The Regency Season: Passionate Promises: The Duke's Daring Debutante / Return of the Prodigal Gilvry. Ann Lethbridge
The Regency Season: Passionate Promises: The Duke's Daring Debutante / Return of the Prodigal Gilvry
with deer. She could almost imagine Freddy riding hell for leather around the grounds as a boy. It would have been a wonderful place to bring up children.
A pang caused a hitch in her breathing. A sense of loss. The knowledge that it would not be her children who would grow up in this lovely old house. The footman climbed down from the box and hurried to ring the doorbell, but a butler with a prim mouth and small stature was already walking sedately down the steps. A groom appeared around the side of the house and led the carriage away, along with her maid and luggage.
‘If you would care to follow me, miss, Their Graces are waiting in the drawing room.’
At that moment Freddy stepped out onto the drive. ‘It is all right, Patterson,’ he said. ‘I will show Miss Rideau the way.’
The tension in her shoulders flowed away, though she hadn’t realised quite how nervous she’d been about this meeting until it dissipated. After their last encounter, when it had been obvious she didn’t trust him, she hadn’t been sure he wouldn’t withdraw from her completely. Every time she thought of the way she’d dressed and played her part, she flushed hot then went cold. If he didn’t know the extent of her carnal knowledge, he must now guess she knew far more than a gently bred girl ought.
Pierre had been bad for her in so many ways, and not just because of his betrayal.
With the utmost courtesy, Freddy held out his arm and walked her beneath the stone arch, through an ancient door and into a rectangular medieval great hall. A beautifully carved screen occupied one end and a huge fireplace dominated the centre of one long wall. Faded banners and painted shields hung on stone above the dark panelling, along with ancient weaponry. The only items of furniture were an enormously long trestle table and some horribly uncomfortable-looking carved wooden armchairs.
‘Mon Dieu,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It is positively antiquated.’
Freddy patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry, most of the house is quite modern. We only use the Great Hall for large events and when the Duke needs to make an impression.’
She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I can just imagine the three of us dining here in state, you at one end and your mother at the other and me in the middle, unable to speak without shouting.’
‘If Mother had her way, your imagination might not be far from the truth.’
Another wry remark about his mother. The woman must be a veritable dragon. But then, she was a duchess.
He led them through yet another arch into a paved corridor and from there into an elegantly appointed room full of light, with pale green walls and cornices of white and gilt. It was, she realised, a perfect cube in the Palladian style.
The woman seated where the light from the window fell on her embroidery looked up at their entry. She was lovely. Dainty, with gold-blonde hair shot through with threads of silver and skin that made one think of peaches and cream. She was dressed in lavender. Half-mourning? Blue eyes arctic enough to freeze one’s blood remained fixed on Minette’s face while Freddy made the introductions. Now she knew from where Freddy inherited his cold expression.
Minette dipped a curtsey.
The eyes assessed her performance with chilly intensity, while the face showed no expression at all. The perfect aristocrat.
‘Miss Rideau.’ The duchess gestured for her to take a seat. ‘Welcome to Falconwood. My son has told me much about you.’ There was a fragility to her air, in the lightness of her voice. As if it was almost too great an effort for her to speak.
Oh, dear. This was likely to be a lot worse than she had hoped. She sat down in the seat set at a right angle to the Duchess.
‘Was your journey bearable?’ the dowager asked. ‘I would have sent our carriage for you. It was built for me by my husband, who took every care of my person, but Freddy said it was not necessary.’ The blue eyes turned to her son. ‘Not worth the bother of getting it cleaned and polished, I think you said.’
The barb apparently sailed over Freddy’s head. ‘Lord, no. You haven’t had it on the road in years. The last time you went in it to Town you said it was the most dreadfully uncomfortable trip you had ever undertaken.’
‘You misremember,’ his mother said. ‘It certainly was not the fault of the carriage. The roads are much improved since then.’
The atmosphere in the room was frosty. Minette smiled. ‘It was a very pleasant journey, thank you. Mooreshead made sure I had all the necessary comforts.’
The duchess frowned. ‘You accent is quite noticeable.’
‘Miss Rideau is half-French, Mother, and lived in France until quite recently. I informed you of that fact both in my letter and when I arrived yesterday.’
Defending her, when he had not defended himself. Warmth spread in her chest.
His mother’s shoulders stiffened. ‘You said nothing about her speech. I am sure I had no intention to criticise, I just didn’t expect...’ Her voice trailed off in a weak gesture of her hand.
Freddy’s lips flattened to a thin straight line as if he was doing all in his power not to say something harsh.
Minette kept her expression pleasant. ‘My mother was English, but she died when I was very young. I am sure, in time, I will become less noticeably French.’
‘I like the way you speak,’ Freddy said stiffly.
She gave him a grateful smile.
His mother gazed at him thoughtfully, her glance holding such coldness Minette stifled the urge to shiver. ‘Ring for tea, Falconwood. Miss Rideau must be parched after her journey.’
Stone-faced, he strode across to the bell-pull beside a hearth of brilliant white plaster carved with vegetation and ferocious-looking animals.
‘Your leg is dragging more than usual,’ his mother said with a grimace. ‘I told you not to hack out on that animal of yours this morning. It tires you.’
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