Page 34 of Her Ruse with the Wicked Duke
Cain sat on the other arm of the couch next to Miss Shelley, and they silently flirted, making Alice feel quite awkward.
“Does anyone have any good stories?” Robert, the writer, mumbled, his words slurred after the many glasses of bourbon that he had.
“Oh, I do! Have any of you heard the one about the farmer?—”
“Yes, Patrick, we all have already heard about the farmer and the Duke,” Cain groaned.
“I have not,” Alice spoke up, and everyone looked at her. “If you want to share, Sir.”
“See? Someone wants to hear my story,” Patrick Fitzherbert boasted. She laughed quietly as everyone jokingly sighed and the old man started his story. “All right. So, this tale begins in the foothills.”
“Last time it started in the ocean,” Rowan muttered.
“Your Grace, interruptions are strictly prohibited.”
Alice turned and noticed a ghost of a smile on the Duke’s face, making her glad to see that he was enjoying himself, no matter how badly he attempted not to.
“In the foothills, a man was a cabbage farmer. But he was also an undiscovered artist. His entire life, he would carve the heads of cabbage into faces and give them to the children of the neighborhood,” Patrick said mystically, and Alice sat forward, fully engaged. “So, one afternoon, in the bright, burning summer, a duke with scars across his face rode into town. The man was confused to see someone of high status in his town, so he gathered the confidence to ask. The Duke said he was looking for a sculptor, and what luck he had! He stumbled on the person he needed on the first trip!”
“Now, don’t forget the best part,” Xander interjected. “When I eventually offered to buy the first piece he was working on, he dropped it at my feet, and it crumbled on impact, but I saw the potential.”
“Is that true?” Alice turned to Xander as the others laughed at the blubbering sculptor trying to save his reputation.
Xander nodded.
“That is amazing. I never knew how easy it could be for high and low statuses to merge. I always believed the worlds to be so separate from one another. I would love the conviction you all have.”
“Confidence is key, Miss,” the mustached man said. “I put my mind to it, and with hard work, I proved myself. Though, with your status and lifestyle, I cannot see that being too hard for you.”
“Indeed,” she replied, not wanting to get into the intricacies of her status under her brother’s roof.
Rowan shot her a look from the corner of his eye, and she looked away, taking another drink.
“Well, now that that absolutely marvelous story is over with, I would like to dance.” Cain stood up suddenly and held his hand out. “Miss Snow, will you join me?”
“Me?” She placed her hand on her chest to make sure he was speaking to her. “What about the music?”
“We brought our violins.” The couple sharing a chair smiled, grabbing their cases.
Alice looked at the blonde man with uncertainty before finally taking his hand, standing up as the musicians began plucking out a fast-paced jig.
“I do not know the steps to this song,” she said, stepping back.
“I do not either. I will lead, you just follow along.”
Cain grabbed her hands and began spinning her around the room, and she tried her best to match the beat of the song. He kicked his legs up comically high, making Alice laugh as she tried to keep up with him. By the end of the song, he dipped her before quickly pulling her back up, sending blood and an alcoholic buzz rushing to her head.
“Fantastic!” the sculptor shouted, cheering and splashing his drink out of his glass.
“Well done, Miss Snow.” Cain bowed, and she curtsied back. “She’s a natural, Salvator.”
“I noticed,” Rowan replied, not taking his eyes off Alice.
She was still trying to catch her breath, and she giggled lightly as she sat back down on the couch, taking a large gulp of her champagne. She knew she had a lot to drink tonight, but she felt freer with the lower-class audience than anyone in the ton.
* * *
Rowan got up to grab another glass of bourbon when Xander stood up, checking the time on the clock that ticked in the corner of the sitting room. “Bollocks… It seems that we have all dipped rather deeply into the alcohol. It is nearly four in the morning.”
