Page 21 of His Haunted Duchess
“I’d be most grateful, Your Grace, if you would clarify any lingering doubts that I might have. Please, take a seat.”
She pulled a chair out from a side table and perched on it. Frederic returned to his spot on the couch.
The sitting room door opened, and Martha, one of the kitchen maids, entered, brandishing a dark-feathered duster. The viscountess cleared her throat. Martha glanced at them. Her eyes—had they widened any further—would have threatened to bulge out of her skull.
She skittered out of the room as if her skirt had caught fire, slamming the door behind her. Frederic fought back a smile. The viscountess removed a pair of black leather gloves.
“We are unaccustomed to visitors,” she said. “We prefer to keep to ourselves.”
Frederic frowned. If they were so used to being at home, would Lady Caroline suit being a duchess paraded about in public? Butthen—he wasn’t here for concerns or even for preference. He was here for honor.
“I hope your mother is well,” the lady said. “She and I are old acquaintances.”
Frederic nodded deferentially. He hadn’t known of his mother’s connection to the viscountess, but then—there were many of his mother’s acquaintances that he did not, sometimes by preference, know on an intimate footing. They had a tendency to stick to him rather more closely than he preferred.
“She is very well, thank you,” he said. “But I have come bearing particular news on my own behalf.”
The lady leaned back. A hopeful light entered her eyes like reed lights on Michaelmas.
“Have you?”
Frederic adjusted his coat.
“I have come to inquire after Lady Caroline.”
The viscountess stared at him as if she was reading an intricate map. What, exactly, was she hoping to see? Frederic cleared his throat.
“I have come to inquire,” he said, “as to whether or not she would honor me with her hand in marriage.”
Relief flushed over him. He smiled in spite of himself. The viscountess’ eyes brightened.
“Have you, indeed?”
The caramel-colored spaniel peeked around the corner of the couch, ears raised hopefully.
“I am prepared to make her my wife,” he said. “She will, as a result, of course, become the Duchess of Blackmore.”
The words settled comfortably as he said them which he noted with some surprise.
“I am sure Caroline will be honored by your proposal,” she said. “But to be blunt, your Grace, Caroline has narrated to me in full the events of last night.”
He tightened his lips and raised his chin.
“I have no reason to believe,” she continued, “that any impropriety occurred between you.”
Frederic, surprised, felt gratitude pulse through him. He hadn’t realized how important it was to him that the truth be known—to the viscountess in particular. He bowed.
“With all the fervor I possess, I can assure you my lady, that your niece acted only in a manner that would reflect credit on a lady.” His eyes flashed. “Even, I might add, in the face of the crass and wholly inappropriate behavior of those who assumed to label themselves as such.”
The viscountess, Frederic could tell, was struggling mightily not to look smug. She was proud of her niece and ought to be.
“She really was quite gallant,” he continued, “though her accusers flung vituperative and insolent gossip, she returned only grace.”
The viscountess beamed.
“Caroline has been the bright spot in our lives,” she said. “I am immensely glad that you have come to a similar conclusion as we have.”
Her face clouded.
