Chapter 3 #3
“Oh, is she?” Hugo raised an eyebrow, rubbing his other hand along his bearded jaw.
“I am right here, ye ken?” Elspeth scoffed as she joined him. “Shall we get this farce over with? Will they be servin’ any good food, or just yer tasteless English fodder?”
“Perhaps it is best if you keep the conversation to a minimum tonight, Lady Inverhall.”
She shot him a scathing glare.
No sooner had they set foot on the main thoroughfare than they arrived at Ashworth House. They stepped into the glittering drawing room, where grand chandeliers cast an ambient amber light around them, only accentuated by the clinking of champagne glasses.
A wave of hushed whispers rippled through the assembled guests as they made their entrance.
“Ye are paradin’ me around like a prize mare,” Lady Inverhall hissed, her voice low but furious.
“The sooner you are presented, the sooner suitors will appear,” Hugo replied, his voice equally low, his jaw tight. “I am a pragmatist.”
She glared at him, about to unleash another retort, but their host, Lord Ashworth, approached them, his smile genial. “Ah, Your Grace! And who is this charming young lady by your side? Please do not tell me love has got the better of you!”
“Oh my,” Lady Ashworth said as she joined her husband’s side. “You are a delight, my dear. Have you somehow captured His Grace’s heart?”
“Lord Ashworth, Lady Ashworth,” Hugo greeted smoothly, bowing slightly.
“May I present the Dowager Marchioness of Inverhall. I have brought her to London to ensure she settles comfortably into Society, as I have recently inherited her late husband’s title and estates.
I feel it is my responsibility to secure her future. ”
“How absolutely kind of you, Your Grace,” Lord Ashworth complimented as he plucked two flutes of champagne off a passing tray. “Please, enjoy yourselves this evening. There are many people to see, and who would love to see such a Scottish lady.”
“Indeed,” Lady Ashworth agreed with a wry smile. “I love your gown, Lady Inverhall. That shade of lavender makes you absolutely radiant.”
“Thank ye, Lady Ashworth,” Lady Inverhall offered with a small curtsey and a smile.
“Let us be off, then,” Lord Ashworth said with a flick of his hand. “Please see me again before you leave, Your Grace. I do have a question—something I read in the papers, about a new trade route. I want your expert opinion on the matter!”
“And you will have it, My Lord,” Hugo said with a smile. “Thank you again for the invitation.”
He watched Lord and Lady Ashworth walk away before turning his gaze back to Lady Inverhall.
“Ye are an expert on trade routes, Yer Grace?” she asked, sipping on champagne.
Hugo could not help himself—his gaze was drawn to the soft curve of her lips as they touched the rim of her glass. They were full, undeniably so, flushed a natural pink that needed no paint.
For one absurd moment, he imagined what it might feel like to kiss her, to taste whatever lingered on her lips.
He blinked sharply.
Fool.
This wasn’t the time for such thoughts. He looked away, schooling his features into polite indifference, even as his pulse betrayed him.
“I am well-versed in all matters of commerce,” he replied. “And yes, I know the trade routes intimately. The responsibilities of a duke are no light burden, but they suit a man of the proper constitution.”
“Ah, and ye are the right man for such a position, then?”
“No one better,” he affirmed, taking a sip of champagne. “And much as you claim to scorn comforts, even you must admit that the champagne is excellent.”
“I never claimed I do, Yer Grace. Merely that ye do, in excess. But it is delicious, aye,” she said, taking another delicate sip. “So, if business is yer pleasure, what do ye do for fun?”
“I read the newspapers from surrounding areas, enjoy a bit of exercise, and—”
“None of that sounds divertin’ to me.”
“To each their own,” he said. “Shall we do the rounds?”
The guests murmured their greetings with practiced civility as Hugo and Lady Inverhall made their way through the drawing room, a dozen polite smiles concealing twice as many opinions.
He could feel the weight of their scrutiny on her. The Scottish widow he’d brought down from the north was the subject of no small curiosity and more than a few thinly veiled appraisals.
He caught one older gentleman—Lord Everly, damn the man—letting his gaze drift far too boldly down the line of her décolletage.
Hugo’s jaw tightened. Beside him, Lady Inverhall only tilted her chin in that unconcerned way of hers, gliding forward with effortless poise, entirely unbothered.
Others watched her with a different sort of interest, the quiet, speculative sort, as though they expected her to stumble, to offer up some provincial absurdity that would earn her a column in a gossip sheet by morning.
Hugo found himself increasingly irritated by the attention she drew—from all sides.
He reminded himself, again, that he meant to marry her off. Quickly, advantageously, and without complications.
Then, a familiar, rakish face appeared beside them.
“Hugo, you old dog! Finally returned from your Highland adventures, I see.” Aaron Haynes, the Marquess of Sarford, clapped him on the back before turning his charming smile on Lady Inverhall.
“And who is this vision? I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure.
But if we have, and I somehow forgot, you have full permission to strike me, madam. ”
“Lord Sarford, this is the Dowager Marchioness of Inverhall,” Hugo said, his gaze sharpening slightly as his closest friend stepped forward to greet her. “Lady Inverhall, this is the Marquess of Sarford.”
“It is an absolute pleasure,” Aaron offered as he planted a small kiss on Lady Inverhall’s hand.
“Yes, you already said that—” Hugo started.
“It is worth repeating,” Aaron cut him off playfully. “I’ll say it once more for good measure. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Inverhall.”
“I must say, the pleasure is entirely mine, Lord Sarford,” Lady Inverhall replied, her cheeks pink and her smile wide.
“Oh, I do like the way that sounds,” Aaron drawled, letting a slow grin curve his mouth. “That accent of yours is downright dangerous. Tell me, were you born in the wild north of Scotland, or did you just make it sound that tempting?”
Hugo fought hard not to roll his eyes.
“I was, Me Lord. And thank ye for the compliment,” Lady Inverhall responded softly.
“You must get that all the time.”
“Actually, never. Nae once from an Englishman.”
“You jest, My Lady.”
“No, I daenae, Me Lord,” Lady Inverhall said, her voice quiet as she looked up at Hugo, who was not smiling.
“Well, if you’ve been spending time with this old codger, no wonder you are not accustomed to jokes, laughter, or any sort of levity,” Aaron snorted, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“I daresay I’ll have to make myself more available, if only to give you a proper education in the art of good humor. ”
Lady Inverhall chuckled softly, her slender fingers lightly brushing her cheek.
Hugo’s gaze lingered on the delicate motion, and, to his surprise, his heart rate quickened.
“In fact, Your Grace, you look as if you’ve been wrestling a badger. Has the Scottish air finally gotten the better of you?” Aaron asked, giving her a cheeky wink.
Lady Inverhall chuckled louder. “Indeed, Lord Sarford. He was quite the crabbit on the journey.”
Their laughter grated on Hugo, and a flicker of something akin to jealousy pricked his insides as he drained his second champagne flute. He quickly set it on a nearby table.
It was absurd. Aaron was merely being himself, yet something about the ease between him and Lady Inverhall frustrated him.
Just then, Hugo heard familiar footsteps approach, and a feminine voice cut through the polite chatter. “Oh, it is true! There you are, my dear boy! So, you have finally decided to return to civilization! I am glad for once that the rumors are true.”
His maternal grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Tarwood, swept toward them and curtsied. She was a formidable figure in rustling red silk.
She straightened, her eyes sharp as she assessed him. “Two weeks, young man! Two weeks without a word! I was beginning to think you had been carried off by a Highland beast!”
“Good evening, Grandmother,” Hugo offered with a bow.
The Dowager Duchess turned her attention to Lady Inverhall, her warm expression tightening into a mask of formal scrutiny, almost intimidating in its cold precision. Her gaze swept over Lady Inverhall once more, judging and assessing.
“And who might this be, my grandson? Hm… You leave me to my own devices for a fortnight, only to return with a new acquaintance?”
“Duchess, may I present the Dowager Marchioness of Inverhall?” Hugo began.
But Elspeth, perhaps encouraged by Aaron’s earlier charm, cut in before he could finish.
“Yer Grace,” she said with a quick, confident curtsey. “A pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Yer Grace.”
The Dowager Duchess’s eyebrows rose in subtle surprise, clearly taken aback by the forthrightness beneath Lady Inverhall’s otherwise proper address.
Hugo moved swiftly to intervene. “As you may have heard, Grandmother, my uncle, Lord Inverhall, passed quite suddenly. It was my duty to bring his widow to London and secure her future.”
The Dowager Duchess’s expression remained icy, but she offered only a tight nod as she produced a feathered fan from beneath her silk shawl, fanning herself with deliberate flair.
“Indeed. A duty, then,” she said, her tone frosty but even. “Very well.”
With that, the four of them—Hugo, Elspeth, Aaron, and the Dowager Duchess—fell into step with the other guests, moving toward the grand dining table in the adjoining room.
Thank goodness, we are seated together.
Elspeth looked at the nameplates with a sigh of relief. She was seated next to the Dowager Duchess and across from the Duke and his friend, Lord Sarford.