Page 15 of A Duchess to Unravel
Again, Alistair noted the details. It was what he did best. Noticed the little things. Soft pink velvet drapes. White marble tabletops and fireplace. A gilded mirror, a family portrait, and a few landscape paintings decorated the pale pink walls. Greek style furniture laid out atop the polished dark wood floors. A few pieces, but not enough to overcrowd the room. Something he was thankful for, as Alistair’s size often made it difficult to move around more cluttered rooms.
He took it all in in a matter of a second and turned his attention fully back to their host. Not waiting for Dominic to make theintroduction, Alistair bowed his head toward the man and then offered his hand.
Alistair took in the handsome face of the aristocrat. Though already touched with a few stress lines, his charming, seemingly genuine smile was youthful. His lithe athletic build was suited in a mint green jacket, a white shirt, and beige trousers. Shiny dark brown leather shoes graced his feet. All made finely. All expensive. As they shook hands, Alistair noted the veins along his hands, which implied strength. A boxer, perhaps.
“You must be the Earl of Darlington,” Alistair stated. “I am Alistair Harleigh, Duke of Caldermere. Thank you for graciously inviting me into your home.”
Tristan’s hand disappeared into Alistair’s much larger one, and as usual, he took care not to squeeze too hard. Even in Scotland, where the men tended to grow a bit larger, Alistair had never met another close to his size, save for Dominic. Even still, he was over half a head taller than he and more broad-chested.
“It is a pleasure and an honor, Your Grace, and call me Tristan, please. Your arrival has been much anticipated.”
“It has indeed,” a feminine voice stated from the left.
Alistair turned, and was greeted by the sight of a beautiful, dark-haired beauty who shared the shape of his eyes and the cut of his sculpted nose. A smile broke out on his face before he could help it, warmth spreading through as he took in the family resemblance.
Close to her side, an arm wrapped protectively around her waist, was a man as nearly as large as Alistair. His shoulder length black hair, vivid green eyes, thin, straight lips, and sharp nose gave him a more brooding appearance, but the moment his wife gently nudged her elbow into him, the man’s smile appeared, and those sharp features softened.
“You must be my dear cousin,” Alistair said, reaching out both hands to her, “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Your friend Amelia has told me much about you.”
Seraphina’s smile was so warm and hopeful that it caused a pang to shoot through Alistair’s heart. He knew of her past, how cold and distant his cousin, the former Duke of Caldermere, had been to her through most of her childhood.
“Do call me Seraphina,” she insisted, “I wish no formalities between us.”
She reached her hand out to meet his and he engulfed it with both hands, then bowed, insisting that she too call him by his first name. When he rose he let her go and turned to the man beside her.
“And you must be her fearless husband,” he noted, “I have heard what you have done to get my cousin away from the discomforts our family brought her. I am in your debt, Your Grace.”
Hugo’s dark brows perked in surprise, and he accepted his handshake.
“We saved each other, really,” The Duke of Merrivale replied, then added, “Call me Hugo, please. It is also a pleasure to meet you. Your Grace.”
“Alistair, please,” he insisted, “I know tonight we are here more for business than casual chatting, but soon, if you would permit it, I would very much like to pay you a visit and get to know you both much better. We are the only family we have left, after all.”
Something sparked in Seraphina’s eyes, and her smile grew.
“Oh, I would very much like that,” she agreed.
“Call on us any time,” Hugo added, “We would be happy to have you.”
“I shall do that,” Alistair promised.
The introductions then continued. First, to a slightly drunk but clever-tongued man, whom Alistair was told was Mr. Everett; then to His Grace, the Duke of Baxter, Duncan Banfield; His Grace, the Duke of Colborne, Ambrose Curtis; His Grace, the Duke of Frampton, Ezra Fernside; and lastly, to His Grace, the Duke of Granthill, Morgan Green. All of whom were married to startlingly attractive women whom they doted on, and who also, were investors in several whiskey-driven businesses. Even, he learned through his research, an illegal gaming hell.
He was then introduced to the single men, names of which he’d quickly forgotten as his research deemed them not worthyof note, and then Amelia came to his side to introduce him to her other friends. Miss Ophelia Wexley came first, then Miss Rosamund Gravesmoor. Alistair noted the strong independence that radiated from Ophelia, a self-proclaimed and proud spinster. Rosamund was slightly younger in appearance, and far quieter. Perhaps even a bit too shy.
Then came Tristan’s younger sister, Miss Theodosia Briarwood. Her dark brown curls were arranged in a sophisticated up-do that swept close to her right eye, creating a startling contrast to her lily-white complexion and deep blue eyes that reminded him of lapis lazuli stones. There was something familiar about them. Something that nagged and annoyed him in the back of his mind.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Theodosia,” he stated, bowing politely as she curtseyed.
He took in the elegant sharp features of her cheekbones, small nose, and plump lips. Though the skirts of her mint-green, short-sleeved gown were loose around her frame, he noted her almost fae-like figure. Again, he felt that nagging tug in his mind, as if he’d known who she was all along. Yet he could not place her.
“Theo, please. I despise my full name. A pleasure to meet you as well, Your Grace.”
Her tone was polite yet resigned, as if already bored with party.
“Then you must call me Alistair,” he replied, and was amused by the way she gave a careless nod and wondered abruptly away from him. There was no obvious willingness to befriend him, like the others had portrayed, but a stoic carelessness. He watched as she repeated the same callousness with the other men her brother introduced her to.
“Forgive my sister,” Tristan urged, approaching Alistair once he’d finished, “she has not been the same since the passing of our mother. She has only recently agreed to be social again.”
