Chapter 2
The last carriage had gone, Mills had taken himself off to bed, and the drawing room had settled into the quiet of a house that had been full of people not long ago, but was now empty of all but two.
“Well—” Daniel toasted James with a glass of brandy from where he lounged in a chintz chair, his long legs stretched out before him “—you survived.”
Indeed, and it hadn’t been nearly as bad as James had feared. Still, he’d never admit as much to his irritating, jackanapes of a brother. “Barely,” he grumbled.
Daniel laughed, the same warm good-natured laugh he always seemed to possess. “You forget, my dear brother, I’ve known you all of my life. You did more than survive this evening. I daresay you even enjoyed yourself.”
“I enjoyed you being at the other end of the table.” James poured himself a glass of brandy and then made his way to the settee, near his brother. Dear God, he would miss Daniel when he left for Bermuda. Of course, he would never—
“Cait’s sister almost made you laugh this evening, which I want you to know I have been keeping track.”
“Have you?”
Daniel agreed with a nod. “And the current tally stands at two, which is twice more than you almost laughed at the last dinner party you attended, in case you were wondering."
"I wasn’t." James settled back in his seat and cradled his drink in his hands.
“I thought not," Daniel said. "Still, it bore mentioning.”
“Did it, indeed?”
Daniel’s eyes twinkled with just a hint of mischief, just like when they were children. “Of course, such novel occurrences ought not to be brushed aside. As you almost laughed twice this evening, I want you to be careful you don’t crack that stiff exterior of yours when you’re not looking.”
“I shall endeavor to be careful,” he replied dryly which earned him a smirk from his brother.
Daniel took another sip of his brandy. " It was good to see you actually enjoy an evening for once."
It had felt good too, a momentary respite from the thoughts that were increasingly plaguing him. “It was a good evening,” he agreed. “Or mostly.”
“Ah.” Daniel nodded. “I understand Hannah escaped the nursery again this evening.”
“A trait, apparently, she inherited from her uncle.”
“I can remember a few times you made your own escapes.”
Had he? James couldn’t remember a time he’d escaped anything.
Not the suffocating weight of the dukedom at a young age, not the death of his beloved wife, and not now the impending doom that loomed ever-so precariously over his head every waking hour.
And the sleeping hours too, for that matter. “I’m worried about her, Daniel, about…”
Daniel sat forward in his seat. “You will be fine. Better than fine. You will outlast all of us, just wait and see.”
There was nothing else he could do. Wait and see. Until he couldn’t do that any longer. He bid his brother a good night and then made his way to the nursery.
Hannah was asleep. Her blonde hair spread across the pillow and her expression one of complete and total peace. Marmalade had apparently escaped the kitchens once more and the little kitten was snoring louder than someone his size had a right to do.
James considered removing him, but instead he pulled the door closed and went to his own chambers.
If there was something fractionally lighter in his step than there had been that morning, he attributed it to a successful evening and the satisfaction of a gathering that had gone well, and left it at that.
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
He went to sleep before it could occur to him that he had also, at some point during the evening, stopped thinking of the gathering as something to be endured.
Hythe House
Curzon Street, Mayfair
Cori dropped into the middle of her four-poster with a world-weary sigh, and stared up at the ceiling above. It had all gone so well…until she’d decided to plop down like an unrefined salt raker in the middle of Linthorpe’s marble corridor. Just the memory made her cheeks warm anew.
Heaven help her if Cara should ever learn of this faux pas.
Cori grabbed a pillow and hid under it, as if doing so could erase her memories of her embarrassment all together.
A knock sounded on her door and Cori winced. The last thing she wanted to do was rehash the evening with Cait.
“Yes?” she said into the pillow, still covering her face. Perhaps if her sister couldn’t hear her, perhaps if she thought Cori was asleep…
No such luck. The door opened—
“Corinna?”
The duchess?
Cori peeked from under her pillow. “I thought you were Cait.”
The old woman, who was so much like a grandmother to her, lifted her brow in surprise. “Sleeping in your gown, are you?”
Cori sat up and glanced down at her third dress of the evening. She sighed. She probably should have rung for her maid. “Just recovering from the evening,” she said.
“Ah.” The Duchess sat on the edge of Cori’s bed. “Was there much to recover from, my dear? You seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”
Up until she’d made a cake of herself. Instead of admitting as much, Cori shrugged one shoulder. “Just not sure if I’m cut out for all of this, Your Grace.”
“Cut out for all of this?” the duchess echoed.
“Fitting into London society. It’s a far cry from the shores of Bermuda.”
The older lady smiled, warmly like she always did. “Cara and Cait have managed, and—”
“Cara’s rather polished and Cait—”
“Would balk at being called polished,” the duchess added.
That was true enough. “Yet she found a fellow who seems to adore her just the same.”
“And you will find a fellow who loves and cherishes you precisely because you are who you are too,” the older woman assured her.
Cori wished she felt just as certain of that as the duchess seemed. Of course, Her Grace hadn’t seen Cori sitting in the middle of Linthorpe’s corridor, either. A groan must have escaped her because the duchess’ brow lifted once more in question.
“No recovering from a poor first impression, is there?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Her Grace began. “And I would say that you made a wonderful impression on everyone tonight.”
Well, then a poor impression immediately following a decent first one, Cori supposed.
“Whatever you think cannot be surmounted, you’re wrong.” The duchess patted Cori’s knee. “You’re Bernard Beckett’s daughter. You’re capable of anything.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” Cori admitted.
The old lady winked at her. “I have enough for both of us,” she assured. “Whatever it is you’re worried about, I promise that it will look better in the morning,”
“Thank you,” Cori said quietly.
“Now ring for your maid.” The duchess pushed back to her feet. “That dress is too lovely to sleep in.”
Once alone, Cori rang for her maid and then changed out of her gown. She did all the sensible things a sensible woman did at the end of an evening.
And then she lay in the dark and thought about the incident in Linthorpe’s corridor and the way the duke had looked her.
She thought about the way he had held the kitten, and the way he had glanced back at her before he rounded the corner.
Dukes didn’t generally glance back, did they?
Cori didn’t think so. Linthorpe had done so, however.
Of course, the fact that he had looked back didn’t necessarily mean something monumental.
Even with that thought, Cori couldn’t get to sleep and she couldn’t will the incident from her mind. It just replayed over and over and over some more. She was still thinking about it when the clock chimed three o'clock.