Chapter Fourteen
She wore a frock of shimmering silk brocade shot with metallic threads of silver and gold.
It dazzled in the gaslight, with a long, bustled train and a low, square neckline.
With Katie’s help, she dressed her hair high atop her head, with fat curls and coppery tendrils cascading over her bare shoulders.
Aurelia admired her reflection in the cheval glass. The last time she’d studied her appearance so closely, she’d felt critical of herself and uncertain of her attractiveness, but that was folly on her part, for her worth did not depend upon a mirror or a man’s gaze.
She possessed all the strength, beauty, and necessary appeal within her heart, and she beamed at herself in the glass.
Kate, the maid, beamed, too. “Oh, miss, you’re prettier than the Princess of Wales!”
They both laughed at that. Aurelia pivoted to inspect the long, tight bodice of her gown, so fashionable and expensively made, and undoubtedly fit for a princess—or a would-be duchess.
She did not think that His Grace would propose, though their feelings for one another grew deeper with every day, with almost every minute of her stay at Brantingham House.
He was a dear, sweet man, but he wasn’t a saint.
The Duke felt an attraction to her, physically and emotionally, and he was mortal enough to fall for a pretty girl in a gorgeous dress.
Aurelia did not require matrimony to feel complete when they could be together as friends, and perhaps even lovers. They could create a family of their own design.
“Wish me luck, Katie,” she said, “and enjoy your celebrations downstairs.”
There would be drinking and dancing in the servants’ hall to rival those festivities of the Charlton family. Aurelia had heard much about the plans both upstairs and below, and she was excited for everyone to kick up their heels on Christmas Eve.
Before she quit her bedchamber, she turned to call to Katie, “Don’t worry about lighting my fire or leaving a hot brick between my sheets. I can fend for myself tonight.” Smiling, she added, “Happy Christmas and have fun!”
She met the Duke of Brantingham in the corridor.
He wore white tie and evening dress, and her heart danced at the sight of him in his tailored black trousers and polished pumps.
His brown hair was swept back on his high, aristocratic forehead.
He was as tall and broad-shouldered, and as fit and handsome as ever, no matter what he wore.
“Were you waiting for me?” She asked, extending her hands to him.
His Grace lifted her gloved knuckles to his lips and kissed them. “Always,” he laughingly answered, “and I’m pleased to see my patience was rewarded.”
Aurelia swished her skirts and did a little spin for his amusement.
His eyes followed her every move, as though she were the only woman in the world meriting a second glance.
His gaze was hungry, proprietary, but never lewd or indecent.
Aside from kissing her in his carriage, the Duke was a consummate gentleman.
His attentions were always welcome.
“Honestly, I wanted the first sight of you so that I wouldn’t moon like a lovesick schoolboy when you descended the stairs.
” He offered his arm to her. “I also wanted to warn you about our party—we’ve twelve assorted Charltons, Beausires, and MacFanes on the guest list tonight.
I haven’t seen them since Mama’s funeral, so it shall be something of a family reunion.
” He led her down the wide, sconce-lit passage lined with priceless art and precious objects. “Do you mind?”
Her thoughts quite outstripped the pace of their conversation, and she found herself momentarily lost. She blinked up at him. “Mind what?”
“An intimate family gathering,” he replied. When they reached the grand staircase, he paused at the landing. “You’ll meet my deplorable uncle, my twin maiden aunts, and all the country cousins.”
“They sound lovely,” she said, for she’d always envied her friends and classmates who spent the holidays with family, extended family, and distant relatives all over Britain.
She was glad that His Grace had a vast network of kinfolk.
He was probably related in some way to every noble family of the English upper class. “You’re terribly blessed, Your Grace.”
He grinned. “Yes, terribly.”
She laughed. “When are they due to arrive?”
“Any minute now, actually. We ought to go down,” the Duke showed no inclination to leave their cozy perch above the bannisters, “though Margie and the others will have it in hand. I really must tell you, Aurelia, how beautiful you look tonight—how beautiful you are.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear.
“You leave me breathless. I hope I don’t make an ass of myself. ”
She couldn’t imagine His Grace being anything but perfect.
She adored him, and he could do no wrong.
Heavens, how she loved him!
Aurelia turned her face so that he could place a chaste, squirely kiss upon her softly powdered, lightly rouged cheek.
She had gone to great lengths to look her best for him and for herself.
She wanted him to feel breathless and slightly mad for her.
She wanted him to forget who he was and what she was, and whatever it was they hoped to be to each other.
“I suspect,” she said, teasing him, “you intend to make us late, so that you can have your grand entrance with me on your arm.”
He laughed and had the decency to blush—a manly blush, of course—turning his brawny, Yorkshire-bred features almost endearingly boyish and shy.
“Honestly, I am rather looking forward to showing you off, though I’m aiming for something far less formal.” He offered his hand to her and guided her down the sweeping marble staircase. “Will you be my hostess tonight? It won’t make you any less of the guest of honor, believe me.”
She smiled up at him. His words gave her hope beyond hope. “I’d be happy to stand by your side, Your Grace.”
They reached the bottom step, where the rest of his siblings had convened in the long gallery.
Lady Margery stood beneath the landscape painting by Claude Lorraine.
The eldest sister was dressed in rich amethyst silk, and her brown hair had been pinned up in a coiffure of glossy curls.
Lady Fanetta fussed with her green velvet skirts, trimmed and tasseled with gold braid.
She carried a glass of champagne and looked far too grown-up for a girl of nineteen.
Lord Peregrine had also dipped into the champagne, and his face was flushed and ruddy above the starched white collar of his evening clothes. “Oh, I say, Aurelia!” He called too loudly as she and the Duke approached. “You put even Miss Terry to shame!”
“Thank you, Perry,” she said, placing a kiss upon his high cheek, for like his brother, he stood a head taller than most people. “You’re looking dashingly handsome yourself.”
He grinned. “If I wasn’t worried about catching a thrashing from Selly, I’d kiss you back,” the youngest Charlton winked at her, adding, “but I’ve been told you’re off limits.”
“And so she is,” said His Grace, whisking her away from his siblings. “Don’t just stand there like good little soldiers. Come and let’s greet the rest of our family, as it seems our relatives have arrived.”
***
Aurelia Goldsworthy had been ‘off limits’ to anyone who wasn’t the Duke of Brantingham since she’d first crossed his threshold.
He had been curious about her, and felt protective of her, and was attracted to her—and had soon realized that she was the woman he’d been waiting for all his life.
That they would find one another and come together was inevitable, as fate had predetermined their paths long ago.
Twenty-one years ago, in fact.
He smiled at her as the doors of Brantingham House swept open to reveal a queue of carriages along Park Lane. Each elegant conveyance deposited its passengers onto the pavements, and these guests were welcomed with open arms by him, the head of his family.
Laughter and conversation erupted in the foyer. Coats, hats, and cloaks were collected by liveried footmen. Mama’s brother, Bertrand Beausire, a lean, long-limbed gentleman of impeccable taste, wrapped Selwyn in a tight hug.
The fellow looked so much like the late Duchess that Selwyn’s heart ached at the sight of him. “Uncle Bertrand,” he said, “Allow me to present you to my dearest friend, Miss Goldsworthy.” To Aurelia, he explained, “My deplorable Uncle Bertrand Beausire.”
His uncle’s keen eyes brightened at the sight of her, shimmering in the soft glow of the chandeliers overhead. She was a vision of silver and gold, copper and bronze, yet it was her face—her face!—that captured Uncle Bertrand’s attention.
“My dear child,” said his uncle in a flourish. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.” He kissed her gloved hand as she wished him ‘Happy Christmas.’
Margie led him upstairs to the drawing room, doubtless sharing in the joys of an unmarried state, for Uncle Bertrand was a confirmed bachelor.
Next came the maiden aunts, Lady Thea and Lady Thyra Charlton. They pinched his cheeks and teased him about his weight, and declared that he was his father’s son, and why had he not called upon them when last he’d passed through York?
The aunts spoke all at once, and in tangles. One could grow dizzy from their fussing and fawning and good-natured teasing.
“Aunt Thea, Aunt Thyra,” he said, regaining his bearings with a grin, “I should like to present to you both my dearest friend, Miss Goldsworthy.” To Aurelia, he playfully whispered, “Don’t worry if you cannot tell them apart, neither can we.”
The aunts tittered and laughed. They were plump, stately ladies whose fashionably fringed hair was streaked with grey and pinned with diamond stars. They glimmered and shimmered as they complimented Miss Goldsworthy’s frock and swooned over her perfect complexion.
His guest of honor-turned-hostess took the introductions in stride, smiling and making pleasant conversation until Aunt Thea and Aunt Thyra descended upon Fannie, who guided them up the marble staircase.
Brantingham House had been the home of their youth, and the aunts were always happy to return, which they frequently did, for Selwyn rejoiced in having his family about him.
His doors were always open to his father’s sisters, his mother’s brother, and the wave of cousins who now surged over the threshold before him.
Forming a receiving line, he made them known to Aurelia. “This is Lord Kexby, and behind him, Lord Rudston. Here comes Colonel MacFane and his wife, Anne.”
They were a giddy group and were pleased to meet Miss Goldsworthy, whose presence on their host’s arm could not have been misunderstood.
The youngsters Kexby and Rudston waggled their eyebrows in appreciation of Selwyn’s partner, and then disappeared upstairs with Perry talking animatedly between them.
Taking advantage of the quiet moment, Anne MacFane lifted onto her tiptoes to hug him, saying, “Life in the East Riding simply hasn’t been the same without your dear Mama, though you’ve done an admirable job of carrying the torch in her stead.
She’d be so proud of you, Selly—though she always was, of course. ”
Her husband, the Colonel, clapped Selwyn’s back and added, “You’re a decent, moral man. Hardworking and dutiful. You’ve never put a foot wrong so far as I’m concerned, and you always know to do the right thing for the dukedom and your family.”
It was high praise coming from a decorated military man, and Selwyn fought back the tightness in his chest. Their honest commendations made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, for he’d only ever done precisely what he’d been brought up to do.
He grinned through his blushes and offered to lead the MacFanes to the drawing room. “Your Christmas gifts are already under the tree, you know. There’s no need to butter me up.”
They laughed as they ascended the stairs. Music and merrymaking awaited them in the drawing room, for the double doors to the ballroom were thrown open and one of his twin aunts played a jaunty carol on the piano.
Footmen offered glasses of champagne and ladled out mugs of smoking bishop from behind a buffet table topped with trays of mince pies, marrons glacés, fruits, cakes, and gingerbreads. Selwyn offered Miss Goldsworthy a glass.
He took one for himself, asking as he drank, “How are you finding our motley crew so far?”
She smiled at him over the rim of her champagne glass. “They’re wonderful, Your Grace. I can’t help but notice that, with the exception of the MacFanes, most of your kinfolk are unmarried. Why is that, do you think?”
“I suppose we believe in marrying for love rather than position. When one is born at the very pinnacle of society, one needn’t settle for anything other than happiness and self-fulfillment.
My father didn’t force his sisters to marry, and I cannot in good conscience pressure Margie or Fannie to find husbands when they’ve a home here with me for as long as they wish. ”
Her hazel eyes brightened. “So you’ll let Margie attend university?”
He smiled and winked. “’Tis the season for making everybody’s dreams come true—but don’t tell her just yet. I wish it to be a surprise.”
“My lips are sealed,” she said, crossing them with one slender fingertip.
“Not too sealed, I hope.” Selwyn bent to press a quick kiss to the side of her mouth, whispering into the soft shell of her ear, beneath the cascade of coppery curls that crowned her head, “Tonight, I want you to think of your dreams, Aurelia. Consider what you want out of life, irrespective of me or anyone else. I hold you in the highest esteem, you must know. You’re as welcome here as any Charlton, Beausire, or MacFane, and you needn’t ever settle for anything less than your heart’s desire. ”
He hoped that he was that man.
He was a stalwart, broad-backed Yorkshireman.
A reliable workhorse, an unwavering protector and provider.
He was the Duke of Brantingham, a privileged and powerful gentleman descended from a long line of aristocratic warriors and valorous crusaders.
For her, he would fight. For her, he would stand his ground against all manner of foes, even if he pulled down the walls of his noble house, shattering the foundations and bringing censure upon his head.
But for now, it was Christmas Eve, a night of jollity and revelry. Selwyn tossed back his glass of champagne and reached for Miss Goldsworthy’s hand. Together, they were swept into the celebration, enveloped in the bosom of his family as though they’d always belonged.