were following her, measuring her, deciding whether she belonged among them.

She kept her chin lifted and her smile composed, but inside she was desperately trying to remember how a duchess was supposed to behave.

Do not trip. Do not say anything foolish. Do not accidentally insult a viscount. And, for heaven's sake, do not look as terrified as you feel.

She had faced Viscount Boulton, escaped an unwanted marriage, crossed the country, married a virtual stranger and taken responsibility for an abandoned baby, yet somehow sitting amongst James's people frightened her more than any of it.

She locked eyes with Louiza across the room. Suddenly she felt a comfort as Louiza nodded in reassurance.

At least I have my sister here.

She was immensely grateful for that, and when a servant appeared beside the drawing-room doors and bowed.

"Supper is served, Your Grace," he announced, Olivia nearly sighed with relief.

At least supper provided something to do besides stand in a room while strangers examined her as though she were an exotic creature recently imported from another country.

James came immediately to her side, his expression calm and unreadable, and held out his hand. "Come," he said quietly, his fingers closing around hers as he offered his arm. "I shall rescue you from the drawing room before you decide to escape through a window."

Olivia glanced up at him with a startled smile, remembering how precisely he had described her character when they first met.

As they entered the dining hall, Olivia leaned closer to him, careful that no one else could hear. "How am I doing?" she whispered, trying to keep her smile fixed as the guests followed behind them.

James looked down at her for a moment, and something in his expression softened. "You are remarkable," he replied quietly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before leading her toward the table.

The simplicity of his answer affected her more than she wished to admit. She had expected instruction, perhaps criticism, perhaps some reminder that she was performing a role she had never been trained to fill, but instead he had given her exactly what she needed.

Remarkable?

The word settled somewhere warm inside her, and she found herself standing a little straighter.

James led her to her seat at one end of the long table, while he took his place at the opposite end, at the head. Olivia was relieved to discover that Louiza had been seated directly beside her, and the moment her sister sat down, Olivia felt as though someone had quietly placed a shield between her and the entire world.

Louiza gave her an encouraging smile and reached beneath the table to squeeze her hand. Olivia returned the gesture gratefully.

"You are doing very well," Louiza whispered to her.

"Am I? I feel like I am on display," Olivia replied.

Louiza laughed, "That is because you are, dear sister."

Near her sat Lady Midton, a handsome woman of perhaps forty with bright eyes and an expression that suggested she had never encountered a piece of information she did not immediately wish to share with someone else.

The first course arrived before Olivia had time to worry herself into another panic. Servants moved around the table with practiced efficiency, setting down soup, delicate fish, warm rolls, and various savories, while conversation rose around them in a lively hum.

Olivia tried to listen to several conversations at once, smiling when appropriate and responding when spoken to, but Lady Midton soon made it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

"Your Grace, may I ask how long you have known the duke?" she asked, leaning slightly closer as a servant placed a bowl before her.

Olivia glanced toward James, who was speaking with Lord Percy at the other end of the table, then returned her attention to Lady Midton.

"Not very long at all," Olivia admitted, lifting her spoon. "We met at his recent ball."

Lady Midton's eyes immediately brightened, and Olivia knew at once that she had said exactly the wrong thing if she intended to avoid questions.

"The ball? I do not recall seeing you there," the woman repeated eagerly, setting down her spoon.

Olivia could almost hear the invisible machinery of gossip beginning to turn.