Page 7 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

The others nodded.

“We’re new to London and fashionable society, where you are well established,” said Miss Finch. “My mother says we would be wise to heed an expert.”

“Which doesn’t precisely answer my question,” said Cecelia. “Do you wish to hear my opinions?”

They looked at each other, engaged in a brief silent communication, and then all nodded. The exchange demonstrated a solid friendship, which Cecelia envied. Many of her friends had married and did not come to town for the season. She missed them. “Very well,” she began. “I think you, Miss Moran, would do well to darken your brows and lashes. It would draw attention to your lovely eyes.”

The girl looked shocked. “Wouldn’t that be dreadfullyfast?”

“A little daring perhaps,” said Cecelia. “But no one will know if you do it before your entry into society.”

“Don’t be missish, Sarah,” said Miss Deeping.

Cecelia wondered if she was a bully. “You should wear ruffles,” she said to her. She suspected that this suggestion would not be taken well, and it was not.

“Ruffles,” repeated the dark girl in a tone of deep revulsion.

“To soften the lines of your frame.”

“Disguise my lamentable lack of a figure you mean.”

Cecelia did not contradict her. Nor did she evade the glare that came with these words. They either wanted her advice or they didn’t. She didn’t know them well enough to care which it was to be.

“You haven’t mentioned my eyebrows,” said Miss Grandison, frowning.

“You appear to use them to good effect.”

Miss Grandison was surprised into a laugh.

“And I?” asked Miss Finch. There seemed to be an undertone of resentment or bitterness in her voice. Odd since she had the least to fear from society, considering her inheritance.

“New clothes and a haircut,” Cecelia replied. “We could call on my modiste tomorrow if you like.”

The appointment was agreed on.

“Oh, I hope this season goes well,” said Miss Moran.

“There will be another next year,” Cecelia said. She heard the trace of boredom in her voice and rejected it. She was not one of those languishing women who claimed to be overcome by ennui.

“I shan’t be here. It was always to be only one season for me.” Miss Moran clasped her hands together. “So I intend to enjoy itimmensely.”

Two

“Thank you,” said James to the club steward who brought his brandy. He sipped the mellow liquor and settled deeper into the plush armchair near the front window. Outside, it was growing dark, and rain sheeted over the pavement. Here within, all was comfort—warmth, color, paneled wood, and polished leather. The gentleman’s club was a wonderful invention, James observed. For those who lived in a small set of rooms, as he did, it provided expansive spaces as well as fine dinners. The staff was impeccable. Friends passed through, offering conversation or a convivial game of cards without the effort of making arrangements. Or one could read the latest publications. Really a fine idea altogether. He took another sip.

“Tereford. Hullo.”

James turned to find a stocky, older man standing by his chair. He couldn’t immediately recall the man’s name. He nodded a greeting.

“My wife hopes you will attend her evening party on Friday,” the fellow said. “Be very pleased to see you there. M’daughter too. Most eager.”

James stiffened. This was outrageous. The club was supposed to be a refuge, not another hunting ground for ambitious females. James focused the expression that Cecelia had called the most killing sneer in thetonon the man.

The look had the desired effect. The fellow flinched, muttered something inaudible, and walked away.

James remained, contemplating his unpleasant new state. Since inheriting the dukedom he’d been besieged by debs and their mothers. The attention he’d received as a mere heir was nothing compared to the hue and cry now that he actually possessed the title and a fortune to go with it. He thought this must be how the fox felt with the hounds in full voice—dogged by a predatory clamor. But he’d thought himself safehere. The club was meant to be an escape from all that.

Henry Deeping appeared in the doorway, tall, thin, pale skin offset by dark hair and eyes. He noticed James, and strolled over. “Hullo, Duke,” he said.

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