by Eloisa James
Lala blinked, but Lady Xenobia quirked up one side of her mouth and said, in a mock severe tone, “There is nothing worse than a duke who is determined to be clever.”
“I always think that parents should be seen and not heard,” Mr. Dautry said, looming up at his father’s shoulder as Lady Adelaide took Lala’s mother off to a comfortable seat. “Don’t tell me that you are telling Miss Rainsford ribald jokes. I shall disown you.”
His Grace’s cold eyes warmed when he smiled at his son. Father and son were nearly identical, except that the duke’s hair was more generously streaked with white. They had the same large bodies, and the same air of supreme control. As if each knew every muscle in his body and how to use it.
“A chip off the old duke,” Lady Xenobia said, laughing.
Mr. Dautry slung an arm around his father’s shoulders and grinned at her. “Surely you are not implying that I have achieved a level of elegance akin to dear papa’s? You astonish me, Lady Xenobia.”
Lala felt ill. How could these people be so informal with each other? She’d never seen such behavior, and certainly never imagined it happened in dukes’ families. She wouldn’t dream of putting a hand on her father’s sleeve, let alone embracing him, or addressing him in such a jocular fashion. She had never wanted to be elsewhere more desperately in her life.
“Surely you are not asking for my opinion of your coat?” Lady Xenobia asked Mr. Dautry. Her eyes were dancing, and Lala had the strong feeling that there was a private jest between them. The duke was looking from one to the other, evidently as unenlightened as she.
“I always desire the truth from women, especially beautiful ones,” Mr. Dautry said. “Though I should tell you,” he added silkily, “that I have received little disparagement.”
“I am always startled by how naïve gentlemen can be,” Lady Xenobia replied. “In fact, I quite admire your coat, Mr. Dautry. Would it be a creation of Monsieur Devoulier?”
“I forced Tobias into his workroom for a fitting at age fourteen,” the duke put in, “and now Devoulier simply sends him coats at regular intervals.”
Shoulder to shoulder, the duke and his son looked like an illustration in Gentleman’s Magazine of handsome gentlemen wearing the very latest fashions. Lala stood beside them silently, her stomach twisting, listening as best she could for a moment when she might contribute something to the conversation.
But it was impossible. The subject had changed from men’s haberdashery to a school friend of Mr. Dautry’s, a man named Wilberforce.
“Oh, Wilberforce,” Mr. Dautry said dismissively. “His bark is bigger than his willy.”
Lala wasn’t even entirely sure what a “willy” was.
Happily, Lady Xenobia said, “On that less than polite note, I shall now take Miss Rainsford to Lady Adelaide, who is very much looking forward to chatting with her. Try to behave yourself, gentlemen.”
There was nothing disappointed in the Duke of Villiers’s eyes when he looked at Lady Xenobia. Well, there wouldn’t be, would there? She was brilliant, and there was something luscious about her beauty spot, for all that Lala’s mother insisted it was vulgar.
Lala dutifully followed Lady Xenobia across the room, consumed by the feeling that this party would be even worse than the season. At balls, one didn’t have to engage in true conversation, because the next dance was always about to begin. She simply smiled prettily at her suitors, while they rattled on about whatever they wanted: willies and Doges, for example. Not dogs, doges. Whatever they were.
She had just greeted Lady Adelaide, who was sitting beside Lala’s mother, when the door opened again and that nice butler announced, “Lord Brody.”
The gentleman had tousled hair and piercing blue eyes underlined by dark shadows, which suggested to Lala that he’d stayed up all night. Doing something naughty, no doubt.
Like Mr. Dautry, he was not the type of man with whom Lala wanted to associate. No matter how striking he was.
Sure enough, Mr. Dautry went over and pounded him on the back by way of greeting, as men did with their friends. Lord Brody started laughing; he was probably the clever type as well. Mr. Dautry said something in that smoky voice of his, and Lord Brody replied, “horny as a peach-orchard boar,” a comment that she didn’t understand at all.
So Lala turned back to Lady Adelaide, her mother, and Lady Xenobia. It was easy to follow their conversation, because her mother never allowed an audience to go to waste. At present she was detailing her palpitations and what the doctor said about them.
Mr. Dautry’s drawing room was as elegant as that in a royal palace. Lord knows how many servants were employed on the estate: she’d seen several footmen, and one had to assume that any number of maids were about as well.
As a child, she had dreamed of living in a smallish house with a picket fence and a little kitchen garden. Like every one of her dreams, that had smashed against the rocks. Her mother—notwithstanding her objections to Mr. Dautry’s base birth—was obviously impressed by Starberry Court, and thrilled to be rubbing shoulders with the Duchess of Villiers.
Lala would have to marry Dautry and live in this perfectly frightful museum of a house, crammed with fancy furniture and servants.
Dautry was bringing his friend across the room toward them. “Lady Rainsford, Lady Xenobia, and Miss Rainsford, may I present an old friend of mine, Lord Brody? Lady Adelaide, I believe you have met this reprobate before.”
Lord Brody dropped back and made his leg, bowing to Lady Adelaide, whom he greeted like a favorite aunt. As he bowed to Lala’s mother, she became girlishly vivacious, recounting the time when they met before. “In fact, you shared a meal with my darling daughter!” she said.
Lady Xenobia showed no overt signs of being awestruck to meet a future duke, but Lord Brody was obviously intrigued by her. He bent his head to the side, as if he saw something he’d never seen before.
Lala knew why, too. Lady Xenobia was astonishingly lovely, with more hair than Lala had imagined one woman could have, all of it piled on top of her head. Plus, she’d painted her lips, and with her beauty mark, and the way her upper lip formed a perfect bow . . . She was probably the most sensual woman Lala had ever seen.
Her mother’s sharp elbow dug into her side. “Why are you staring at Lady Xenobia?” Lady Rainsford hissed. “You’re making a fool of yourself!”
Lala turned hastily back to the conversation about palpitations, only to find that they had moved on to talk of female ailments. Her mother dated all her problems to the birth of her two daughters.
Mr. Dautry, Lord Brody, and Lady Xenobia were having such a lively conversation that they kept breaking into laughter—even Mr. Dautry, who usually looked as if he never smiled, let alone laughed. After a bit, the duke and duchess joined them and all five stood about being clever, while Lala sat, hiding her bottom in a chair and thinking about how she’d like to plummet through the floor into the wine cellars.
“The blood!” her mother said, fanning herself. “You would not believe the blood!”
Lady Adelaide looked queasy; she had no children, and she probably didn’t welcome these details. Lala had heard it all before. She had already decided that if she ever gave birth, she was going to drink a gallon of laudanum and wake up the next morning.
The door opened again, and the butler entered. Lala began wondering if anyone would notice if she choked due to lack of air and died right there. Probably not. Though her mother might notice, insomuch as it would diminish her audience.
When Lala looked up again, she discovered, standing directly in front of her, the very embodiment of the man she had always wanted to marry. He wasn’t young, but he wasn’t old either. His eyes were navy blue, with wrinkles at the corners that showed he knew how to smile. He was almost bald, and she could tell with one look that he wouldn’t have a hairy chest. And he wasn’t as imposing as Mr. Dautry. He was probably only a few inches taller than she was.
The butler was introducing Dr. Hatfield and the doctor was
bowing and saying that he would be most happy to treat her mother while she was in residence at Starberry. In fact, if she agreed, he would like to conduct a preliminary consultation now.
Her mother’s eyes shifted, and Lala could see that she was rethinking the seriousness of her palpitations; after all, she was sitting with Lady Adelaide, while a duke and duchess stood close by.
“My mother will not agree to see you, Dr. Hatfield,” Lala said, standing, “because she would never put her health in front of the enjoyment of others. But I must insist that you do examine her; she had palpitations all morning in the carriage.”
Lady Adelaide bounced to her feet as well, likely happy to be released from a discussion of childbirth gore. “Our health is tremendously important after we reach the change of life, don’t you think?”
Lala’s mother gave Lady Adelaide a look so disdainful that it could have frozen lemonade. Her ladyship didn’t appear to notice, and somehow all three of them, followed by the doctor, left the room and went up the stairs. Lala wasn’t quite sure why Lady Adelaide was escorting them, but she was grateful for it; her mother was always more restrained in the presence of other ladies.
Once they were in Lady Rainsford’s bedchamber, Lady Adelaide seated herself to the side while Lala stood by the bed and watched. Dr. Hatfield went through the various motions that she’d seen forty or fifty doctors do in her lifetime. He asked questions, listened to her mother’s chest, and took her pulse.
Her mother talked on and on. Dr. Hatfield had looked at Lala only once, swiftly, when her mother explained that even though it might lead to a palpitation that could prove the end of her, her maternal desire to see Lala settled in life had led to the enormous step of leaving Dr. Belview’s care for a week.
Dr. Hatfield had beautiful eyes and a long, lean face that matched his lanky body. He was perfect: masculine without being overly so. Watching, Lala tried desperately to keep her breathing slow and even, because it wasn’t panic she was feeling now. It was something else, something far more pleasurable.
When the doctor straightened, Lala held her breath. This was the point at which medical practitioners either ruined everything by announcing that Lady Rainsford wasn’t ill at all, or patted her mother’s hand and told her that she needed rest and good care, then charged two pounds and promised to return the next day to collect another payment.
She wanted him to be the first sort. But she also wanted him to be the second sort.
He did neither. Instead, he turned to Lala. “Miss Rainsford, what do you think?” he asked.
She gulped. “What do I think of my mother’s health?” No one had ever asked her that.
“I find that the most perceptive observers of the ill are family members. A daughter can understand, better than a stranger, her mother’s condition.”
Somehow, Lala found her tongue. “My mother is quite ill,” she said firmly. And that was true. When her mother got that spiraling look in her eyes and her voice rose, no one could doubt that something was genuinely wrong.
Dr. Hatfield nodded, his eyes grave, and turned back to his patient. “I shall visit you again tomorrow morning, the better to monitor your health, Lady Rainsford. I think you would do best to stay in your chamber and rest for at least two to three days. I’m afraid this visit will be far too taxing for your heart.”
Lady Adelaide jumped to her feet. “There is no reason to be concerned, Dr. Hatfield. I will be sure to keep your patient comfortable and happy. My dear Lady Rainsford, you will join the party in a few days, when you are feeling stronger.”
“Oh, I couldn’t!” Lady Rainsford rarely spent time in bed. There was, Lala thought cynically, no audience in a bedchamber.
“You must think of your health above all else,” Lady Adelaide said firmly. “I shall check on you regularly throughout the day, and Dr. Hatfield will visit every morning. That nice butler Fleming can appoint a footman to wait in the corridor, so your maid will be able to ask for anything you might like.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Lady Rainsford said. “Lala can simply run down the stairs.”
“Oh, but dear Lala will be with the party,” Lady Adelaide said, smiling brightly. “I know that the last thing you would want is to prevent your darling daughter from enjoying the country.”
“I recommend absolute quiet,” the doctor said. “Peacefulness. You may ask your daughter to read to you for an hour in the afternoon if you wish, but other than that, I should like you to remain quite calm and entertain only an occasional visitor.”
Lady Rainsford laughed, and before Lala drew a breath, she said, “My daughter can’t read, so that won’t happen.”
“I shall read to you,” Lady Adelaide said swiftly, as Lala tried to blink back tears of pure humiliation.
Her mother wouldn’t reveal such a thing in front of Mr. Dautry. Would she?
Dr. Hatfield met Lala’s eyes and asked kindly, “I trust you do not have a problem with your vision, Miss Rainsford?”
She shook her head miserably. If only stupidity could be cured with spectacles, she would wear them happily.
Dr. Hatfield bent over the bed once more, hand on her mother’s wrist. “I am quite worried by the agitation of your pulse, Lady Rainsford. Those with a weak heart often overtax themselves, not realizing that their loved ones would actually prefer that they live a long and happy life.”
Lady Rainsford opened her mouth again, but this time Lala jumped in. “Mama, I must beg you to take advantage of this opportunity to rest and recover from the journey. This chamber is charming.”
Indeed, it was. A tall window stood open to the warm afternoon breeze, which carried in the fragrance of flowers. The walls were covered in a delicate patterned silk, and the rug on the floor glowed in the sunlight.
Lala had never been in such a tasteful bedchamber in her life, and she didn’t think her mother had either. Well, at least not since those lauded days when her mother had served as a lady-in-waiting to the queen. Lala happened to know that her term of service had been a mere two months, but to hear her mother tell it, she had been the queen’s most beloved companion.
“You needn’t worry about your daughter,” Lady Adelaide was saying. “I shall chaperone her fiercely, my dear, fiercely. I have done the same for Lady Xenobia, and I am proud to say that, even given Lady Xenobia’s adventuresome constitution, not a hint of scandal has ever been breathed about her.”
“Well, as to that,” Lala’s mother said, her voice sharpening, as it did when she was about to impart unpleasant news.
But Dr. Hatfield moved forward and said, “Lady Rainsford, I do not want you to stir from this bed for two days or I cannot be responsible for the consequences. Do you understand me?”
Lala saw her mother’s eyes grow large.
“Yes, Doctor.”
He bowed once again and headed for the door. Lala hurried after him, glad that she had her reticule, because she needed to pay him. And thank him, if she could think how to phrase it correctly.
In the end, it wasn’t hard to thank him, because he refused to hear it. And he refused payment as well, but merely looked at her and asked, “What happens when you try to read?”
His eyes were so sympathetic that Lala told him the truth. “Nothing happens,” she confessed. “I can see letters and numbers, just like anyone else. I simply can’t remember which ones go where. I’m too—I’m too stupid for that.” The last part came out in a whisper, even lower than she normally spoke, because she wished she didn’t have to say it. Not to a man like this.
He had taken his hat from the butler and put it on. But he looked down at her, with his serious face and those beautiful navy eyes, and said, “Miss Rainsford, I am quite certain that you are not stupid.”
That was very kind of him. If untrue. “Please don’t suggest that you can teach me to read,” she said, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Fleming had taken himself away, and they were alone in the entry. “My parents paid dearly for tutor after tutor, b
ut I simply can’t do it.”
“No, I suspect you’ll never be able to read,” he said briskly.
Lala swallowed hard. She knew it; everyone knew it. Still, it was painful to hear, especially from him.
“You’re likely not seeing the letters in the same order as everyone else. Or you see them in a different order each time.”
“I do see them in the same order as others. I can read aloud the individual letters.” She could feel her cheeks glowing. “At any rate, Dr. Hatfield, I want to thank you again for your kind attentiveness to my mother. I know she’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
Lady Xenobia popped her head out of the drawing room and said, “Good afternoon, Dr. Hatfield! I trust Lady Rainsford is simply weary from the journey? Lala, once you have seen the doctor off, I thought you might join us. We’re starting a game of whist, and you can partner Mr. Dautry.” She disappeared again.
“Can you play?” the doctor asked.
Lala shook her head. The numbers on playing cards rattled around and slid off the cards, the same way that letters did from pages. “I’ll make an excuse.” She began to drop a curtsy, but he caught her arm.
“You needn’t curtsy to a country doctor.”
Another stupid mistake. By now, she was probably as red as a brightly painted children’s ball. “I apologize.”
“You needn’t apologize either.” His hand tightened. “You’re to partner Mr. Dautry?”
She met his eyes, knowing that her utter misery was undisguised. “Yes,” she whispered, managing a wobbly smile. She’d never had such an odd conversation in her life, but the important thing was that Dr. Hatfield wasn’t disgusted by her inability to read or play cards. By her stupidity, in other words.
She could tell from the way he looked at her. Just as she could tell that he felt sorry for her, because he had guessed she was supposed to marry Mr. Dautry, and he didn’t think they’d suit.
“I’m going on rounds this afternoon,” he said. “Would you like to accompany me?”