Page 31 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

Indeed, Juno had not been made by an aristocrat either. True, her paternal grandfather had been a baronet, which was as high in the gentry as one could get, but her other grandfather had been a shipwright, and both her parents had been cut off from their respective families in disgrace. If not for the welcome of her uncle, Sir Gordon Bell, and his family, this genteel world would never have invited her in.

“I am so proud of you, Juno,” Beatrice continued. “All your work comes to fruition today at my little party.”

Juno smiled. “And is it quite the party!”

“Well, it certainly required considerable expense and…” Beatrice took to fanning herself energetically, her gaze bouncing around the garden. “I fear Mr. Prescott grew alittlestern when he saw the bills and insisted I economize. But given the success of this party, you’ll surely agree it was aninspiredidea to use your fee for the portrait to cover the bills.”

“I…” Juno blinked at the string quartet, the actors in their leafy bower, the leaning towers of macaroons, the elegant ladies whispering about Leo. Juno willed him to look her way. He hadn’t so much as glanced at her since he arrived. “I beg your pardon?”

A faint flush stained Beatrice’s cheeks. “But you must see this is a good use for your money. These art lovers are influential, and now they’ve seen your work, they’ll tell their friends.”

Still Beatrice’s fan fluttered. Each stick of the fan was intricately carved. That fan had not been cheap.

“The portrait, there were costs involved,” Juno ventured. “The paints, the canvas…” At least the frame maker’s bill had gone straight to Mr. Prescott, but her time!

Silence simmered between them, then Beatrice surrendered, crestfallen and crushed. “Oh, it’s awful, I know. I am a terrible patroness. I ran miles over my budget and Mr. Prescott made me divert your fee to pay the bills. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Her face brightened. “I shall nag himrelentlesslyto sell your painting of Pandora, and I’ll donate my pin money to buy you new paints. Then you’ll pass summer painting up a storm, and in the autumn, I shall exhibit your work in a room that is completely bare. It will cost me only a pound and everyone will be amazed.” She bounced under another wave of excitement. “Do you think the duke will attend that too? And oh! Imagine if he and Miss Macey are married by autumn. What a coup if the new Duchess of Dammerton comes to our exhibition!”

Juno’s gaze crept back to Leo, who was chatting with her cousins and aunt. Briefly, their eyes met. An odd expression crossed his face, as if she pleased and vexed him all at once, and then his gaze skated on.

Beatrice was looking at her expectantly, so Juno forced a smile. But her joy had deflated, leaving nothing but a wrinkled, withered feeling. She tried to identify the cause, but her mind writhed around it unhelpfully, touching on the lost fee, her fickle patroness, Leo’s impending marriage, his presence here.

“There’s something about the duke, though, isn’t there?” Beatrice was eyeing him coquettishly. “He draws the gaze so effortlessly. A certain … magnetism. One longs for his attention; one yearns to know his secrets. Very handsome, don’t you think?”

Juno made a noncommittal sound.

“His sleepy look doesn’t fool me! The lions in the Tower have that look, and they might tear us to shreds. Leo, like a lion! Rawr!” Beatrice’s eyes widened at her own daring in speaking a duke’s given name. “His mother named him well.”

Juno was suddenly irritable. “His mother is Prussian and Leopold is a German name, not Latin.”

“So?”

“So his name has nothing to do with lions.”

“Well, look who knows so much!” Beatrice laughed, not unkindly. “You may claim some acquaintance, but the duke doesn’t belong to you, you know.”

“I know.”

Beatrice snapped her fan shut. “Never mind my teasing. I am so very nervous. A duke is my guest and I must go converse. Juno, darling, you will stay by my side, and kick my ankle if I say anything too gauche.”

* * *

Another guest claimedBeatrice’s attention, so Juno was alone when she reached Leo’s side, just as Aunt Hester and Phoebe excused themselves to greet someone else, and Livia bounded off to badger the poor actors.

Once more, Juno glimpsed that expression fleeing from Leo’s face, as if she pleased him and grieved him in equal measure.

The scraps of their odd, unfinished conversation the other day fluttered across her memory. She waved them away like a pesky fly.

“I am equal parts amazed and delighted to see you here,” she said. “You had not mentioned any intention to come.”

“I like to be unpredictable, keep the gossips on their toes.”

She shook her head. Standing closer in no way dispelled the sensation that he was both familiar and new: that cool, aloof duke laid over her playful friend.

“You look like your own identical twin brother, as if in some Gothic novel,” she said. “Leo and the duke. The only question is which one of you is evil.”

“The duke, obviously.”

“Evil or not, you are still my favorite duke.”

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