Page 20 of A Duke to Elude (Sherton Sisters 1)

Chapter Seven

James struggled to keep his focus on Prescott. It was made more difficult by knowing that Rosabel had been watching. What did the girl know? Did she know anything? Why would she have been interested in his conversation with the bounder?

If she hadn’t looked so intent, he would have thought it was merely the interest of attraction. That would have been flattering. This was not. While the lady nearly always maintained a neutral expression on her face, he had come to find that he could read her fairly well, despite her attempts to hide her thoughts. It had been contempt clearly pinching her face. He doubted if many would have perceived it, she had been almost smiling, but her eyes had told a different story. One she probably thought she had kept to herself.

He needed to know what she knew.

But the girl managed to avoid him for the rest of the evening. She had made it appear as though it was happenstance, but whenever he approached her, she was just accepting some gentleman’s hand in the dance or for an escort to supper. And then she was gone. He supposed she might have multiple engagements like he had, but it felt as though she were escaping him.

He would have to call on her. The gossips would think he was courting her, but that was the price he’d have to pay. He supposed she would have to pay it, too, but this was too important to worry about such trivialities.

After a very busy evening and a night of almost no sleep, he was up and dressed and striding down the street in front of the Shertons’ townhouse. He stood on the stairs, gazing at the front door, wondering if this was all worth it for the briefest moment. Taking a deep breath, he climbed purposefully upward before banging firmly with the knocker.

“Is Lady Sherton receiving today?” he asked the haughty looking butler, who surely must have known who he was but couldn’t be bothered to offer any deference. It was a rather rhetorical question anyway, as Wexford could hear the hubbub of voices coming from the front rooms of the house.

“If you’ll follow me, Your Grace,” the butler stated rather than asked. James stifled his amusement. He was sufficiently aware of his consequence to appreciate when it was ignored.

“His Grace, the Duke of Wexford, to see you, my lady.” The butler announced him officially at the door, causing all eyes in the room to turn in his direction.

Wexford reminded himself that he was used to such scrutiny. It was why his valet took such pains with him multiple times each day. James rather thought his valet was more conscious of Wexford’s importance than James himself was. It was just a fact of his life, not something he gave a great deal of thought to. Not until that moment, rather. In that moment he was aware of all the eyes, but most particularly those of one lady. He had never felt so conspicuous before, despite being a duke of the realm and a leader of fashion.

He wouldn’t be able to say that he enjoyed the sensation. James had never felt uncomfortable being himself ever, not even as a boy. He was quite convinced that, thanks to the valet who had been his companion since he went to Eton, he hadn’t even gone through the awkward stage that most adolescents face. But he, in this moment, rather thought he could appreciate what other, more pimpled contemporaries must have gone through. It was dreadful and he would not have it.

“Good day,” he offered to the room with an elegant bow before making his way to Lady Sherton and bowing before her once more. “You are inundated, I see, my lady. You must be so pleased.”

The countess tittered before him, and he wondered how this woman could have produced the glorious creature that was Lady Rosabel. Wexford restrained his eyes from drifting in her direction. It would cause enough talk that he was there; he didn’t want to draw more attention toward the two of them than necessary.

“Won’t you take a seat?” Lady Sherton gestured toward the settee next to her. Wexford sat and passed a few moments speaking empty inanities about the various entertainments they had enjoyed in recent days. After a few moments, she finally allowed him to leave. “Never mind with an old woman, you are no doubt more interested in some of the youngsters. But you were exceedingly gracious, I’ll grant you that.”

Wexford allowed a smile but not the chuckle he felt pressing against his breastbone. Again, he needed to remain on his guard. He bowed once more before turning to the rest of the room.

Of course, the occupants of the room had made a show of carrying on their conversations, but he knew every one of them had been straining to hear what he was discussing with the countess, despite how uninspired it might have been. Everyone, that was, but the lady he was there to see.

Rosabel’s back was toward him as she sat in a window seat with another debutante. She appeared almost animated, which led James to surmise that she was either very nervous or the other young woman was the best friend she had ever encountered.

Considering Lady Rosabel’s confused reaction to her sister having a best friend, James was reasonably certain it was nerves, not joy causing her to be a little warmer than usual. He would never want to stir expectations in Hilaria’s mind or heart so, James turned instead to Lady Vigilia, who was in a small cluster of youngsters, most of whom scattered at his approach. It was, on occasion, remarkably convenient to be a duke, he thought with an inner smirk as he sat upon the newly vacated seat by the young woman’s side.

“You lot are very popular. It’s a good thing your father’s house boasts such large receiving rooms.”

“Isn’t it, though? Especially with three of us to fire off at once. I only hope the younger two have lots of friends when it’s their turn because it would be the very worst if their receiving rooms felt empty.”

“Perhaps there are some smaller rooms that could serve the purpose,” he suggested, prompting a grin from the young woman.

“That there are, in fact. You’d make an excellent chaperone, Your Grace.”

The girl’s easy-going manner and lack of simpering was refreshing. He quite liked Lady Vigilia. James wondered if he ought to help her find a match. Not that he’d ever tried his hand at matchmaking, but it was in his nature to find solutions. Lady Vigilia might be perfect for his younger brother or his nephew or perhaps Crossley’s brother or one of his nephews, he mused.

“I don’t really see myself as the mama type.”

His slight jest caused the girl’s grin to widen.

“Perhaps not. I don’t think a mob cap would suit you.” Her eyes danced even as she tried to keep her voice grave.

“Certainly not. I shudder to think how my valet would react if I were to muss my hair with a cap.”

She giggled, but it didn’t grate on his nerves.

“Don’t you ever wear a hat? Surely, he must be used to dealing with the consequences.”

---