Chapter 3 #4
Wine was poured into goblets as the first course of pea soup was set before them. A woman across the table and to the Duke’s left, Lady Danbury, leaned forward to address the Dowager Duchess.
“How did you fare at cards the other day, Your Grace?”
“Quite well,” the Dowager Duchess responded as she spooned the soup into her mouth with delicate precision.
“Do you play quadrille, Lady Inverhall?” Lady Danbury asked.
“I cannae say I’ve ever heard of it, Me Lady,” Elspeth replied as she slurped her soup, covering the slight droplets with her napkin. “But I am willin’ to learn.”
“I have always admired the soft, musical lilt of an Edinburgh accent,” Lady Danbury said, her eyes flicking over Elspeth.
“Yours, however, is most distinctive. Tell me, are you quite certain you will find London Society to your liking? It must feel like an entirely new continent, would you not say?”
Elspeth, her jaw tight, met her gaze. She took in the older lady’s face, as harsh as a cold winter day, with grey eyes and hair piled atop her head, which did her no favors.
She set down her spoon. “As unusual, perhaps, as yer grasp of manners, Lady Danbury. I find London Society quite revealin’ of human nature. Aye, I am learnin’ quite a bit.”
A shocked murmur rippled through the immediate vicinity, while those further away could not hear their conversation.
Elspeth heard snippets of a spirited conversation about the merits of freshwater fishing between the Dowager Duchess and Lord Ashworth, who was a few seats down from her.
Another gentleman, Lord Reginald, chimed in with a deep laugh that jiggled his belly, “One hears such tall tales blow down from the Highlands. Of strange customs and even stranger women.”
Elspeth’s eyes flashed as she looked at him. “And can you imagine, I hear such tales from London, Me Lord. Of small minds and even smaller hearts.”
“Indeed, you are correct in your assessments, Lord Reginald,” the Duke interjected. “Having just visited, I can say that the Highlands are a land of wild beauty and unique traditions. Lady Inverhall is merely demonstrating the spirited nature of her homeland.”
He shot Elspeth a warning glance, which may as well have been an arrow.
Aye, fittin’ that he is the Duke of Arrowfell.
He can shoot as well as any man I have ever seen with just his deep blue eyes.Lord Sarford let out a booming laugh, cutting through the tension.
“Speaking of wildness, Your Grace, did you hear about the rogue boar that escaped Lord Grantham’s estate last week?
Rampaged straight through his rose garden.
I am told his valet nearly resigned on the spot! ”
“Oh, yes!” Lord Reginald exclaimed, slamming his glass on the table and sloshing red wine across the pristine cloth. “I heard poor Grantham landed flat on his—”
“You ought to behave yourself, My Lord,” Lady Danbury said dryly, lifting her goblet with regal grace. “There are ladies present.”
“Indeed,” the Dowager Duchess added, not missing a beat. “This is a dinner table, Lord Reginald, not the stables at Newmarket. Kindly keep your backside anecdotes to yourself.”
The rest of the meal passed without incident, the guests content with their mutton, rabbit, and boiled vegetables. The conversation settled into safer terrain, but the heat simmering across the table remained stubbornly in place. Even the chilled trifles at the end did little to cool it.
Elspeth kept her smile fixed in place, her posture perfect, but her eyes remained locked on the Duke’s across the candles and cut glass. He hadn’t spoken to her directly since the Dowager Duchess’s withering remark, and she hadn’t offered him a single word in return.
She took her final spoonful of trifle and set her spoon down with careful precision, her gaze still steady on his.
If he meant to control her, to parade her, or to pity her, he would find her far more difficult than that.
At the end of the long affair, they returned to Arrowfell House in weary silence. Their bellies were full of rich food, and the remnants of fine wine made the hall feel warmer than it was.
The moment they stepped into the entranceway, Hugo turned to face her, his jaw set.
“Lady Inverhall,” he said curtly.
She rubbed her eyes, heavy with sleep. “Aye, Yer Grace?”
His voice dropped low, laced with quiet fury. “What, exactly, was that display with Lady Danbury and Lord Reginald? You undermined every introduction I arranged and turned the evening into a sideshow.”
“I wasnae seated near a single eligible gentleman,” she replied, her voice steady but tired.
“You had ample opportunity before dinner. You might have exercised some discretion while doing the rounds.” He stepped forward, his frustration mounting.
Lady Inverhall stiffened. “I spoke plainly. I dinnae see the need to flatter fools or feign interest in a man like Lord Reginald.”
“That was not your decision to make,” Hugo said tightly. “This is not Inverhall. You are not some free-spirited tenant’s daughter amusing herself at a village fair. You are a dowager marchioness in the heart of London, and you are expected to behave accordingly.”
Her eyes flashed. “And I told ye, I’ve no intention of marryin’ again. So ye can stop pushin’ me into every drawing room like a mare up for auction.”
He stared at her, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “My convenience, Lady Inverhall, happens to be rather important to me. I have worked too hard to throw away opportunities because you find civility beneath you.”
“Do ye care for no one’s interests but yer own?” she asked, her voice quieter now, but no less fierce.
The question landed hard in the space between them.
For a moment, Hugo faltered.
Yes, she was right; he was forcing her into something she clearly loathed. He knew all too well what little future awaited a woman like her.
This was not cruelty. It was practicality.
But then he remembered her barbed remarks, her refusal to show even the smallest courtesy, and the sharp glint she always wore like armor. The thought that she enjoyed pushing him—that she relished resisting—ignited his frustration once more.
He stepped closer, his tall frame crowding hers, his voice low and even.
“You should be grateful,” he said. “Grateful that I am willing to secure a future for you. One you will never find in that superstitious corner of the Highlands you cling to like a badge of pride.”
She let out a scoff that prickled down his spine.
She tilted up her chin, her green eyes unflinching. “Oh, I’ll show ye just how grateful I am, Yer Grace.”
“Is that a threat?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Perhaps it is,” she said calmly.
Hugo’s gaze flicked to those full, infuriating lips. A heat sparked low in his belly, unwelcome but insistent.
He hated the pull of her—how her defiance only seemed to deepen it. Even now, as she challenged him, all he could think about was how that fire might feel in his hands.
Damn her.
With a sharp exhale, he clenched his fists, more out of restraint than anything else, and turned on his heel.
He said nothing further as he strode down the corridor, the echo of his footsteps as clipped and angry as the slam of his door moments later.
In his chamber, he paced to the hearth, stoked the fire with unnecessary force, then crossed to the window. He threw it open, hoping the night air might cool the heat inside him.
It did not.
He undressed in silence, lay down in his large bed, and closed his eyes. He tried to think of business, of ledgers, shipments, the logic of trade. But it was no use.
All he saw was her. Those flashing emerald-green eyes, the defiant tilt of her chin, the mess of dark curls he wanted to thread his fingers through just once.
Sleep eventually came.
And with it, dreams he would never admit out loud.