Page 59
Yesterday, she’d sequestered herself in a linen closet, and the day before, she dove behind the settee in the drawing room. That had proved rather awkward when she clambered up to find Wynby gaping at her. She’d claimed to be inspecting the undersurface of the settee for rips.
He’d drolly commended her diligence.
Nevertheless, she encountered Chester a dozen or more times a day. She swore he lay in wait for her, and she’d taken to peeking around corners before entering rooms.
He also seemed set on courting her.
There’d been a rose upon her pillow two afternoons—not the Blue Damask, but a lovely coral, and a yellow with ruby edges. Chocolates twice too. She’d found notes tucked in her apron pocket and beneath her pillow. There’d also been a book of poetry with several pages marked.
All love sonnets.
Who would’ve thought the formidable Marquis of Sterling was such a romantic?
Several times he’d sought her out on some trivial matter. He’d touch her elbow, the small of her back, tuck a wisp of hair over her shoulder, and each time, her awareness of him grew as a virile man who very much wanted her.
He was slowly, oh, so expertly, drawing her into his web.
She’d be a liar if she denied it thrilled as much as frightened.
Tamping down her happiness at seeing him, she ran her forefinger down the list. “I haven’t time to chat. I’ve an awful lot to accomplish before your guests arrive.”
“As I told you days ago,” he said, straightening to his full height, “they, including Miss Bickford, are Father’s guests. Not mine. I’m simply humoring an elderly man’s wishes.”
A flush swept her, and she made a pretense of arranging the novels on a low, marble-topped rosewood table so the guests wouldn’t have to search for them. Chester had finally convinced her he truly had no intention of honoring his father’s request to wed Miss Bickford. It oughtn’t make her happy, but it did—absurdly so—nonetheless.
Poor Miss Bickford. She was in for a tremendous disappointment if she’d set her cap for Chester.
So was the duke, and that worried Eden more than a little.
While his grace was polite, not cordial by any means, but not the hostile man she’d first met, she’d caught him watching her, a steely, calculating glint in his eye. He continued to take tea with Mama every day, and Eden feared Dulcina had formed an attachment to the duke.
“My lord, might I speak candidly?”
He stopped fiddling with the ivory elephant he’d been holding and, after placing it back on the side table, advanced toward her. “Always. What is it?”
“I fear my mother may be developing a tendre for his grace. I think it would be best if she and Mattie moved to The Lake House before it goes any further.”
Should she stack the books upright or lay them side-by-side?
He cocked his head, a slight frown veeing his brows.
“You don’t think your mother deserves to care for someone?”
“That’s not what I mean at all. She’s a disgraced governess, and he’s a duke.” She glanced at her lengthy to-do list. How was she to ever get all that done by Friday? Should she assure the bedchambers were all readied or ask Old Ronald about when to best cut the flowers for the myriad of vases she wanted filled with bouquets? “But nothing can come of it. Their stations are too distant.”
He scratched his ear, giving her a boyish grin.
“I don’t know. Father’s mellowed dramatically since Miss Haverden’s arrival. In truth, I haven’t ever seen him as amiable. I’ll admit I’m glad for it and the effort he seems to be making. Dr. Chamberlain says the company has done his health good. Would you deprive your mother and my father the enjoyment?” He rested a hip on the edge of a writing desk. “Why don’t we wait and see how things play out?”
She sighed and looked to the ornate ceiling and husbanded her patience.
Why was he being so obtuse?
“Naturally, I want them to be happy.” Was such a thing even possible for the duke? “But I cannot bear to see my mother hurt anymore. How could his grace possibly return her regard? You know as well as I that peers only trifle with those beneath their station.”
“Is that what you think of me too? That I’d play with your affections then toss you aside like an old, worn shoe?” His stern regard held her captive.
How dare he get his bristles up?
