Page 4 of The Scottish Duke
Still, she had to take the chance. She might have the opportunity to actually speak to the duke.
The storm was closer. The guests didn’t seem to notice the thunder or the flashes of lightning illuminating the clouds scurrying before it.
She moved toward the terrace doors, taking her time because the dress demanded it. She almost had to walk sideways in order to navigate. How was a woman supposed to tolerate such fashion? With the corset, the wig, and the wire hoops to the sides, not to mention the gold lace at the bodice, she was miserable. At least there was no chance that Mrs.McDermott, or any of the other servants, would recognize her.
She knew, from the earlier briefings, that the housekeeper would be peering through the curtains at the end of the ballroom, just to ensure that everything was going perfectly and that none of the maids or footmen selected to serve tonight were making mistakes. Lorna avoided their eyes, turning away when a maid bore down on her with a tray for the buffet table.
She met the gaze of several gentlemen, more than one interested in the revealing nature of her bodice. She wanted to pull the material up, but it was so tight around her breasts that tugging on it wouldn’t have accomplished anything. No, she was definitely not a fan of these fashions, but she wasn’t all that fond of hoops and crinolines, either.
The two dresses she’d been given on coming to work at Blackhall Castle were comfortable and only necessitated one petticoat. After all, one didn’t expect a maid to be the height of fashion.
After her father’s book was published and she no longer needed to be employed, she was not going to worry about what she wore. She’d wear something both comfortable and pretty.
Turning her head to her right, she watched as lightning illuminated the lawn and the encroaching trees. The woods were so dark and so ominous that she sometimes had the thought that the trees pulled up their roots and made a slight step toward Blackhall each night. All the other plants, plus the undergrowth and saplings, obediently followed their elders. If the gardeners weren’t industrious enough, perhaps one day the forest would be right outside the window when she awoke. Instead of the turrets and the fireplaces of Blackhall, she would see only branches and leaves waving good morning.
A man leered at her. She looked away, only to find herself the object of another man’s stare.
Did they know she was an imposter? A woman in fancy dress who didn’t belong with all these dignitaries and important invited guests?
The women with their bright smiles didn’t seem all that different from the maids with whom she served. Perhaps their accents were better. They had servants to help them dress, to inspect them before they left their rooms, and to arrange their belongings. They were fortunate in that they weren’t dependent on only themselves for sustenance and survival. They had families with wealth or they’d inherited fortunes and homes.
Some of the girls who worked at Blackhall had been educated far above their stations. One girl had a penchant for numbers and helped Mrs.McDermott with sums. Another spoke three languages and amused the others by translating several sayings they could use when a footman or Lord Thomas Russell was too “handsy,”a word one of the maids had devised to describe the Earl of Montrassey’s habit of trying to feel up the staff.
She hadn’t been around the peerage growing up. Her father’s friends were learned men who preferred either traipsing through woods, bogs, and marshes, or conversing in smoky, dark pubs. One or two had a title, but they always went by first names and didn’t make a point of flaunting their positions.
In her lessons before she’d been allowed to take up her duties, Lorna was informed by Mrs.McDermott that the Earl of Montrassey was the Duke of Kinross’s incumbent heir.
“Isn’t the duke married?” That had been the last personal question she’d been permitted to ask.
“No, poor man. He’s a widower. Her Grace died some three years ago. In childbirth.” The housekeeper shook her head. “The wee one didn’t make it, either.”
She didn’t even want to think about how terrible that had been.
Was that why the duke walked every night? Why he stared up at the sky as though seeking answers from the stars?
She couldn’t imagine such pain. Losing her father had been torture enough, but your wife and your child?
The terrace door was to her right. If it hadn’t been raining, she would have escaped the ballroom with its heavy air and warmth for the clean, bracing air of a storm. No one came up to her to converse. Nor did they question her presence.
But she hadn’t come to the ball to dance or to mingle with the guests.
Straightening her shoulders, she scanned the crowd again.
Where was he? Where was the duke?
Alex noticed her first because of her stillness. The woman in the gold brocade dress was the only person in the ballroom who wasn’t animated by laughter or speech or movement. She stood straight as a reed, her hands resting, palms down, on the enormous skirts of her dress. She wasn’t smiling, but she was observing. Her gaze behind the gold and black mask darted to the left and right. She reminded him of a gosling hawk, smaller than the others but as fierce when provoked or when hunting.
Who was she hunting?
The footman was standing to his left, waiting patiently for him to trade glasses. Good lad, he was both obedient and diligent. This was Alex’s third whiskey, and it was finally beginning to numb some of the anger. With any luck he could get through the rest of the night without accusing anyone or making a scene.
He was the bloody Duke of Kinross. What he said was deemed important, so he damn well better have his facts right before he opened his mouth. He was so damnably important that the tides would swell and the planets realign if he were wrong.
Perhaps he should wave the footman away when the lad appeared again. If he could leave this place, he would retreat to where there were no people, no curious gazes, and no women with their tentative smiles.
The woman in gold wasn’t batting her eyelashes at him.
He took another sip, watching her.
