Chapter 1 #4
Luckily, Lady Natalie remained unfazed. “My maid is having one over on me.” She did not even pretend not to know what Penelope meant by her uncomplimentary question.
“But what of you, couldn’t you spare even the barest nod toward fashion in your attire?
You are not a matron after all, and,” she said with a glimmer of audacity in her eyes, “not all of the men here are married and over fifty.”
In unison, three feminine gazes turned in the direction of the dashing Ravensdale men as they casually set the posts for a game of horseshoes. Penelope sighed again, this time with theatrical appreciation. “They do present an abundance of manhood, at that.”
Abigail stifled a giggle. Penelope did not often admit herself smitten by any man whatsoever.
Indicating her fan, which was ironically clutched in the same hand in which she was holding her shawl about her tightly, Abigail imitated Penelope’s tone of voice.
“Dear cousin. Fan yourself, my dear, lest you faint from palpitations.”
All three allowed their laughter to bubble over at the hilarity, but Abigail quickly reined hers in with an inward wince. Drat. Double drat and fiddlesticks! Her bodice had loosened slightly when a couple of stitches gave way with a barely perceptible rrrip.
Best not to test those that remained. She was going to kill her mother!
The duke stood staring out at the water.
This wasn’t the first time he’d caught persons whispering as they gawked at him.
It happened all the time. Before the accident, he had been gazed upon with a sense of wonder and awe.
As a peer of very high rank, men often had looked upon him with respect and envy, women with romantic sighs and sometimes an all-too-obvious hunger.
Now they all regarded him with a somewhat morbid fascination.
He knew society referred to him as the Duke of Ice.
He was not an idiot, after all. But life was too short to suffer fools gladly.
And many of those who mingled in the ton could aptly be referred to as fools.
Why should he make an effort to make them feel more important than they already were?
Giving in to the pull of curious stares, the duke turned to his left and looked across the lawn.
The shorter of the two spinsters quite unabashedly inspected his person.
With a not very kind need to make her uncomfortable for doing so, he fingered his quizzing glass and slowly raised it to his left eye.
Oh, heavens, but she was plain, even if her eyes were rather large and expressive.
Alex allowed his glass to drop and turned away.
He really must take his leave of this party soon. Except…except he had promised his hostess he would remain for the entire two weeks, and as a gentleman he was not comfortable breaking his word—without a sufficient reason, that is.
A quartet of strings tuned their instruments in the distance, and servants scurried to and from the house.
A banquet of savory and sweet delicacies had been set out along with lemonade, tea, and champagne.
The Earl and Countess of Ravensdale did not throw a garden party in half measures—even if local gentry made up most of the guests.
He was quite certain he would find himself surreptitiously spied upon by many who would never have the courage to meet him face to face.
He would instruct his valet to prepare for an early morning departure.
Surely there must be some urgent need for which he must return to Brooke’s Abbey immediately.
He would sort through the mail he had received to see if he could find a matter requiring his attention.
He had no desire to fabricate a completely untrue excuse.
Just as he made his decision, a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder.
“Monfort, what are you doing over here when there is a bevy of young ladies unattended in such a pretty setting?” The earl’s voice rang hearty and cheerful.
Where business matters were concerned, Ravensdale had proved to be a serious and sober man.
It was unusual for the earl to dabble in such a feminine pursuit as matchmaking.
He would not be rude to his host, the duke decided.
Even if it meant he must give a scant amount of attention to the daughter.
“What indeed?” he responded, allowing the earl to lead him toward the tree where the spinsters were now seated with Lady Natalie and another gentleman.
Just as he might have guessed, three rowboats bobbed along the nearby jetty.
And yes, Ravensdale intended Alex to row his daughter about the lake. He did not mind rowing.
In fact, he did not mind lakes. Although many people assumed that he did—since the accident.
It was just that Lady Natalie was looking very feminine and very young, elaborately dressed in pink lace with an abundance of ringlets dancing on her head.
Far too young. When he did eventually remarry, he would find a sophisticated widow, perhaps, one who would present him with an heir and possibly a spare, and then be content with living her own life.
He would be crystal clear from the beginning as to what type of an arrangement he would expect.
The duke had no inclination toward seeking great affection within marriage.
He had attempted to do so once and found it to be a messy situation indeed.
It would be nice if he could find satisfaction in bed within his marriage, however.
For he did believe in fidelity. He did not wish to make any vows before God and mankind that he did not intend to keep.
Marriage could wait for now.
The earl presented the spinsters, along with another gentleman, for what he declared to be the most romantic of opportunities. Alex vaguely took note of the names: Lord Hawthorne, Miss Crone, and Miss Wright.
Ignoring the spinsters, he bowed and offered his arm to his host’s decorative daughter. He did not need to invite her onto the lake with him. Her father had already done that.
“Er…Thank you, Your Grace.” Was she as reluctant as himself?
Alex supposed he ought to make an attempt at conversation, but what did one say to a child, practically fresh from the nursery? He could make some trivial comment about the weather, but refused to default to such banality.
“This summer promises to be a warm one,” she commented beside him.
But that he could complete this little jaunt as quickly as possible.
Stepping into the recently cleaned craft, Alex steadied it and reached out his hand to assist his passenger aboard.
“I need my parasol!” She gasped in protest and pulled out of his grip. Perhaps she was as unwilling as he to be managed by her father
Without notice, she shoved the spinster with the large eyes toward him and dashed off in the opposite direction.
The plump one. The—God help him—smiling one.
Miss Wright.
It seemed he was to partner a different lady altogether than he had originally thought. Wonderful.
Except that in order to prevent the woman from falling into the water, his arms reached out to grasp her about the waist, leading him to inadvertently spread one hand over the surprisingly sweet fullness of her derriere.
Unable to stop her momentum, she had fallen forward and pressed herself up against the front of him.
His own traitorous body took that moment to take notice of the softness of her womanly curves and the clean floral scent of her soap.