Page 7 of The Duke of Seduction
Chapter 2
Sweetly loving is she, and chaste,
A glory to her sex, with grace.
A tribute of bone, blood, and pride,
Her heart is center in the sky.
-FromAn Ode to Miss Rose Stewart
by The Duke of Seduction
Lavinia nibbledher roll as she perused theBotanical Magazine. Breakfasts with her parents were always spent reading newspapers and magazines and generally ignoring each other. Her father sat to her right, and her mother, as was the norm, was late to the table.
The countess swept into the sitting room where they took breakfast overlooking the patio and small garden. She dropped into her seat at the small round table with a murmured “Good morning,” which was met with a response of similar brevity and volume.
A few minutes later as Lavinia finished her roll and was intently reading about violets, her mother’s shriek filled the air. Lavinia snapped her head up.
“What the devil is wrong with you?” her father asked with alarm.
“He’s written a poem to Lavinia.” Mother thrust the paper toward her husband as she turned an ecstatic grin to Lavinia. “An Ode to Lady Lavinia Gillingham.”
“Who?” her father asked gruffly, taking the newspaper and eyeing the text.
“The Duke of Seduction.” Her mother’s tone carried pride and enthusiasm.
Lavinia suddenly wanted to toss up the roll she’d just eaten. She didn’t want his stupid poem or the attention it would bring.
Father looked at Lavinia over the newspaper, his eyes narrowing. “What nonsense is this? Has someone been courting you without speaking to me? What manner of blackguard behaves in such a manner?”
Her mother let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not like that. The Duke of Seduction writes poems about young women who need a nudge on the Marriage Mart. He’s already written about four young women, and two have become either wed or betrothed.”
Father blew out an impatient breath. “That doesn’t mean I want him writing about my daughter.”
“Not even if it will see her married by Season’s end? She’ll be instantly popular, just as the other young ladies have been.”
Father set the paper down, and his expression went from irritated to interested. “By Season’s end, you say?”
Lavinia fought the urge to jump to her feet and run from the room—or from the house entirely. “Or not. This could have no impact.” She could only hope.
“Nonsense,” her mother said with a shake of her head. “You’re pretty enough, your father’s an earl, and you’ve a dowry. You’ll just need to keep your mouth closed more often than not and stop prattling on about rocks. I’m confident you can do that.” The pleading light in her brown-eyed gaze proved she wasn’t as confident as she said.
“She’d better,” Father said. “It’s past time you’re wed. We’ve allowed you to search for a gentleman you want, but perhaps your expectations are too high.” He set the newspaper down next to Mother.
Ah yes, shared interest, mutual respect, love… Those were ridiculous to hope for.
“Most definitely,” Mother agreed. “But now she’ll have a wider range of gentlemen to choose from. Perhaps one will stand out and suffice.”
Suffice.“Do either of you care that I’d rather not be the latest on-dit?”
Mother blinked. “Of course I care. But I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you want to be the most popular girl in London, if only for a short time?”
It wasn’t the popularity but the reason for it. If she could be renowned for some sort of scientific discovery, she’d gladly accept the attention. But to carry the burden of others’ curiosity and intrusiveness wasn’t something she desired. And she had the bloody Duke of Seduction to blame for it. She wondered how his other subjects felt about the notoriety. Apparently, they didn’t mind, since two—and likely three—of them were now betrothed. Who was the fourth? Perhaps Lavinia would seek her out…
The countess picked up the paper and handed it to Lavinia. “Don’t you want to read your poem?”
“Not particularly.” If it was like the others, it would be a mosaic of lovely words and charming phrases. It would be beautiful and complimentary without any hint of intimacy. She thought of the gentlemen she knew and tried to imagine which one could be this presumptuous duke. So presumptuous that he’d even given himself his own ducal nickname.
