Page 29 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
And with that he was gone. They were to have dinner with the duke and his aunt. She decided the evening could be diverting, particularly if the subject of the treasure were discussed.
Chapter Twelve
“You invited them to dinner?” Preston stared at his aunt, confused.
“Cook said it was no trouble.”
Of course she would say that. The woman wouldn’t have told a member of the peerage she couldn’t make dinner for four as well as two. “And they will be here any minute?”
“Yes, yes. Preston. I always thought you were a bit brighter than you are currently behaving.”
If he had known that he would be spending the evening with Miss Davies, would he have dressed differently? No. At least he had a few moments to prepare himself before seeing the young lady.
And then Winston announced their guests, “Sir Joseph and Miss Davies.”
The idea that he was prepared for the vision of womanhood that entered his drawing room that evening was laughable. Miss Davies was the picture of elegance and could have graced any dinner table in London with aplomb.
Her dress of cream silk sported short, puffed sleeves, which drew attention to her shapely arms. Preston didn’t know what the rose tinted trimmings on the dress were called, but he thought the color was a lovely foil for her dark hair. She wore a clever headdress of gold ribbons and crimson bows. The effect was charming, quite unlike anything he’d ever seen.
The architect and his daughter murmured greetings as they bowed and curtsied. His aunt responded politely, looking over their guests. As she studied Miss Davies, he thought he saw not only surprise but approval in her expression.
“It is a pleasure to meet you Sir Joseph, I have seen your work first hand,” his aunt said from her place on the plush sopha. “I do believe Barton Hall is in good hands.”
“Thank you for your kind words, my lady. It has been an honor to help restore this beautiful house.”
Preston had come to his feet at the arrival of his guests. “Would either of you care for refreshment? Port? Sherry?”
Both parties declined.
“Do be seated,” his aunt said with a wave of her hand. “Sir Joseph, I want to hear all about the repairs you’re undertaking at the hall. We can speak for a few moments before dinner arrives.”
The architect and his daughter sat on the matching sopha across from the one he now occupied with his aunt. His guests behaved as if there was nothing strange about sitting with a duke and a lady in a makeshift dining room.
Under his aunt’s direction, servants had brought in a table from the dining room and four dining chairs. Winston had laid the table with the finest china and silverplate.
He caught Miss Davies’ eye as his aunt peppered the architect with questions about the repairs to Barton Hall. They exchanged a grin over his aunt’s grilling of the poor man.
The gong in the entrance hall sounded.
Preston rose to his feet and, after his aunt did so, took her arm to lead her to the table. The lady sat at one end of the rectangular table, he the other. When their party was seated, footmen entered with the soup course.
Preston wondered if his aunt had planned the menu while he had been at business with his steward. No matter. Santea soup was one of his favorite dishes.
The architect and his daughter looked relaxed and comfortable. Perhaps they were more used to moving in exalted circles than he was aware.
* * * * *
Marina was as nervous as she’d ever been. Dinner with a duke and a lady! She knew her manners, the proper etiquette. She could do this. Her mother had been a lady, after all.
She wore her best evening dress and her father wore his best jacket and trousers.
The duke was freshly shaven, his cologne tickling her senses. She concentrated on the lovely meal before her to keep from staring at his face. A face she decided wasn’t perfect upon further study but still quite attractive.
The mutton and beef served was some of the best she’d ever tasted. The dessert course included a rare treat of peach ice cream.
When Lady Barton finished questioning her father about his work, she asked Marina how she liked Lancashire and the estate. She answered truthfully that she liked the area very much and thought Barton Hall was beautiful.
“And you know a lot about architecture?” the lady queried after tasting the ice cream placed before her.
