Chapter 20
Twenty
The two dukes presented their cards to the footman and were ushered into the morning room in which, in addition to the objects of their visit and those objects’ chaperone, were already situated two junior lieutenants, a marquess, and one baron.
Millicent, however, dimpled delightfully at the two of them, and Aurora blushed when she saw Alec, then bent her head down to her embroidery.
“Please come in, Your Graces, please come in,” fluttered Lady Wentworth. “Have a dish of tea with us. We are recounting the delights of yesterday evening at Lady Hinsdale’s and discussing what further evenings and events the Season may have in store for us.”
Like a master general, before they were aware of it, Lady Wentworth had somehow displaced the two junior lieutenants, reorganized the marquess and the baron, and had Alec seated next to Aurora and Finn next to Millicent.
There was some unhappiness on the part of the earlier callers as a result of this re-shuffling of the players.
One of the junior lieutenants appeared to be on the verge of calling the Duke of Galloway out for usurping his ability to hover and attempt to catch the delightful Miss Wentworth’s eye, but his companion had quickly sized up the two veterans and decided retreat was the better part of valor.
A marquess and a baron were fair game, but two members of the Ton who had clearly seen action in the wars necessitated a withdrawal.
With a collection of bows to their hostess and glances of longing directed at Missie, the quartet of younger men reluctantly took their leave.
Alec found himself wryly amused by the parting gestures of said marquess, who apparently needed to remind himself to direct an apologetic glance Aurora’s way, as if to say he was sorry to have overlooked her, then blushed as he seemingly recalled which of the two young women was the heiress, and that he had been remiss in his attentions to her. But am I doing any better?
The quartet’s departure left the two dukes firmly seated next to their objects of desire while also holding a cup and saucer filled with the most delightful of teas and the definite sensation their respective campaigns were underway.
“How are you enjoying London, Miss Hardcastle?”
She paused and swallowed. With a deliberate effort, she set down her embroidery and attempted to speak. “It is marvelous, Your Grace. Though, truly, I have not seen much of it. There is a great deal of history here.”
“Ah, yes, the Tower.”
“Yes, such as the Tower.” Here Miss Hardcastle finally raised her face and looked at him directly.
Alec had the distinct impression she was looking right into him, that she would be able to read him like a book, and it made him uncomfortable.
He shifted slightly, and she dropped her eyes again.
He felt a sudden loss when she did so, however, which surprised him, and he realized he wanted her to look at him again.
“So, do you prefer the city or the country?”
“I do prefer the country. Cities are terribly important, but I miss the openness. Here you are all so crowded together. I have managed an outing to the park,” and here she blushed and looked very intently at her embroidery.
“I understand you perfectly, Miss Hardcastle.” There was something in his tone that caused her to look up again, puzzled, unsure of whether or not he was quizzing her. His gaze remained placid, though, and then became slightly wistful. “I miss my home as well.”
“Is it beautiful where you are from, sir?”
“The most beautiful place on earth. There is nowhere else to compare with Scotland. It is an old estate and lacks all of the latest folderols of London. I would not trade it, though, for a thousand cities.”
Alec noted the warmth in the smile Aurora bestowed on him as well as how it lit up her eyes and animated her face. “And I understand you perfectly, Your Grace. And how is, if I may—”
But Alec heard nothing further as his eyes strayed to where Millicent sat, ostensibly focused on the Duke of Galloway.
Nevertheless, he knew she was aware of his gaze, or his presence, because of the occasional glances that she would steal his way in turn.
When he turned his attention back to Aurora, she smiled politely at him and ventured nothing further beyond a simple yes or no to any questions that he politely raised.
* * *
Finn pretended not to notice the byplay.
He was content for the moment to look at Millicent.
She was exquisite, with that extra bloom that comes from being young and excited to be where she was, her studied manner of calm notwithstanding.
Her words of the weather, the quality of the ices available at Gunther’s, and the pleasures of the dance at Lady Hinsdale’s were polished, careful, and cool, but not cold.
He found himself wanting to get underneath the mask she wielded, blocking off the young woman—little more than a girl, really—beneath it.
“Miss Wentworth—” the impulse to break through got the better of him.
“Yes, Your Grace?” she replied, her head tilted just so, the gray eyes deepening into slate and looking up at him fetchingly.
Finn suddenly felt foolish. Or lost. Or something. “I was meaning to enquire if you have ever visited Scotland?”
“Regrettably no, sir. I have heard it is most wild and beautiful. I should like to one day, with the proper company, of course.” The dimple reappeared again.
* * *
What Missie was thinking and feeling, not even she herself was ready to acknowledge.
All she was willing to admit was that no one should be able to see the desperation of the role she was playing.
She had to win; the stakes were too high.
And any time she felt a tug of hesitation, she remembered her father and the perilous circumstances of her future.
Most assuredly, she had to win. And by win, she meant everything.
Missie looked over at Aurora. Her friend was obviously still too shy to notice much of anything, or to handle herself well at all. She appeared to keep asking the Duke of Selkirk to repeat himself. And she looked utterly, totally miserable.
Oh, this will be far too easy. Like taking a cherished toy or sweet treat from a baby.
Yes, I am going to win all and be named the Incomparable as well.
She smiled her sweetest smile back at the Duke of Galloway.
Yes, I am going to win. I will finally escape the unceasing criticisms and disappointments of my mother and the fecklessness of my father.
I will have estates and jewels and handsome men paying court to me.
Two dukes! Already! And the Season has barely begun.
* * *
At last, the gentlemen took their leave, after calendars had been compared and upcoming engagements noted. All skillfully managed, and Alec found himself once more in Finn’s carriage with a sense of how painless the entire procedure had been.
“Perhaps this will not be as difficult as I imagined,” he said.
“How so?”
“I was expecting this to be the equivalent of having a limb sawn off on the battlefield. There was no pain at all.”
“Early days yet, my friend. We are but newly come to the field. The opening salvoes have been fired, and we are undertaking an initial parley with the enemy before the battle itself commences. Soon we will take our places and charge.”
“That sounds perfectly gruesome, Finn. Today seemed so very civilized. It appears Miss Hardcastle’s parents were right to place their trust in Lady Wentworth for their daughter’s sacrifice upon the Marriage Mart.”
“In answer to your first statement—yes, oh, yes, it is. It is a battle to the death nonetheless, cousin. Never forget that. Leaving the blood and guts aside,” (this made Alec wince), “how did it go with Miss Hardcastle?”
“Most pleasant. When she stops blushing, she is capable of carrying on a very easy conversation.”
“Very good. But cousin, in the interest of complete and open disclosure between comrades, I must let you know she admitted to me at supper last night she had read Homer. In the original Greek.”
“Good God!” ejaculated Alec.
“Yes, a bluestocking. Which might make for eccentricity and not the most domesticated of partners on top of the extreme youth. Just a wrinkle to be navigated. Hmmm. Does one navigate a wrinkle?”
“And perhaps not a desire to be marooned in the far reaches of Scotland,” Alec noted a jab of disappointment, which brought with it a sense of deflation.
“Well, as you said, early days as yet. And there may be other heiresses to meet. How did you get along with our Beauty, Miss Wentworth?” He couldn’t keep a faint tinge of envy from this last remark.
“Capital, capital. She says very little of interest, prattles of this and that, and delivers the most enchanting looks. And her dimples, why, they’d be enough for me to sell my kingdom.”
“Finn, you do not have a kingdom.” In spite of himself, Alec laughed. “Do you dislike her so much, then?”
“I do not dislike her at all. I am prodigiously attracted to her. She hints, she feints, she parries, she promises things I dare not speak aloud—all this with the tiniest of gestures. She has clearly been trained by her mama to excel in the Marriage Mart. I wish—” His voice trailed off, the man underneath the pose breaking through.
Shaking his head as if to clear it, he resumed in his previous Nonpareil tone, “She would be the perfect adornment to any home.”
“Finn, she is not a thing, a possession, an object to be placed on a mantelpiece for visitors to ooh and aah over. She is an actual person. One you would have to face each morning over the jam-pot.”
“Well, she is not a goddess to be worshipped either, which direction I see you have a tendency to veer in.”
“If I had such a creature as that, I would adore her. And there I am placing her on a mantelpiece myself, like the most perfect of chinaware shepherdesses.”
“Well, yes, adoration is part of the requirement for wooing her. She is not for you, Alec. Remember, this time, she is not for you.”
A faint tension hovered between the two men, and they said nothing more until they arrived at White’s, where they were to play a few hands and then return home.
Alec was aware of a feeling of confusion, which stayed with him through the evening—the memory of a pair of bashful warm eyes interrupted by a sense of duty and self-disgust at his mercenary campaign, an ache in his heart to claim the golden beauty of Miss Wentworth, and the memory of the weight of a little girl on his lap, whose future was dependent upon the next few weeks.