“Who is it?” Eurydice asked.
“I don’t know, but there are six black horses pulling the carriage!”
“Six. And the coach?” Grandmaman demanded.
“Very large. Black, as well, with gold trim. It seemed to have flourishes of gold upon the doors.”
Her grandmother inhaled. “How many footmen?”
“Two on the back, Grandmaman, plus the driver and one other.”
The dowager nodded and narrowed her eyes as she peered through the glass. “I know that coach. There cannot be another so fine as far north as this.”
“Whose is it?” Daphne demanded.
“It was made in France for the Duke of Inverfyre when I was a young bride.”
There was a duke in close proximity?
Daphne was delighted.
Her grandmother continued. “I remember the old duke bringing it home. Oh, he made certain every soul saw it between Portsmouth and Airdfinnan, including your grandfather and me.” She nodded. “It was quite marvelous. I wonder how well it has been maintained.”
Daphne sat back in defeat. A duke her grandmother considered to be old must be ancient indeed. Eurydice grinned, for she had undoubtedly guessed her sister’s dashed hopes, and Daphne longed to jab her. She had to ask. “The duke is old, then?”
“Old?” her grandmother echoed. “He’s dead. His grandson inherited the title, for the old duke’s son died before him.”
“How long has the new duke been married?” Eurydice asked.
“He isn’t,” Grandmaman admitted and Daphne smiled, her hopes restored. “He’s quite eligible, at least on paper, but he’s not married.”
On paper?
“I don’t understand,” Daphne said when no one else spoke.
Grandmaman smiled and patted Daphne on the knee. “It means, my dear, that I don’t recall his name being linked romantically with that of any woman.”
Daphne sensed that her grandmother meant more than she was saying, but she couldn’t imagine what it might be. “Then he hasn’t found true love yet?”
Grandmaman laughed. “If he has, it won’t be with a woman.”
This made no sense to Daphne at all.
To her relief, Eurydice seemed to be similarly mystified, so for once, she wasn’t the last one to figure something out.
“And a great shame it is, to be sure. The family are most affluent. There is a decided aversion to gambling in the Armstrong line, matched with a good fortune with investments that is almost unholy.” Grandmaman twirled her cane. “It is said that this duke’s fortune is one of the greatest in all of England. Pity about his preferences. If his sister does not marry, that great lineage might come to an end.”
Preferences? Daphne and Eurydice exchanged a glance of confusion.
The carriage slowed and turned, and they heard Thompson whistle.
“Ah, here we are,” Grandmaman declared with a decisive tap of her umbrella. “And not a moment too soon, for I am ravenous.” The door was opened and one of the footmen put down the stool for the dowager viscountess. Another held an umbrella high so she wouldn’t have to use her own for the short walk to the tavern. “Ah!” she declared as she alighted. “You will soon see what I mean, my dears. The duke is also taking refreshment here. I shall remind him of our family’s acquaintance.”
Daphne squeezed Eurydice’s fingers with delight, then emerged from the carriage herself, her heart thundering.
She should have made a wish sooner.
She stared in shock at the man speaking to her grandmother near the doorway to the tavern. He smiled and bowed over Lady North Barrow’s hand, his manners impeccable and his clothing so garish that Daphne didn’t know what to say or do.
Eurydice gave her a hard nudge from behind. “Move, you goose,” she muttered. “We can’t get out because of you and it’s freezing cold.”
Daphne took a few steps, still startled to silence.
A moment later, Eurydice halted beside her. “Oh!” she said, apparently similarly astonished.
Grandmaman raised a hand to beckon to them, and the duke turned to survey them with polite curiosity. His waistcoat was a splendid and hideous garment, made of a vivid blue cloth thick with gold embroidery. Eurydice said something through her teeth, but Daphne ignored her. The duke raised his quizzing glance and peered at them, blinking as if he had trouble with his vision. There was no difficulty with his appetite, for he had a considerable paunch. His cheeks were fat, but his legs were surprisingly trim.
And he was a duke.
“Oh,” Daphne agreed, then tried to be gracious. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that shade of apricot used with such enthusiasm in a man’s garments before.”
“It’s orange,” said Eurydice.
“No, I’m certain he calls it abricot.”
“You don’t have to say it French!”
“I think I do,” Daphne mused.
“And with green.” Eurydice grimaced.
“Chartreuse,” Daphne corrected, for she saw definite possibilities in her near future.
“The blue is a horrifying addition.”
“Azure,” Daphne said, then smiled at the duke. He took a closer look. She was glad to be wearing a new dress in the shade of pink that flattered her coloring so well.
“He’s wearing more rouge than Grandmaman,” Eurydice whispered wickedly, but Daphne ignored her. Her sister surveyed her and her eyes widened in horror. “You wouldn’t.”
“He’s a duke,” Daphne said mildly, then met her sister’s gaze. “Me first.”
Eurydice laughed. “You needn’t fear any competition from me in pursuit of that silly fop. Look at him! He’s a joke from head to toe!”
Daphne smiled. There were no other unwed aristocrats in the vicinity, nor were there likely to be any. She had no competition at all and might very well save her grandmother the expense of a season in London.
For a duke.
Daphne couldn’t have cared less how he dressed. His finery was expensive, which meant her grandmother was right about his finances.
He did have fine legs and he was tall.
This was her chance. She crossed the yard with her chin high and her skirts gathered in one hand. Her steps were quick and delicate, as if she joined a dance, and in a way, she did. A thrill of anticipation coursed through her as she wondered just how well—and how quickly—she could charm him. Oh, there was no deceit in Daphne. She meant to make whatever duke she won a most delightful and attentive wife.
The duke lifted his glass a little higher to watch her approach.
Daphne wasn’t so innocent that she didn’t notice the glimmer of interest in his very blue eyes as she curtseyed before him.
What a beauty!
Alexander savored the sight of Lady North Barrow’s granddaughter as she came tripping toward him, her lifted skirt hem granting him a glance of her neat ankles, and her cheeks a little flushed. Her hair was like spun gold and her eyes shone with what appeared to be good nature. Her dark green cloak parted as she walked, giving him a glimpse of her figure. She was slim through the waist and hips but curved sufficiently to invite a man’s caress. That deep green of her cloak made her eyes appear to be a deeper hue than they were. The pink of her dress became her very well and she put him in mind of apple blossoms in the spring. Though she was fair, her lashes and brows were dark, and her lips were both sweetly full and ruddy.
Alexander was certain that he hadn’t seen such a splendid beauty in years.
When she smiled at him, he was reminded of exactly how long he had been celibate.
And he completely forgot why.
Indeed, he found himself recalling Anthea’s challenge and almost fingered the small seed in his pocket.
Lady North Barrows made curt introductions, as was her way. He hadn’t seen her since Anthea’s season, but she hadn’t changed much. Miss Goodenham’s lashes fluttered as she curtseyed before him. He caught a glimpse of creamy cleavage, then she met his gaze and blushed pre
ttily.
Alexander’s heart gave a leap, though he fussed over her hand, bending to kiss it with flair. He caught a whiff of her scent then, roses mingled with the perfume of her own skin, and that sent an unwelcome stab of desire through him.
There was a second girl, Miss Eurydice, who was younger, stockier, slightly darker in coloring and who eyed him with suspicion. Lady North Barrows then ushered her granddaughters into the tavern ahead of her, as if they were wayward chicks. Alexander watched them go, telling himself he should be pleased that the dowager viscountess was not intent upon flinging her eligible granddaughters at him, like every other ambitious mama in the ton, but in truth he was disappointed to have enjoyed their company for so short an interval.
Even though it was undoubtedly for the best.
To his surprise, Miss Goodenham turned to glance back at him, her remarkable eyes filled with appeal. “But Grandmaman,” she whispered, loudly enough for him to overhear. “Surely we cannot let His Grace eat luncheon alone. It would be unforgivable.”
Lady North Barrows paused in the midst of giving instruction for their meal to her maid, which she wished to have served in a private room. She eyed him, her misgivings more than clear. “We would not wish to intrude on His Grace’s meal,” she said, her tone chiding, and Miss Goodenham appeared to be so disappointed that Alexander almost spoke out.
Instead, he took out his snuffbox and fussed over a pinch, ensuring that he looked a perfect fool. The working men regarded him with disdain, but that was part of the plan. His disguise kept anyone from looking closer.
No sooner had Alexander savored his snuff and stepped into the tavern, then Rupert appeared and bowed. “Your Grace, all has been made ready for your luncheon.”
“Thank you, Haskell. Is there a fire? I cannot bear the cold in this place! And is the soup very hot?” He shuddered elaborately, then ran a finger across the top of a table. He eyed his glove with distaste. “I hope it is clean, Haskell.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Rupert bowed once more and smiled. “I have ensured that all will meet with your approval.”
“And dessert?” Alexander whined. “I must have a choice of two desserts.”
“There is only one pudding, Your Grace, but I will fetch some oranges from the carriage.”
Alexander sighed. “I suppose that will suffice. One must endure so many hardships while travelling.” He waved to the ladies with his lace-trimmed handkerchief and followed Haskell, ensuring that his steps were mincing. He then held that handkerchief to his nose, as if the smell of the tavern was too much for him to endure, and heartily regretted losing sight of Miss Goodenham.
He couldn’t help but overhear the discussion Lady North Barrows had with the proprietor.
“I apologize, my lady, but there is only one private chamber,” that man informed her with a bow. Alexander paused to listen. “We seldom have such noble guests. If you would like to take your meal in the far corner, there, I will have that fire set...”
“In the tavern?” the dowager protested. “It is unthinkable! Surely you have some chamber available.”
“I am sorry, my lady, but...”
Alexander cleared his throat. “How large is the chamber where I shall dine?” he asked Rupert.
His man bit back a smile. “It is a fair size, Your Grace. I am certain you will have every comfort there.”
“Is it of sufficient size that the ladies might join us?”
Miss Goodenham turned to him, her eyes alight with pleasure and her lips parted. Zounds, but she was an alluring creature!
Was she as conniving as that beauty, Lady Miranda Delaney, had been? Alexander wished very much to know, although already he doubted as much. There was something open about her expression, something that hinted at an honest heart.
He couldn’t help but recall his sister’s list of attributes in a potential wife. A suitable woman, one who is honest and true, pretty enough to tempt you—and young.
Miss Goodenham appeared to have every quality on that list.
The seed seemed heavily in his pocket.
“There is no need, Your Grace,” Lady North Barrows began to protest, for undoubtedly she did not wish to be in his debt.
“There is every need when the comfort of three ladies is at stake,” Alexander said with a bow. “I insist that you accept my hospitality and dine with me this day. Our conversation will pass the time pleasantly until we continue on our separate ways.”
“Oh, Grandmaman, what a wonderful invitation!” Miss Goodenham enthused. “Surely we cannot decline such generosity?”
“Surely we cannot,” Lady North Barrows said grimly. She gave a stiff curtsey. “I thank you, Your Grace. Your kindness is most welcome.”
“The pleasure will be all mine,” Alexander replied, then offered his arm to the elderly viscountess. Lady North Barrows hesitated only a moment before placing her hand upon his elbow. He was keenly aware of Miss Goodenham trailing behind him and could not quell his own sense of triumph.
The room was of a goodly size, both comfortable and warm. The fire had been stoked up and the table had been set with hearty fare, both hot and cold. There was wine, because Alexander ordered it, and he fussed over the vintage as well as the cushion on his seat. Of course, the viscountess seated them in order of precedence and he was ridiculously pleased to have Miss Goodenham at his left hand.
He wished with all his heart that he might not have been in disguise.
Perhaps he might encounter her again, after this quest was completed, and appear to her as a reformed man.
Perhaps he would ensure that eventuality.
The meal was served and various pleasantries exchanged. Alexander ensured that he slurped his soup loudly and took great satisfaction in the way Lady North Barrows winced at the sound. The viscountess turned and began a conversation with Eurydice, enquiring after that girl’s choice of reading.
Miss Goodenham, however, regarded Alexander with shining eyes, apparently oblivious to his bad manners. Was she stupid? He supposed it was possible, though it would be disappointing.
“Your Grace, would you indulge me by telling me of Airdfinnan?” she asked.
“Faith! Why? What would you know about it?”
“What does it look like? Where is it? I have only been to Scotland once, and that was to visit Edinburgh. I did love that city and always wished to see more.”
“Airdfinnan is in the Highlands,” he said. “Filthy weather there. Cold and snow and rain, then heat and sun and rain.” He shivered again. “I endeavor to be there as little as possible.” In truth, of course, Alexander would have been glad to retreat to Airdfinnan and never leave his estate again.
Miss Goodenham was not daunted. “I love the rain in Scotland, and the lush green of the hills. I think it may be the most beautiful place in all the world.”
Alexander spared her a glance, distrusting that they were in such agreement. “Have you seen much of the world?”
She laughed, a delightful sound. “Almost none of it, but what I have seen of Scotland is so pretty that it seems unlikely any place could be finer.”
“Filthy weather,” he repeated.
“But you must have a fine house to provide shelter from the elements.”
Did she mean to assess his wealth? Alexander saw no reason to hide the truth, for Lady North Barrows could tell her all she desired to know and more. “A castle,” he confided. “Built on an island in the river Finnan.”
“How romantic!”
“Damp,” he said flatly, then lied. “I am never warm when I am there.”
“Perhaps you need a wife to keep you warm, Your Grace,” she said, blushing at her own daring comment. Her eyes danced though, as if she invited him to smile with her, and Alexander was sorely tempted to do just that.
If not to kiss her. Her lips were enticing.
“Daphne!” Lady North Barrows snapped. “Such impertinence is unnecessary.”
“I meant only to make a jest. I do apologize,
Your Grace, if you thought me rude.”
“Of course not,” he said and was rewarded by her smile. “You cannot have had your first season yet.”
“No, not yet!” Her eyes shone, reminding him of Anthea’s long-ago enthusiasm. “We are going from Castle Keyvnor to London to prepare for it.” She reached out and fleetingly touched his cuff. “Could you perhaps give me some advice as to the best shops and dressmakers, Your Grace? A man of your sartorial flair must know where the most talented needles are to be found.”
Was she flirting with him? It was unthinkable. Eligible women, no matter how ardently their mothers cast them into his path, invariably fled from Alexander in this guise.
“I know little of women’s clothing, to be sure,” he said, laughing loudly so that the food in his mouth was displayed.
“But I love this color,” Daphne said, touching his cuff again and letting her fingers stray to the back of his hand. She flicked a glance at her grandmother who had not noticed her gesture and her eyes were filled with beguiling mischief when she met his gaze again. He did like a little audacity in a woman. “What would you call it, Your Grace?”
“Abricot, of course,” he said, using the French pronunciation.
“Abricot,” she echoed perfectly. “I think I shall have a dress made in this hue, with the green, too.”
“Chartreuse,” he supplied.
“That is what I thought it should be called!” she confessed with delight. “It reminds me of spring, which is a welcome thought at this dreary time of year.” She bit her lip. “I do not think I could carry the azure at the same time, though.”
“Perhaps a Spencer?”
“That is a wonderful notion!” Daphne cleared her throat. “That is, if you would not be insulted to be my inspiration, Your Grace.” She lifted her gaze to his, an invitation in those eyes that fairly stole his breath away.
It had been a long time since a woman had given him such a welcoming look, and none had ever granted him one while he was in disguise.
Alexander swallowed. “Of course not!” he cried, gesturing with his fork. “One must take inspiration where it can be found. I saw a gentleman in Town in these very colors and knew I had to have a suit of similar gaiety.”
Charmed at Christmas (Christmas at Castle Keyvnor Book 1) Page 20