Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“So,” he said, “I see you like the flowers.”
The following morning, after avoiding Belinda’s malice and jealousy, Elinor found herself unable to sit still in the parlor.
Opposite her, the Duke of Fairmont held a steady, charming smile, the flowers at his side awaiting a vase.
“They are clematis,” she noted, looking at the pink color. “They are actually my favorite, Your Grace.”
“How could I have ever guessed?” he grinned.
“However indeed,” Belinda muttered from where she sat adjacent to Elinor, on a settee with Joanna, who had yet to say a single word beyond good morning when the duke first arrived.
Next to Elinor, Lady Morland watched them like a hawk, properly chaperoning the morning visit, but Elinor wished she could send them all away.
She wished desperately she could insist they had already been alone together, and nothing improper would happen. Elinor was not inclined that way, and definitely not with this duke.
“They are a flower that symbolizes intelligence,” the duke told her, even though she already knew. “It felt … fitting.”
Elinor ducked her head, fiddling with the doily in her lap. She twisted her fingers around the edge of the lace curves, hoping that her face did not show too much about her pleasure that he had thought about such a thing.
“How peculiar that a short, first meeting gives you that impression of my stepsister,” Belinda cut in before Elinor could find her voice. “I am certain you and I spoke for longer, Your Grace.”
The duke only smiled thinly at her, yet it remained polite. He had now called her intelligent several times, and Elinor wondered if he could be the first man to tolerate her thoughts and opinions, the things she normally had to hide, or if it really were part of his ruse.
“Your Grace,” Lady Morland said to chase away the lingering tension Belinda created. “You must try the scones. My cook is rather well-known for them.”
“Most certainly,” he answered, reaching forward to take one. He caught Elinor’s eye. “May I prepare one for you, too, Lady Elinor?”
“Oh.” She blinked, her focus flitting from the flowers to his face.
She was aware of how terribly she blushed, how flustered she was getting beneath his attention. She needed to keep herself better composed; Belinda’s scowl was already burning holes into the side of her head.
“Come now, Elinor,” Lady Morland laughed. “You cannot keep His Grace waiting. You must accept.”
“It seems she has lost her voice,” Belinda mocked. “A lady must keep her wits about her in such esteemed company, Elinor.”
“You are perfectly fine,” the duke assured her. “I am used to ladies being speechless around me.”
That snapped Elinor back into activity, and she fought back a frown, not wanting to be one of those ladies. “I would appreciate a scone, yes.”
“Cream and jam?”
“Butter, actually,” Elinor countered. “My father used to have his with butter, and I simply follow suit.”
The duke regarded her in that amused way once again, and she wondered what on Earth about her interested him so much, or was he really that good an actor that he could pretend to flatter her and make it look genuine?
“Butter it is,” he said, swiping a knife through the block of butter on the dish that had been set out upon his arrival.
The scones were loaded up on a silver display that had three platforms. Below them were macarons and then fruit on the lowest platform. In truth, Elinor would have much rather plucked one of the peach slices and eaten that, but as her stepmother had pointed out, she could not refuse a duke.
He finished buttering her scone and handed it over. Then, peculiarly, he applied butter to his own scone.
“You seemed perplexed by my choice, Your Grace,” she commented, “yet you like the same?”
“I am a fan of jam, in all truth,” he told her. “But I am curious in your choice, so I wish to know the appeal.”
“I like jam, too,” Belinda interrupted. “For sweet things please me. Do they please you, too, Your Grace?”
Her words were heavy with intent, and the duke nodded, his gaze flicking back to Elinor. “They do.” He did not offer any further answer, but Elinor tried not to find meaning in his words.
Elinor wanted to tell him that, yes, they needed their pretense, but he would get her into trouble if Belinda did not get the attention she thought she deserved. Next to her stepsister, Joanna was shyly quiet, focusing on nibbling on an orange macaron.
Belinda huffed and snatched a scone up, lathering it with jam as if to make a point.
“Where is that darling cat of yours?” The duke looked around as if Newton would appear, but Elinor only chuckled.
“He is … shy around groups,” she answered, trying not to outright say he despised her stepfamily. “He mostly stays in my room, curled up beneath my bed.”
“Do you prefer cats or dogs, Your Grace?” Belinda asked. “I much prefer dogs myself. But only small ones. Mama bought me a Pomeranian when I was a little girl, and I loved her ever so much. She was so fluffy.”
Lucien’s eyes flicked to Elinor’s. “I have recently found myself fonder of cats. I do believe they are rather popular with dukes and children.”
Elinor paused, her teacup halfway to her mouth, and he gave her the slightest smile, just one for them.
“I am confused,” Joanna spoke up.
“Never mind,” Lucien chuckled, looking away from Elinor. “Lady Morland, this tea is lovely. Thank you.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she preened, tilting her head demurely. “I cannot have a duke present in my house and not serve him the best.”
“Is it Chinese? I hear they are doing lots of imports. They say that is the best tea.”
“It is … not, no.” Elinor caught her stepmother’s frown before she forced a bright smile. “But I shall keep that in mind to have for next time. You are intending on visiting again, yes? It seems Lady Belinda has plenty to speak with you about—”
“I am sure I will visit again,” he cut her off. “Lady Belinda, what things do you wish to discuss?” He made it ever so formal, so businesslike, and Belinda’s mouth opened and closed, caught off-guard.
“I—” She clenched her hands together, laughing nervously. “Well, there is the matter remaining of me performing for you.”
“I believe we have concluded that matter.” His tone was politely gentle but firm, and Elinor bit back a laugh at the slight dismissal, so subtle it may have gone unnoticed. “Lady Elinor, what should we speak about? I have heard around the ton that you—”
“Oh, Your Grace,” Lady Morland interrupted, wincing in her panic. “Do not listen greatly to what the ton says about my stepdaughter. They are quite wrong.”
“Really?” Lucien cocked his head. “Word traveling is that she is rather perceptive. Outspoken in brief moments, yes, but who of us is not when we are passionate? I am interested in getting to know your perceptive mind, Lady Elinor.” He switched his focus halfway through his words, and Elinor tried to keep her heated cheeks at bay.
He was most adept at this acting spiel; in comparison, she felt at a great loss.
“I …” She hesitated, finding her stepmother’s glare fixed on her. “I am nothing special, Your Grace. I assure you. As my stepmother said, the ton can be wrong.”
“And yet that is not what I am seeing.”
It was too much, a step too far beyond their subtle teasing, and Elinor did not know how to answer, nor how to endure Belinda’s heated stare still beating into the side of her face.
She didn’t dare look over. Belinda could be hostile and unpredictable with her cruelty and accusations at the best of times when Elinor had done nothing to smite her.
Now, the Duke of Fairmont was openly preferring her company to Belinda’s, and Elinor was enthused but knew she would be the one paying the price.
When this is all over, she thought, I am still stuck with them. I must tread carefully even as I keep to our deal.
Elinor inhaled shakily. “Another scone, Your Grace?”
“I think I am rather full,” he chuckled, likely knowing she was pointedly shifting the conversation’s focus. “But would you like one? I can prepare you another—”
“I am fine!” she said, too quickly, too rudely, too panicked. She cleared her throat. “I am full also.”
“But you have not touched your scone,” Joanna pointed out, and Elinor could only laugh anxiously, still fiddling with the embroidered doily.
“Nevertheless.” The duke cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room once more.
How could he not? He was charming; he was handsome. He was everything that Belinda ought to be matched with, yet it was somehow Elinor he had chosen to have this farce with.
“I was wondering, Lady Morland, if you and your daughters are planning to attend the Hales’ ball? I believe it is coming up in several days.”
“Of course we are,” Elinor’s stepmother affirmed. “Lady Hale and I are good friends. I received our invitation several weeks ago. She is always overly prepared.”
“Then I am certain I will see Lady Elinor in attendance at this one.” The duke inclined his head at Elinor. “Seeing as you were so very unwell at the last one.”
“So unwell,” she answered in a tight voice, fighting a smile.
“I do hope you do not find yourself otherwise occupied.” He lifted a teasing brow, and heavens, he was acting far too well.
Elinor had never known the attention of a suitor, and now she was beneath it, whether it was an act or not—which of course it was, because a man like him would never look twice at her in other circumstances—she did not know how to keep herself composed.
She had always put her studies above everything else. Nothing had ever been appealing in the way her studying felt. Yet now … now, she felt herself falling into those green eyes that were the color of the greenest grass as it grew anew in spring.
Compose yourself, Elinor, she thought. You think you are a terrible actress, but you are certainly playing the blushing lady very well.