Page 12 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

“I would love to do so, and your offer is incredibly generous, Your Grace. Unfortunately, my aunt —”

“You will leave Lady Dobson to me,” the duchess said firmly. “I know she wishes you to marry; she makes such clear to nearly everyone she meets. I’ve only been back in London for a short time and even I have been apprised of her determination. Never fear, Miss Lainscott, I shall throw my weight around a bit. I am a duchess, after all.” She gave Margaret a saucy wink. “You needn’t worry. I’ll settle everything.”

“My goodness.” The deep, husky baritone echoed from the entrance to the conservatory. “I expected to be greeted at the front door with some modicum of excitement. Instead, I was subjected to cooling my heels downstairs while a new footman who had no idea who I was went in search of Pith.”

Margaret’s eyes closed for a moment, reveling in the absolute beauty of his voice. What in theworldwas Lord Welles doing here?

The brilliant eyes scanned the room, landing on Margaret with a brief flash of surprise.

“Welles, darling.” The duchess’s face broke into an adoring smile. “I did wonder when you would appear.”

“Tony!” Phaedra flew at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Olivia came forward as well, and Welles wrapped an arm around her. “Did you bring me a present?” Phaedra grabbed at the lapels of his coat.

“Greedy chit. No, I didn’t bring you anything.Iam your present.” He turned to the duchess. “What are you teaching these girls, Your Grace?” He kissed Phaedra’s cheek then Olivia’s. He whispered something in Olivia’s ear, and she giggled. Welles sauntered over to the duchess, bowing low over her hand. “Your Grace,” he greeted her properly.

The duchess offered her cheek for a kiss. “Have you brought Leo with you? Is he downstairs tormenting Pith?”

“No, Your Grace. But he sends his regards and eagerly anticipates an invitation to dine.” He reached across the table to snatch a tiny biscuit, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied sound. The rings of sapphire blue settled on Margaret though she couldn’t tell whether he was amused or annoyed to find her visiting the Duchess of Averell. Certainly, he was curious. “And what have we here? Is that Miss Lainscott hiding behind a cushion?”

“My lord, what a surprise to see you.” It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he’d be at Averell House at all. A man known for inhabiting Elysium didn’t seem the sort to stop by and have tea with a duchess.

Welles took her hand in greeting, sending a jolt of heat down the length of her arm. The long, tapered fingers gave hers a gentle, unexpected squeeze. “A pleasure, as always, Miss Lainscott.”

Unsettled, Margaret pulled her hand away with a small jerk.

The wide mouth ticked up in amusement; he clearly enjoyed her discomfort.

“I wasn’t aware you knew Miss Lainscott,” the duchess said to Welles.

“We’ve been introduced.” He sat down in a wing-backed chair directly across from Margaret, the length of his legs stretching beneath the table holding the tea tray. He was wearing a coat of deep indigo, a color that only served to enhance the beauty of his eyes. The material pulled against his broad shoulders as he reached for another biscuit, the sunlight catching across the brush of dark hair lining his jaw. He smiled at Margaret, his sensuous lips tilting in a way that made her stomach flutter. Welles was quite glorious, and he knew it. The females hovering about him in the conservatory only served to highlight his dark, masculine beauty.

And hisvoice. Margaret gave herself a mental shake. She was close to mooning over Welles which she refused to allow herself to do.

“Tony! I wasn’t sure you knew we had come.” Romy, a wide smile of greeting on her lips, strolled back into the conservatory. “Oh, drat. I’ve missed tea.”

“Welles has not yet eaten all the biscuits,” the duchess said.

Romy had a band around her wrist filled with pins. Bits of fabric and feathers, of all things, were stuck to her skirts. Going directly to Welles, she kissed his cheek, before turning and grinning at her mother. “Thank goodness. The biscuits are my favorite.”

Margaret stared, surprised at her own stupidity for not seeing what was right before her from the moment Welles had entered the conservatory.

The eyes.Welles’s and Romy’s eyes were identical, the same startling blue with the successively darker rings surrounding the iris.

This washisfamily. Romy, Phaedra, and the absent Theodosia were hissisters. The resemblance, now that they all stood together, was so obvious Margaret couldn’t believe she’d missed it. The duchess was far too young to be his mother. She had to be his stepmother. Margaret had known Welles was an earl, but he was also the son of the Duke of Averell.

No wonder he’s rather arrogant. He’s to be a duke one day.

“Miss Lainscott, I can see the proper introductions aren’t necessary as you’ve already met my stepson, Lord Welles.” The duchess looked between them, a question in her eyes, obviously trying to ascertain how the roguishly handsome Welles had come in contact with the plain heiress, Margaret Lainscott.

“We were introduced by the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, were we not, Miss Lainscott?”

“Yes,” Margaret assured the duchess. “At a house party given at Gray Covington last year.”

“You hate house parties.” Phaedra leaned over his shoulder and plucked at his shirt. She clearly adored her older brother.

“I do. Avoid them like the plague. But Gray Covington was on the way back to London. I was with Carstairs.” He put a slight emphasis on his friend’s name. “And Lady Cambourne invited me herself. No one disappoints the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne. I thought it in my best interest not to be the first.”

“Carstairs?” The duchess’s lovely face wrinkled in confusion. “Oh, yes. I recall him. Your friend with the hunting lodge. I’m always concerned he’ll shoot one of his toes off the way his mind wanders. Or worse, think you a deer and aim in your direction.”

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