by Sophia James
‘Oh...’
‘Oh, indeed.’
Miss Harkstead made no secret of the fact she thought it an outrage. Disgust at his apparently shoddy treatment of his less titled guests was written all over her lovely face.
‘But apparently we might catch a glimpse of his eminent personage and his dashing brother afterwards, when the two parties briefly merge before the gentlemen disappear for their port.’
She huffed out a heartily unimpressed long sigh.
‘Lucky us...to be so favoured by his majestic presence. Although I am sure the many poor young ladies pitifully vying for his attention will be grateful for those few crumbs and will doubtless make the most of it as they all stampede to catch His Grace’s superior eye.’
‘But not you, Miss Harkstead?’ Why did that depress him?
‘Not me.’ She made a point of shuddering at the suggestion. ‘It takes more than a hereditary dukedom and a ludicrously absurd fortune to earn my respect. But it should be entertaining to watch. More entertaining than the silly charades at least.’
‘Unless you happen to be the poor Duke.’
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gibson his butler appear in the passageway, come to remind him that his time was up, and winced—because it was. In more ways than one.
As much as he would love to be play the ordinary bookkeeper indefinitely—especially around the refreshing Miss Harkstead, who clearly held bookkeepers like her father in far greater esteem than dukes—as a depressingly sensible pragmatist he realised he was what he was and it was ultimately pointless to pretend otherwise, considering the circumstances.
He could barely hide from the party for two hours undiscovered. Three days would take a blasted miracle and a level of duplicity the upright, upstanding and annoyingly noble aspects of his character were incapable of perpetuating.
His butler coughed politely. ‘It is precisely two o’clock, Your Grace.’
‘Thank you, Gibson.’
As her jaw hung slack he stood, feeling guilty for allowing her to continue to talk to him entirely unguarded, but grateful for the temporary diversion regardless. It had made such a lovely change.
‘I wish you good afternoon, Miss Harkstead. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I sincerely hope, for the sake of your sanity, the book proves itself to be less tedious than my party.’
Chapter Three
‘Is that what you are wearing?’ Great-Aunt Violet looked her up and down and shook her head. ‘Heavens above, girl, are you not going to make any effort to compete with the other ladies? It isn’t every day one encounters a handsome duke...’
‘I am not here to compete for the Duke.’
After her hideous indiscretions this afternoon, she was lucky to still be ensconced under the Duke’s roof. For the next few days she fully and intentionally intended to blend in with the panelling for all she was worth. This dress was purposely bland and nondescript. As well as dark enough to hide effectively in secluded corners.
‘I am here to keep you company. Although, to be frank, seeing as you are having such a lovely time by yourself, perhaps I should leave you to it altogether after dinner and retire to my room with a good book.’
The thought of facing the Duke in the packed drawing room, once the meal was done, when she had so grossly insulted him, repeatedly and directly to his face, was too mortifying to contemplate. Even if he had lied to her by pretending to be a bookkeeper.
‘I would much prefer that.’ So much so, Eliza was not averse to begging to be spared the ordeal if it came to it. ‘I love to read.’
She still couldn’t quite believe what had come over her. Although frequently too forthright with her opinions, she wasn’t usually so indiscreet. That she had been was down to him. There had been something about him which had made her talk without thinking first. She had been uncharacteristically reckless and still couldn’t fathom why.
Of course, this afternoon, she had thought she was conversing with an equal. A fellow servant of sorts. From the grey middle ground. Too educated to be from the working masses, too poor to belong to the merchant class, yet too common to be welcomed into the lesser gentry.
‘Absolutely not! I would hate you to miss out.’
‘I shall hardly be missing out...’ Her great-aunt was now rifling through her meagre trunk, so she had to make do with pleading to her back. ‘You know I dislike these sorts of functions and would appreciate the opportunity to have some time to myself.’
‘You took three hours this afternoon, missy—don’t think I didn’t notice. I even went hunting for you so I could introduce you to the Duke, and you were nowhere to be found.’
That was because she had been curled up in a mortified ball in her room, awaiting an ominous knock at the door which would herald her unceremonious marching orders. The last thing she wanted now was to be formally introduced to him by her well-meaning and overly romantic great-aunt. That would be beyond excruciating.
‘Although I cannot say I blame you for escaping this afternoon’s melee,’ her great-aunt continued. ‘As soon as the poor Duke arrived it rapidly descended into noisy carnage. The drawing room was so full of excited, high-pitched giggling I could barely think straight, let alone hear. Let’s hope all those silly girls are over the initial shock of meeting a duke and will behave with a tad more restraint this evening.’
And pigs might sprout wings and fly.
With a triumphant tug, Great-Aunt Violet held aloft Eliza’s well-loved coral silk. ‘This is perfect. So much better than that sludge-coloured monstrosity you are wearing.’
‘It’s deep plum.’
It was hardly sludge-coloured and, like her practical brown dress, the soft wool had been an absolute bargain. Thanks to her mother’s talents with a needle, the cut was quite modern too.
‘And it’s hardly a monstrosity. Only last week you said it was very becoming.’
‘For taking tea at the vicarage, perhaps—but not for a formal dinner in the home of a duke! How on earth is he going to notice you wearing that, Eliza? Put this on.’ Her best dress was thrust at her. ‘It’s much more appropriate for tonight.’
She set her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly—because, frankly, stubborn pride was all she had left after her enormous faux pas with their illustrious host. ‘Firstly, I do not want him to notice me.’ The absolute truth. ‘And neither does anyone else.’ More truth.
Aunt Penelope in particular would have an apoplexy if she thought for one second her disgraceful niece was attempting to compete against her dim-witted daughter.
‘And secondly, if I wear that gown tonight I’ll have nothing for the masquerade.’ Although that might well be a blessing, all things considered. ‘This dress is perfectly appropriate for a companion to wear, and as I am dining in a separate room from all the important people anyway...’ thank goodness for the Duke’s aristocratic ‘lording’ ‘...I doubt anyone will care what I am wearing.’
‘I care.’
‘You’re not dining in the same room as me either, so it hardly matters.’
‘Even so...just once I wish you would let your hair down, Eliza.’
Because that had gone so well earlier in the library, when she had been tempted to flirt with a bookkeeper.
‘You are a very attractive young woman, staying in one of the largest and most beautiful houses in England, attending one of the most sought-after house parties in the kingdom, and your host is a handsome duke with an equally handsome brother... And it’s Christmas, Eliza.’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’
‘If you cannot have an adventure at Christmas, when can you? Two handsome and eligible bachelors, a masked ball, hopefully some snow...and let’s not forget all the mistletoe. The Duchess has been wonderfully liberal with the mistletoe this year. It would be a positive tragedy if you didn’t get waylaid under
some.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’
‘Your mother ran away with your father at Christmas time,’ said her great-aunt. ‘She said one impromptu kiss under a stray piece of mistletoe was all it took.’
‘But you are forgetting one tiny but significant detail, Great-Aunt—I am not my mother. If I am like either of my parents, I am more like my sensible and level-headed father.’
‘Who also ran away after an impromptu kiss with your mother under the same piece of mistletoe! Which he stole, I believe—just in case you’ve forgotten that significant detail, my dear. It takes two people to create a deliciously romantic scandal like your parents did, so why shouldn’t I have high hopes for you?’
Her meddling aunt held up the gown once more.
‘Just this once, Eliza, don’t be stubborn. Be spontaneous. Wear the coral silk! Loiter under the mistletoe! I promise I’ll find you something else for the masquerade.’
‘Absolutely not!’
This was all going from the sublime to the ridiculous. As if the handsome Duke would want to loiter under the mistletoe with her after everything she had said to him.
‘I happen to like this dress—and, even if I didn’t, it is too late to change now.’
Before her equally stubborn great-aunt could argue further, Eliza marched to the door. Loiter under the mistletoe indeed! That would make her as silly and as desperate as all the other girls here, chasing the two Symington men.
‘Dinner is in ten minutes. We should go. It is poor form to be late—especially when one’s host is a duke.’
Displaying a woeful lack of diligence, Eliza abandoned her charge just shy of the door to the formal dining room and darted to the necessary sanctuary of the Oriental Room on the other side of the hallway as if her life depended upon it.
It certainly lived up to its name. Every stick of furniture, every piece of art and sculpture, and even the sumptuous silk of the curtains positively screamed that it hailed from the Orient. Even the two intimidating, intricately decorated suits of armour flanking the red-lacquered double doors were Samurai. But it was a lovely room, made lovelier by the sea of unimposing aged spinsters, companions and unimportant ladies and gentlemen who were in the process of taking their seats.
Being a bit shaky on his legs, Sir Horace, the Duke’s uncle, was already seated at the centre of the long table. Eliza politely greeted him, then scanned the place cards at the empty chairs for her name amongst those of the other twenty or so lesser mortals who had also been banished here. Typically, she was deemed to be of such woeful insignificance she was right at the end, furthest away from the door. Which meant she would be the last served too.
A slight which was probably the illustrious Duke’s doing, and frankly she couldn’t blame him in the slightest. She had unwittingly and unabashedly called him arrogant, pompous and rude.
Her toes curled each time she considered some of the more shocking and irresponsible things she had said when she had thought him a bookkeeper. All done to show off a little because she had assumed—no, felt they were cut from the same cloth. And also, she was ashamed to acknowledge, because his handsome face and the intelligent eyes behind those scholarly spectacles had appealed a little too much.
Clearly the Harkstead apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Just like her mother, she had been waylaid by a bookkeeper and uncharacteristically thrown caution to the wind. She would happily laugh at the irony if the situation wasn’t so unbearably awful.
The next three days were thoroughly doomed to feel like three weeks.
With a resigned sigh she took in the table as Sir Horace called for quiet and began to make a welcoming speech. Almost all the chairs had been filled now, except the one next to Eliza and the one directly opposite. While everyone else had someone to talk to, it seemed she was to be left in the lurch.
As the rest of the guests listened to their host with rapt attention she surreptitiously glanced at the name on the place card beside her and nearly groaned aloud. Lady Audley was a nice old dear, but as deaf as a post. So much so, all she ever did was smile. If the guest seated opposite was in the same league as Lady Audley, then this dinner was going to be worse than purgatory.
She was about to reach across the tablecloth and peek at the card when she felt a slight draught on her neck and instinctively turned towards it—only to see that purgatory was a forlorn hope now that hell beckoned from behind a secret near invisible door in the panelling.
Because the gentleman who quietly and, at least as far as the other guests were concerned, stealthily slipped into the chair across from hers was none other than her worst nightmare—the dratted Duke himself.
He pressed a finger to his lips to silence her—which was probably just as well because she was sorely tempted to scream—then mouthed Good evening as he unfolded his napkin and placed it across his lap.
Completely thrown by his presence, Eliza attempted to listen to Sir Horace, who was now blathering on about the importance of friends and family at Christmas time, but after a painful minute had ticked by she couldn’t hold her words in any longer.
‘What are you doing here?’ The question was part stunned whisper, part outraged hiss. Because surely he was only here to make her suffer?
‘I’m practising what I preach and being egalitarian.’ He smiled at the footman, who was topping up the glasses for the toast, and the footman broke rank to smile back—as if he smiled at the Duke all the time. ‘Seeing as I apparently have two dinner tables for this god-awful house party, I thought it only right and proper that I visit both of them.’
‘But you are supposed to be in the other room!’
‘Says who?’
He wasn’t wearing his spectacles tonight, so those unshielded bright blue eyes, which co-ordinated perfectly with his cobalt silk waistcoat, positively shimmered with mischief.
‘Because the last time I checked, Miss Harkstead, I was in charge here, and so long as my mother is kept completely out of the equation, what I say goes.’
‘But surely your other guests will miss you?’
The desperation in her voice, even in such hushed tones, was unmistakable, and that annoyed her. She might well want him gone, but her pride would not allow her to alert him to the fact that his unexpected intrusion, so soon after her horrendous and cringe-worthy blunder, had thoroughly flustered her.
Now, thanks to Great-Aunt Violet’s outrageous suggestion that she loiter under the mistletoe, she could feel herself blush.
Fighting for composure, she tried to use reason. ‘Your important guests will see your absence as a slight. Surely you do not want to insult them? It is the first night of the house party after all.’
‘Interesting...’ He pretended to mull this over. ‘Only earlier you criticised me for neglecting the guests seated in here, and now it is the people across the hall which most concern you. Unless you simply want to be rid of me because you are hideously embarrassed to be facing me so soon after you accused me of being inherently arrogant and pompous...and rude.’
There was no denying it, so Eliza fell on her sword. ‘I am very sorry about all that.’
That tawny head tilted as he stared her dead in the eye. ‘Why?’
‘Because it was unfair of me to pass judgement and indiscreet of me to gossip about you behind your back.’
Which was a ridiculous thing to say when she had gossiped about him clean to his face—something he had actively encouraged, as she recalled.
‘Although in my defence, Your Grace, you did provoke me with all those leading questions you kept asking...and you did lie about who you were.’
‘I never once claimed to be someone else. Did I give you a name, Miss Harkstead?’
‘No, Your Grace. You did not. On purpose.’
She might well be insignificant in his eyes, but her outraged pride would not allow her to kowtow. Not when
she was in this tiny instance in the right.
‘You also referred to yourself in the third person on at least two occasions that I can think of during our short conversation, specifically to entrap me into believing you really were the lowly bookkeeper I had assumed you were.’ A not inconsequential detail she was justifiably still annoyed about. ‘And you were having fun at my expense when I repeatedly enquired as to your name.’
Defiantly, she tilted her chin, daring him to deny that.
‘In my defence...’ He paused, and for the first time appeared contrite before he sighed. ‘I have no defence, Miss Harkstead. Other than the fact that I was enjoying our conversation and knew full well you wouldn’t have been quite so indiscreet if I had made you aware of my real identity. Besides, you were also having fun at my expense, so I believe we are equal.’
As if they could ever be equal!
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so when the toast finally came to a rousing end and they all had to clink glasses before a battalion of liveried servants swarmed the table wielding soup.
This proved to be the time when a few of the other guests at their end of the table noticed the Duke was there, and used the efficiently brisk and silent communication of the nudge to alert the rest of the diners to his illustrious presence.
Like toppling dominoes, Eliza was able to judge the impressive speed of those enlightening nudges by the way each person in receipt of one suddenly sat straighter as their eyes immediately swivelled his way.
And hers.
Instead of quietly blending into the panelling, as she had hoped, she was being made a spectacle.
By him.
It was a cruel and cunning method of revenge.
With the deaf Lady Audley still absent, she had nobody else to talk to—or in Lady Audley’s case talk at—so Eliza had to resort to swishing her spoon in her soup to cover her discomfort rather than look at him blatantly enjoying his.
‘If you don’t mind me saying, you seem irritated by my egalitarian gesture Miss Harkstead.’