Page 18 of The Lady's Guide to Well-Endowed Dukes
All of the above.
She told herself he’d soon seek her out again.
However, there had been no sign of him in the dining salon the night before and he was absent again this morning. Estela was forced to conclude that he really had experienced a change of heart. Her pride was a little buffeted but far from crushed.
Oona and Margaret were chattering on about their little excursion to Bari, while all three tucked into some exceptionally good frittata. Estela was glad they’d enjoyed themselves. To take a cruise of this sort and not go ashore was a crying shame. She hoped they would be brave enough, now, to take advantage of every opportunity.
However, as they told her of the souvenirs they’d purchased, the delicious lunch, and how majestic they’d found theCattedrale di San Sabino, Estela found her mind wandering.
Lord Rockley had been tempted, she was certain. But whatever lure she exerted over him, it was clearly not enough.
Was she losing her touch? Or, God forbid, had she come across as a touch desperate?
“What do you think, dear?” Margaret’s voice interrupted. ’These noble Italian families seem just as bad as our own—always marrying their own cousins and such forth. There is an argument for it, I suppose, but I can’t help thinking it does a bloodline good to have a little shake-up now and then.”
Lifting the coffee pot, Oona topped up their cups. “Just look at Major and Lady Millicent Muttstanley—the new residents at Randymount Hall. Obsessed with their breeding regime! The Major asks two guineas for stud services, which isn’t to be sniffed at.”
Margaret helped herself to sugar. “He regularly catches us after church to let us know what they’ve been up to. Going through his maneuvers in the garden at all hours. Posture is so important. Lady M looks quite worn out. The Major’s Golden Boy is well-awarded, mind you, so I suppose practice makes perfect.”
Estela suppressed her laughter. “Are we speaking of horses?”
“Skye Terriers, dear—those funny wee dogs with bodies twice as long as they should be and eyes buried under a great fringe. Affectionate, though I wouldn’t trust them being left alone with anything smaller than a Jack Russell.” Margaret slathered butter on her third slice of bread.
“Lady Millicent is convinced the Major will claim best in show at the Longmuckity Christmas Fair, though he has stiff competition from the kennels at Slickend Manor,” added Oona.
“Now, Stella dear”—Margaret fixed her with beady eyes—“How are you getting along with that handsome duke? You were awfully quiet last night, and I see you’re deep in thought again this morning.”
“It shan’t come to anything.” Estela did her best to appear nonchalant. “An admirable lady by the name of Miss Maitland is to become his wife.”
“Oh my!” Oona looked terribly disappointed. “I’m sure that’s wonderful for this Miss Maitland, but is it really all set?” She glanced at her sister. “We did think…that is, we hoped…”
Margaret clicked her tongue impatiently. “I’ve never seen a man try so hard not to look besotted, and to fail so miserably. He could hardly keep his eyes off you. I’m not one for believing in love at first sight, but he gave a good impression of tumbling headfirst into the heather.”
It gave Estela pleasure to hear it, but her godmothers were far from impartial. As for mooning over her at the dining table, the vast expanse of bosom she’d had on show was likely responsible for that. Physical attraction could fool a man into thinking all sorts of things which lasted about as long as it took to tumble a woman into bed.
“Whoever this Miss Maitland is, I’m sure she isn’t a patch on you.” Oona gave a despondent sniff. “And I’d be surprised if her relations are anywhere near as illustrious. Very few can count themselves so lucky as to be related to the ancient Dalreagh line—albeit distantly. Though you’re yet to have bairns of your own, the family is renowned for being prolific. How many is it Charles has now—six?”
“Seven, with an eighth due to make an appearance before Easter.” Estela took another sip of her coffee.
The issue of children was among the reasons she’d taken to avoiding Yardmore Court. It wasn’t that she disliked her nephews and nieces, nor that she hankered after a large family herself (even the thought of having offspring was a little frightening). It was simply that most people from her brother’s circle considered her to be a ‘failure’ for not having experienced motherhood.
As she aged, the pitying remarks only worsened. It didn’t seem to matter that she led an exciting life, filled with travel and parties and every other sort of amusement. As for having outlived four husbands, she had a pretty good idea of the rumors that inspired.
“Shush, Oona.” Margaret threw a pointed look. “If Lord Rockley has found his bliss elsewhere, it’s not for us to pass judgement, even though we do know he couldn’t do better than our Stella.”
“Shall we ready ourselves for today’s excursion?” Estela cut in.
Oona’s eyes lit up. “Where is it that we’re anchoring this morning, dear? The Isles of Scilly?”
“Sicily,” Estela gently corrected. “The port is called Messina, and there’s plenty to keep us occupied. It’s a new destination for me, but there’s a chapter in my guidebook. We can take a gentle walk and find a nice spot for lunch. It’s no distance at all from the harbor to the main square.”
“That sounds delightful.” Margaret nodded her approval. “I would suggest that the Titby-Tittons join us, but Titania is adamant that she must have an official Sicilian guide. She’s heard it’s the worst place for men taking liberties—bottom-pinching and such. She’s making Tabitha remain aboard but is bravely taking the risk herself.”
Estela gave an inward smile.
“Just us then.” She was more than a little relieved.
They’d descended the gangway and were standing upon the harborside consulting Estela’s map when Lord Rockley appeared. Oona saw him first and beckoned him with a cheery wave.
