She looked up at him with an expression that verged on defiant. If he weren’t so contrary, he’d be delighted she had learned the lessons so well. “Yes, Sir William and Miss Evelyn will be staying here for a while. And both of them have agreed to attend the assembly this evening. Will you ask Mr. Wickes to ask the new groom to bring the carriage around in forty-five minutes?” She looked over at the new residents of the house. “You would probably like a chance to settle in, and you will both need time to make yourselves ready for the assembly. Mr. Salisbury can show you to your rooms.” She looked back at him. “Mr. Salisbury, the two rooms at the opposite end of the corridor from mine, if you please. I believe those are the cleanest of the ones available.”
Miss Evelyn had already risen, and Sir William followed soon thereafter as Archie nodded to indicate he’d understood Genevieve’s expectations. Or, more appropriately, the duchess’s orders.
“Follow me, please,” Archie said through a clenched jaw.
“Mr. Salisbury, do stop back here when you have shown my guests to their rooms.”
It was so clear, crystal clear, that she was in charge. He would have to remember that whenever he thought about how sweet she tasted or how much he liked getting to know her.
Genevieve watched the door shut behind them, and then sank back down onto the sofa. It would be wonderful to have a friend close in age, to have family she could, perhaps, depend on.
And having her relatives here would reduce the allure of Mr. Salisbury. Or reduce the chances of her finding Mr. Salisbury both alluring and alone so she could kiss him again. That was a benefit she couldn’t explain to him, because to discuss it would be to acknowledge it had happened, and she didn’t think she could do that without either wanting to do it again right away or bursting into flame. Or both simultaneously.
She was trying very hard not to think about that when the door opened and the object of her thoughts walked in.
“Your guests are settled into their rooms.” He did not sound pleased, and she tried not to be delighted that he was so protective of her.
“I know you suspect they are yet another set of people who want something from me,” she said, gesturing for him to sit. “But they seem pleasant enough, and it appears less odd if there are others in residence here besides you, me, Clarkson, and the rest of the staff.”
“Ah,” he said, his expression easing as he sat down, “I hadn’t thought of that. I should have.” He stood again, and began to pace. “With Lady Sophia it is not an issue because . . .” and then he paused as he seemed to search for what words to say.
“Because my godmother is so old?” Genevieve supplied, then winced as she realized she had, basically, just alluded to the whole kissing scenario.
“Yes.”
“Right.”
They sat in silence as Genevieve felt herself get more and more uncomfortable. In a pleasant, want-to-kiss-him sort of way.
That could not happen.
“Mr. Salisbury,” she said abruptly. She rose from the sofa as she spoke, and he stopped his pacing to look at her. “Mr. Salisbury, since we have time as my guests get ready, could we—that is, could we practice my dancing?” She gestured down at her feet. “I was taught, but I have never actually danced with a partner. Or a partner that wasn’t Cook. When she lands on your feet, you feel it,” she said with a laugh.
“Of course.” He sounded as though she had just ordered him to do something. Not as though he actually wanted to. But that was to be expected, wasn’t it? The other—the intimacy, the friendship—that was the anomaly. This was how it should be. She’d learned his lessons well, it seemed.
“Then let’s go into the ballroom. It’s just behind the dining room, isn’t it?” She had gone on a tour of the house when she’d first arrived, but hadn’t had occasion to return to any of the larger rooms, being concentrated on the paperwork and getting the estate to rights before doing anything so rash as throwing a ball.
“It is,” he said, pushing the door open and holding it for her. To get out of the room she had to duck underneath his arm, and she wished she could just stop right there, to see what he’d do. Would he kiss her again? Would he remind her that she was not acting duchess-appropriate?
Would he just look down at her and curl his lip?
But she didn’t stop, she just kept walking, feeling his presence at her back, wishing things were different.
“I will place my hand at your waist, and hold your other hand in mine,” Archie explained. She stood opposite him, dressed in that gorgeous purple gown, looking as sumptuous as he had ever seen her.
He did find her attractive and definitely more approachable in her normal clothing, but he had to admit that this gown did a lot more for her than her others.
The dark purple fabric made the whiteness of her skin nearly sparkle, while the black choker made her delicate neck much more appealing. He wished he could just untie the ribbon and put his mouth where it had been.
She put her hand on his shoulder and held her other hand out for him to take. “Like this?”
He placed his palm at her waist, his fingers prickling with the sensation of wanting to touch her, to gather her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
“Yes. Exactly.” He swallowed after he spoke, wondering just how he had come to this state. This chaotic, disheveled, wanting-to-kiss-her state. When he’d first met her, he had assumed she was blundering along with some sense of her own importance. And then as he got to know her, he was struck by her humor, her intelligence, and, yes, he had to say, her face and body.
And now he wished he could toss his mission aside.
“We don’t have any music,” she said after a moment of standing in his arms.
“Right. No, we don’t. We can count—what did Cook do, anyway?”
She grinned at him. Clearly she was not in the same thinking-constantly-about-the-other-person state as he was. “She would sing songs she’d learned when she was little. Her father owned a pub, and she knew all the songs the sailors sang. They were not very proper,” and then she laughed at the memory.
He arched an eyebrow. “Can you hum something then? I don’t want you to offend my delicate sensibilities with your ribald songs.”
“I think you should hum. I will be too busy trying to figure out where my feet should go. I have no idea if Cook was actually a good dancer.”
“That makes sense.” He ran through his memories of having attended balls with his older brothers, long before he’d joined up and lost his family. Thankfully, he was able to recall a few tunes, and he began to hum, moving her as he did.
She nodded in time to the music and then began counting—“one, two, three, one, two, three”—as they danced.
It was wonderful. She made up in joy what she lacked in skill, and he found himself holding his breath a few times, which definitely made his humming worse.
It was just that—she was so lively, and graceful, and clearly delighted with what they were doing. He wished he could capture this moment with her, place it in a jar, and bring it out to savor when he was back with Lady Sophia and fielding all the questions from the interested ladies.
He stopped humming after a few minutes but they didn’t stop dancing—her counting continued, only now she peeked up at him from under her lashes as though they were in on an enormous joke with each other.
“And done,” she said at last, dropping his hand to lower herself into a curtsey. “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Salisbury. I will need to give Cook a raise; it seems she did very well in instructing me.”
“You need to be less . . .” Less you, he wanted to say, only he didn’t want to make it seem as though he was criticizing her. “Just less,” he finished, spreading his hands out as though that would explain things.
“What do you mean?”
He drew a deep breath. “A duchess, even more than a lesser member of the aristocracy, can’t be seen as being too enthusiastic. About anything.”
Her eyebrows drew toget
her as she wrinkled her brow in thought. “Is this like the other time, when I had to be more abrupt?”
“Yes, precisely. You should demand things. You should assume that things will be done for you because it is you who wishes it. You should be above it all.”
As you are above me in rank, in station, in everything.
“Above happiness?” she asked, her eyes widening. “Above common courtesy?” She shook her head. “I can be many things. I can, and will, be a good duchess, one who cares for the people under her. Who leaves the estate to the next person to inherit in much better shape than it was when I inherited it myself. But I cannot and will not be rude to people just because it increases my consequence.”
She spoke sharply, and it felt as though she’d walked up and punched him in the chest. But that could be just because every part of him wanted to keep her the way she was, keep every joyful fragment of her, and he hated having to remind her that who she was had to adhere more closely to what she was.
“I don’t want you to be rude,” he said in a quiet voice. “I don’t think you could be, even if I asked you to. What I want,” he said, placing his hand on her arm, even though he should not be touching her at all, not if they weren’t dancing, or he wasn’t assisting her into a carriage, “is for you to be you, but to keep yourself close.” He wasn’t explaining himself properly. It was frustrating; in the army, he just told people to do things, and they did it. Even Lady Sophia normally did as he asked without too much fussing.
He stroked her arm. He couldn’t help himself. “What I mean is that you are too rare and too special a person to allow people who aren’t worthy of it to see you. You . . .” and then he paused, not sure he should be saying this, knowing he probably shouldn’t, but unable to stop. “You are far more than your title. But your title is all that people will see when they look at you. Most people, that is. People like me and your grandmother, and the staff who raised you. Those people know who you are. Some of us might even deserve to know you, but most of the rest of them,” he said, throwing his arm out in exasperation, “they don’t. They don’t deserve you.”
She looked up at him and bit her lip, her eyes moist with unshed tears. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she said in a soft voice. “I—I am so glad you are here to help me through this. As though this being a duchess thing is the worst fate to happen to anybody,” she added with a rueful laugh. “But it wouldn’t be half as fun as it is—and it is fun, I am having fun going through paperwork and solving problems and doing things I never thought I would—without you. Thank you.” And then she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, steadying herself by putting her hand on his arm.
He froze. He wanted nothing more than to turn his face, press their mouths together as they had before, but that wasn’t what this was about. This was about being a friend, being someone she could depend on. Who wouldn’t take advantage of her.
Who meant every word he said. And who wanted her to be able to succeed without the impediment of complications, like being inappropriately entangled with her temporary steward, the disowned third son of a viscount.
“You’re welcome.” He took a deep breath and stepped away from her, took his hand off her arm, allowed her hand to fall away from him. “It is probably time to go to the assembly. Where you will raise your nose and allow people to be honored by your presence.”
She did just that, only her raised nose was also accompanied by a sly grin and a laugh.
“We’re going to have to practice,” he muttered as he took her elbow and led her out of the ballroom.
Letter
Dear Mr. Salisbury,
Practice. I want to practice kissing dancing being properly duchesslike with you. Will you rate me on my superciliousness? I will settle for nothing less than a perfect rating. It will take lots of practice thank goodness.
I believe we should consider returning to London soon as well. It seems that you have solved the employee problem, and Mr. Wickes is more than capable of being my steward, given his knowledge of the estate. I need to face what is to be my future soon or I will never be able to.
Will you want to return there with me? With the chance you might see your family? I am hoping that Aunt Sophia can spare you for a bit longer, just to make certain I am settled in London properly and able to navigate in Society.
Duchess
Chapter 17
“Your Grace, might I have this dance?”
Genevieve smiled at Sir William, who was bending over her hand. “Certainly, sir. It would be my pleasure.”
He straightened and took her hand, leading her out onto the dance floor. The assembly was very crowded, people who were obviously some of her tenants elbow to elbow with landed squires and other people who were clearly gentlefolk. It was very democratic, and Genevieve wished she had thought to bring along Clarkson, who would no doubt have enjoyed the mingling of the classes.
She stood out in the crowd, not just because of her gown, which likely cost more than some of these people made in a year, but also because of the deference shown to her no matter where she turned. When they arrived, the entire room stilled, all the heads swiveling toward them at the entrance to the room. She kept herself as distant as she possibly could, given that she just wanted to rush over to everyone in the room and assure them she was not at all the toplofty person one might assume, given her title.
But that would be the exact opposite of what she was supposed to do.
The music began, and Genevieve had to push aside all those concerns to focus on the dancing. She did her counting inside her head, relieved she had yet to step on his toes. She did not allow herself the luxury of glancing around to see if Archie was watching, and could assess her skill. Perhaps he was dancing with Miss Evelyn.
“This is,” Sir William began as they moved together in the dance, “quite pleasant.” He sounded surprised, and it immediately made Genevieve feel defensive. After all, it was more than pleasant, it was wonderful, but that could also be because this was the first such event she’d ever gone to.
Maybe this was only mediocre, and she had no way of knowing? But the people here all looked so happy, and the music was fine, and the room wasn’t over-stuffy. Really, what else did he require?
“Evelyn and I have so little experience with country events, you understand,” he said, as though hearing what she’d been thinking. “We have only been to a few dances in Lon—”
And then they parted, Genevieve continuing the steps of the dance without stepping on anybody else’s toes as well.
“—don,” he finished.
“This is my first such dance,” Genevieve said, hoping the words wouldn’t cause her to lose count.
“Truly? Why, then you and I have a lot in common,” Sir William replied, his easy grin making her dismiss the thought that he was being condescending.
“It seems we do,” she replied, making him smile even more broadly. He wasn’t as good-looking as Archie, but then again, he was far more eligible, should she even be thinking about that possibility. Which she should, given that everyone she would meet now that she was duchess would be thinking about it.
But she couldn’t keep herself from glancing over to where she spotted Archie. He was impossible to miss, even if she wanted to, what with being taller than any other gentleman in the room and twice as handsome, even including Sir William, who would be quite good-looking if he weren’t being compared to Mr. Salisbury.
But she couldn’t help but compare them. Probably only natural, given that these two now numbered the two gentlemen she knew at all.
They finished the rest of the dance in silence, for which Genevieve was exceedingly grateful, not certain she could continue to keep up conversation and continue not stepping on anyone’s feet.
“Thank you for the dance,” Sir William said, bending over her hand.
“Thank you,” Genevieve replied. “I see your sister over there; shall we go to her?”
Miss Evelyn herself
had just finished dancing with a ruddy young man whose eyes twinkled as he gazed at his partner.
Sir William’s eyes narrowed as he saw his sister. “Yes, that is an excellent idea.”
Genevieve could tell from how he stiffened up that he was not pleased about something his sister had done. Was it dancing in general? Or dancing with that gentleman? Whatever it was, he did not look pleased at the moment, and she felt something surge up in her to protect Miss Evelyn from her brother. A ridiculous notion, given that she had no idea of their circumstances. But still. She didn’t like how he was striding through the crowd toward his sister, nor how Miss Evelyn’s eyes widened as she saw her brother approach.
Although there was something to be lauded, as well, in that kind of protectiveness. She had only met Miss Evelyn years ago, and she had no idea what kind of person she’d turned into. Perhaps her brother was watching out for her.
It would be nice to be watched out for like that.
“Might I have this dance?” Mr. Salisbury’s low tone pulled her out of what seemed to be sliding into a morose mood, despite being at her first dance.
She turned to him, suppressing a gasp at seeing just how magnificent he was up close. He was just as distinctive as she in this crowd, dressed in evening clothes that revealed how intensely masculine he was, all broad chest and shoulders, his hair lacking that curl she found irresistible, but brushed back and tamed even though the look in his eyes said he was not tamed. Would never be tamed, in fact.
“Yes, please,” she said, holding her hand out. His hand was warm and solid, and he drew her to him as closely as he could without drawing comment, or at least it felt that way to Genevieve. Her skin felt prickly, and her fingers tingled where they touched him.
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