Page 7 of Never Dare a Duke
“Mama,” Lady Elizabeth said, “may I present Lady Gwendolin Warfield.”
She stressed Gwen’s name oddly, and Abigail and Gwen exchanged a curious glance.
The duchess nodded regally. Abigail began to wonder how she would ever be able to talk to such a woman.
“Your Grace,” Gwen said demurely, “thank you so much for this invitation.”
The duchess smiled, which softened her noble features into kindness. “It is my pleasure.” Her voice held the faint melody of a Spanish accent. “My son speaks highly of you.”
Abigail barely kept herself from frowning in surprise at Gwen. No wonder Lady Elizabeth had emphasized her name.
“And my thanks as well for extending your invitation to my guest,” Gwen continued. “Your Grace, may I present my dearest friend, Miss Shaw?”
Abigail sank into another curtsy. “My thanks for your gracious invitation, Your Grace.”
The duchess waved a hand. “You’ve seen Madingley Court, Miss Shaw, so you know we always have room for another guest. Miss Shaw, allow me to present my daughter, Lady Elizabeth.”
The young woman stood up, and they curtsied to each other. There was no pretension in Lady Elizabeth’s eyes, just open curiosity and happy anticipation, as if the start of the party was already more than she’d dared hope for.
“It is so nice to have more ladies close to my own age,” Lady Elizabeth said.
Her mother rolled her eyes. “And exhausting for the chaperones. Is that not right, Miss Bury?”
Miss Bury came forward and made a spry curtsy. “Good day, Your Grace. And I do not mind being a chaperone. It reminds me of how wonderful it was to be young.”
“Ah yes,” said the duchess, arching an eyebrow, “I seem to remember hearing a story or two about your youth.”
Miss Bury only smiled, her eyes twinkling with secret memories. At last the three of them left the duchess and her daughter, and Gwen brought Abigail along as she reacquainted herself with the other guests. Abigail paid attention to everything she heard, not knowing what—or who—would prove useful in her investigation.
Abigail learned that the rest of the family was absent, which might hinder her. The duke’s two aunts, Lady Flora and Lady Rosa, were in London, along with Lady Rosa’s two unmarried daughters and her widowed daughter-in-law. How sad that the duke had a cousin who’d died so young.
Also in attendance were two other unattached young ladies, Lady May and Lady Theodosia, closer to Lady Elizabeth’s age of eighteen than Abigail’s twenty-three. There were five bachelors, most likely for Lady Elizabeth’s perusal: Mr. Tilden, a redhead who blushed at making Abigail’s acquaintance; Lord Keane, who seemed to think himself above most of them; Lord Paul Delane and Lord Gerald Delane, the younger sons of a duke; and Mr. Wesley, who was introduced as the local vicar. Abigail couldn’t help but see how he stared at Gwen before he caught himself with a faint blush.
There were also two other married couples: the marquess of Swarthbeck and his wife—the parents of Lady May—and the earl and countess of Greenwich. An elderly gentleman, Mr. Fitzwilliam, was nodding off in his chair—until Miss Bury tapped his shoulder, and the two smiled at each other as old acquaintances.
The butler appeared in the doorway, paused until it was quiet, then intoned, “His Grace, the Duke of Madingley.”
Abigail gaped. He wasn’t supposed to be here!
The duke himself still wore his traveling clothes, spattered with rain, and he had not yet looked into the drawing room. Abigail thought how much larger and powerful he seemed within the confines of his home rather than the outdoors.
She wouldnotbe intimidated.
As he handed a leather satchel to the butler, he said, “Hamilton, would you please take this to my room yourself?” Then he added with amused exasperation, “And I certainly do not need an introduction to my own mother and sis—”
He broke off as he caught sight of the eager guests.
“Chris!” his sister cried, walking swiftly to him. “I mean—Madingley! What a pleasant surprise you’ve given me. I did not know you were coming to my house party.”
He gave her a tight smile. “Elizabeth, how could I miss your first Society event?”
He bent to kiss her cheek, but Abigail saw him aim an impassive look at his mother. The duchess only inclined her head, wearing a look of faint amusement.
Abigail would lay money on a wager that the party was anunpleasant surprise. There were several eligible ladies here, after all. Even the mother of a duke could play the matchmaker for her son.
Chapter 3
Christopher had no difficulty hiding his dismay and anger. He’d always done his duty as the sixth duke of Madingley, even if it meant riding down Rotten Row in London, displaying himself like a stuffed peacock for the well-dressed masses. His sister Elizabeth had just come out, and he knew how important it was that she marry happily and well, and his own behavior affected that. After all, he should be used to hiding everything he felt behind a mask of civility.
