Page 26 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
"It is rather eye catching," Raff replied defensively, "Though very becoming, I might add."
A carriage full of young ladies and their mother passed them just then, and at the sight of the other ladies' bonnets, which were modestly trimmed, Emily gave a forlorn sigh.
"I rather think Mr Bobitol was right," she said, raising an absent hand to her hat, "And that less is more this season."
"Balderdash," Raff said, decidedly more vehement than he would usually be when discussing millinery matters, "As I said before, you are to be a duchess—you will be setting the fashions, not following them."
"Imagine me, a duchess," Lady Emily said, in a rather awed manner that left Raff feeling rather confused.
"It's not such a great leap," he said with a cajoling smile, "Youarethe daughter of a marquess."
"I am?"
For a moment Lady Emily appeared rather confused, then her confusion transformed into a flustered blush that Raff could not help but find endearing.
"I am," Emily continued in a firmer voice, "Excuse me, Your Grace, I was only half listening to you. I was rather distracted by the—the—flowers."
Lady Emily seized triumphantly on an excuse, though not so quickly that Raff didn't realise she was fibbing. He cast his eyes about, trying to see what it was that had distracted Emily so, and his gaze landed on none other than Theodore Bellhurst, the youngest son of Lord Bellhurst, and theton'slatest darling. Bellhurst was dressed to the nines in a dark riding coat, with the collar turned up so that it grazed his chiselled cheek-bones. A carriage full of ladies passed him by, and each and every one of them cast the athletic aristocrat an admiring glance.
He's not so handsome, Raff thought mulishly, as he tried to decide if he it would be possible to steer his carriage into Bellhurst and make it look like an accident. Luckily for the committed dandy, Lady Emily distracted him by giving a gasp of recognition.
"Oh, look, Your Graces," she said, turning so as to include Laura in the conversation, "It's Mr McCasey. I wonder who that is with him?"
Raff allowed his eyes to drift over to where Lady Emily pointed, and he immediately spotted McCasey driving a small gig, a fair distance away. Beside the thespian sat a woman whom Raff did not recognise; she was of a similar age to the actor—perhaps forty or so—and wore a regal expression upon her fine-boned face. Sensing his passenger's interest, he drew the two horses to a halt, a discreet distance away. If anyone were to glance over, it would hopefully appear that they had stopped to admire the lush, green fields of the park.
"I read that he had married an actress from Paris," the dowager duchess chimed in—the first she had spoken during the ride, "That must be her."
All three occupants of the carriage tried to subtly look over at the glamorous pair, but despite their efforts at nonchalance, Raff was certain that should McCasey and his wife look over, they would catch them all agog.
So much for discreet, Raff thought will a roll of his eyes, as Laura leaned over the side of the carriage, squinting at the pair.
"He's rather handsome, for his age," Laura noted, touching a distracted hand to her face, "I think it must be his colouring. It's most striking, the combination of dark hair and green eyes—quite similar to your own, Lady Emily."
"Is it?"
Laura's observation had been rather innocuous, so for Emily to look completely startled by her words, seemed a bit of an overreaction, Raff thought. Why on earth would she look so afraid at being compared to McCasey? It wasn't as though anyone present would assume there was any more connection between the pair than as strangers passing on The Row.
His thoughts were quickly distracted, however, by the arrival of a stately Barouche to the scene before them. The elegant open top carriage bore the coat of arms of Viscount Linford, and within in it sat an elderly woman whom, Raff assumed, must be Lady Darlington, Viscountess Linford.
It had initially looked as though the Barouche and gig would pass each other by, but Lady Darlington must have ordered her driver to halt, for the Barouche came to a juddering stop alongside McCasey's more humble gig.
"Is that Lady Darlington?" Laura queried to Lady Emily in a whisper, leaning forward so that she was closer to Raff and Emily, who sat upon the front seats of the carriage.
"I couldn't say," Emily whispered back.
"Oh, I thought you were neighbours," Laura said with a frown, before she too spotted the coat of arms upon the Barouche; "Oh look, it's the Linford crest—I knew it was her. Perhaps Lady Darlington is an admirer of Mr McCasey? I can't think why else she would stop to talk with him."
If Lady Darlington was an admirer of the actor, she had a strange way of showing it, Raff thought, as the sound of raised voices drifted toward them.
"You're a disgrace; dragging up the past, when it's best left buried."
All three members of Raff's carriage exchanged startled glances at Lady Darlington's shrill words. Thankfully, they also appeared to be her parting words, for the Linford Barouche took off rather suddenly.
Worried that they would be caught eavesdropping on what was clearly a private matter, Raff urged his two bay geldings into a trot, guiding them away from McCasey and his bride.
"How strange," Laura commented lightly, before sitting back into her seat and leaving Raff and Emily to their own devices.
Raff drove the carriage onward in silence, his thoughts preoccupied with what they had just witnessed. What on earth had McCasey ever done to upset Lady Darlington?
