Chapter Twelve
A quick shave and a splash of water later, Jackson had dressed in a claret waistcoat over a cream linen shirt tucked into fawn-colored breeches.
He’d shrugged off wearing the navy coat, knowing the country weather turned sweltering by afternoon, but he did decide on strong soled boots before making his way downstairs .
. . to find he was late for his engagement breakfast. Damn near afternoon tea at this point.
“There you are.” The dowager duchess stood on the threshold of the dining room in a high-necked lavender dress, her expression pinched as noise from the full room beyond made it abundantly clear he’d missed his entrance.
“Here I thought, when that tactless hoyden returned from upstairs, she had gone to fetch you to welcome your guests.”
Jackson’s gaze flicked through the open dining room doors, catching the eye of said hoyden, who had a gloriously smug grin on her face. His lips kicked up. “The occasion must have slipped her mind.” Intentionally, and with full awareness of what would be an uncomfortable surprise later.
She truly was the most deliciously cruel woman, especially when those lush lips of hers lifted so invitingly when she gloated.
“Forgetful as well as boisterous.” His mother shook her head. “What is to become of the Grandfellow name?”
Anna had slipped into a corner of the room and away from the milling crowd. Jackson watched her move with predatory enjoyment.
“Fire and brimstone, I’d imagine,” Jackson said, half-listening. “Excuse me.”
He entered the room and successfully avoided the trap of conversation by sticking close to the outer wall.
His younger brother caught his eye, looking as if he’d intercept him, but Figaro’s gaze flicked to Jackson’s intended company, and he raised his glass in silent salute.
Jackson nodded his appreciation for understanding and took his place at Anna’s side.
She turned to him with a smile. “Duke. How kind of you to join us. I do hope you had a pleasant morning?”
“Rather pleasant,” he said, soaking up her look of triumph. “Though I did have quite a shock when the loveliest bird swept into my chambers this morning.”
“‘A bird’?” Anna’s mock surprise was about as refined as a child’s. “You must lock your doors and bar your windows.”
“Wouldn’t help, I’m afraid,” he said. “Seems this particular bird can pick even the trickiest of locks.”
“Whatever will you do, Duke?”
Enjoy every moment. “I suppose there is only one thing I can do: hope my winged intruder has kind intentions.”
Her lashes fluttered prettily. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
He accepted a glass of pinkish liquid from a servant before he leaned down to whisper something scandalous and shocking in her ear—when the front of her dress caught his eye.
From up close, it almost looked as if—
“Are those beetles sewn into your bodice?” He hadn’t noticed more than her creamy skin and delicious smell in his chambers.
“Only the husks,” she said. “They’ve been painted for preservation, naturally, but the overall effect is to my instruction.”
“You asked for insects to adorn your dresses?”
“Three full trunks full of garments arrived from the modiste this morning.”
“That was fast,” he said, brows raised. Premeditated.
“I told Madame Bomfrey to simply adjust whatever leftover dresses she had from previous seasons and add the necessary parts.”
It took considerable will to keep the grin from lifting his lips. If she thought a bit of pigmented exoskeleton would put him off, she’d forgotten who had talked her into collecting worms by the river when they’d been eleven.
“I wait with bated breath to see your wedding wardrobe,” he said. “Should I expect knitted butterfly wings? Bronze-coated ants?”
“A hive-full of wasps stitched in hundreds of rows.” Her eyes narrowed. “With all their stingers still attached.”
He’d pay good money to see that.
“Attempting to keep me at a distance, General?”
“A reminder I won’t be easy prey for your bumbling efforts at seduction.”
“You acknowledge my efforts, then?” Jackson raised her hand to his lips and kissed her lace-gloved knuckles. “I am honored, my dear.”
She smiled up at him while subtly wiping the back of her hand on her dress. “You really shouldn’t be, my dear.”
Jackson chuckled as she walked away, stalling his desire to chase after her. Prickly, strong-willed, wearing beetle husks for dress adornments for goodness’s sake; he must thank God in his prayers tonight for such an entertaining betrothed.
Everyone else—with their backhanded speech and obsequious manners—paled in comparison to her straightforward hostility.
“You’re smiling, Your Grace,” Viscountess Tisway said, her cane striking the wooden floor as she stopped in front of him.
She glanced across the room where a certain hostile bride-to-be stared down anyone foolish enough to approach.
“I’m glad to see you and your intended have friendly feelings for one another. ”
“Yes,” Jackson agreed. “Friendly.”
Like a hungry falcon and a field mouse.
“Will you settle in the country after the nuptials?” Lady Tisway asked.
“Don’t ask such silly questions,” Viscountess Holloway came up on Lady Tisway’s right. “A man like the duke would go mad to be kept in such easy comfort. Isn’t that right, Your Grace?”
“But he will have a duchess to keep him entertained after tomorrow. Surely, Miss Greene will desire a reprieve from society as she acclimates to her new position?” Baroness Febass completed the trio, taking up position on Lady Tisway’s other side.
Boxing Jackson in where he stood in the corner.
All three turned to him, their expressions expectant.
“No, yes, and I highly doubt it,” he answered in order.
“Ha!” Lady Tisway said. “You should discuss such things so there is no doubt. A husband should never assume when it comes to his wife. Not with one so high-spirited as Miss Greene.”
They had no idea.
Jackson nodded his head. “I will keep that in mind, my lady—” His words cut off, his agent’s instinct stirring awake before his conscious mind at the unnatural silence that filtered through the room.
The Widows turned the same time Jackson did, to see the room’s attention on Anna . . . and the look of pure fury on her lovely face.
“Stop sulking,” the dowager duchess snapped at Anna’s elbow. “If you cannot make basic conversation, then at least smile. If we’re fortunate, people will think you simple but passably pleasing to the eye.”
“Like a doll or a dog,” Anna said.
“Do not mumble, either.” The elder lady smiled as she caught the eye of a nearby couple.
Keeping her voice low, she said, “It is unholy witchcraft that has tempted my son for him to tolerate that tongue of yours. He’d do well to take a leather strap to you, if you are to be cured of such blatant disrespect. ”
“Jackson would never hit me.”
The words were out of her mouth before Anna could comprehend the instant fire in her belly at such vilified recounting of the duke’s character.
It was the same reaction she’d had when Eloise had questioned Jackson’s intentions in the park.
Much as she wished to let lie any lingering feelings of affection, being around him again had stirred from sleep old memories of the boy he’d once been.
And allowed new feelings to awaken for the man he’d become.
This new Jackson could be cold—calculating, even—but he would never resort to violence to curb her voice. She knew. No matter how harsh . . . or unfair she could be. It was pure spite that had kept her from mentioning the breakfast, when he’d so clearly forgotten.
And yet he’d taken the cruel ploy with humor and good-natured teasing.
Her gaze tracked through the crowded dining room, finding the duke almost immediately.
With no hat or coat, his ebony curls and wide shoulders were on full display.
Much too informal for an engagement meal, but Jackson never stood out in a bad way.
It was as if his ducal nature were a wardrobe of fine garments in and of itself, something he always carried with him and of which a person could not be unaware.
Unlike her, who was always standing out in a bad way, like a nail that needed to be hammered into place.
“Stop frowning, for goodness’s sake. People will think you ornery,” said the hammer beside her.
“Let them think what they will,” Anna said. “It’s not as if I know more than a handful of people here, anyway.”
The dowager duchess clicked her tongue. “I should think not. As if a woman of your birth would rub elbows with the crème de la crème of society. These people are here for my son—to keep his name from sully. You should be so lucky as to empty their chamber pots.”
Fury flashed through Anna’s blood, too quickly and hot to hold back. “I wouldn’t be caught serving these puffed-up peacocks tea.”
The mingling groups around them went silent.
Anna swallowed slowly, realizing her words had carried in the high-ceilinged room.
She didn’t lower her voice. “I come from a trade family, it is true. Good, hardworking people.” She turned and met the eyes of every aghast stranger.
“I can only imagine how you all stand so tall when the only thing holding you up are unearned titles through the toil of those same laborers and self-grandiose none of you rightly deserve.”
Every eye in the room was on her now. Her ears and neck burned from the attention, but she squared her shoulders. “Whatever my faults, my opinions, my mistakes, at least I can say they are my own. I will pander and scrape to no one.”
Anna’s gaze swept over the crowd, finding four pairs of eyes that were nothing like the rest. Lady Tisway, Lady Febass, and Lady Holloway wore matching grins . . . and Jackson—
Anna did look away then, to her self-beratement.
She turned on her heel and moved toward the door, the stunned crowd rushing to part for her.
To avoid sullying their pristine selves with the likes of my commonness.