The Naked Duke. Sally MacKenzie
a finger under his cravat and looked around the room. “It must be time to go into dinner. Where’s your butler, Alvord?”
“Here’s Layton now. Perhaps you would like to take Aunt Gladys in, Robbie?”
“Happy to.” Robbie fled across the room to Lady Gladys. He offered her his right arm and Lady Amanda his left. Major Draysmith escorted Lizzie.
Sarah frowned up at James. “Is Robbie a procurer?” She knew the ton was degenerate, but she would never have thought her own cousin might be a panderer.
“Good God, no. You can stop looking so ill. It really was no more than a misunderstanding.” James put her hand on his sleeve.
“A misunderstanding? I don’t see how anyone can have that kind of misunderstanding.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do.” He raised his hand slightly when Sarah opened her mouth to pursue the topic. “No, love. We can discuss this if you want, but later. It truly is not a topic my aunt would welcome at her table.”
Sarah sighed. “No, of course not. I beg your pardon.”
“Don’t beg my pardon, Sarah. I hope there will be no topics we can’t discuss—but some things are better said in privacy.” This last was whispered near her ear as he seated her. Her breath caught and an odd little shiver ran down her spine.
The dinner went on for what seemed to Sarah a very long time. She limited herself to just a taste of each course, yet still felt uncomfortably full. She couldn’t help but think she and her father could have lived for weeks on this one meal.
“Robbie, Charles, you’ve just come from town,” Lady Gladys said. “Tell us, please, who else is bringing out girls this Season?”
Robbie had taken an unfortunate mouthful of wine just as Lady Gladys spoke. He choked and reached quickly for his napkin. “Not much in the petticoat line, ma’am. Can’t say I paid much attention.”
“Surely you’ve made note of which mamas to avoid.” Lady Amanda, his neighbor at the table, whacked him on the back.
“Ah, my thanks.” Robbie shifted so Lady Amanda could not get another swing at him. “Well, I think the Barringtons might have a girl coming out.”
Lady Amanda nodded. “No doubt spotted like the last two.”
“And the Amesleys.”
“Walleyed,” Lady Amanda said.
“No, that one came out last Season. This one’s the rabbity-looking girl.”
“Right. Clarinda or Clarabelle or something.” Lady Amanda took a delicate sip of wine. “Of course, the mother’s no beauty. I never could understand how she got Billy Amesley to the altar.”
“I think it might have had something to do with the fact that the Amesleys’ pockets were to let,” Lady Gladys said. “Harriet Drummond was a significant heiress, if you’ll remember, Amanda.”
“True. The gleam of a well-filled coffer has led many a man into the parson’s mousetrap—and as they say, you can’t tell a beauty from a beast once the candles are snuffed.”
It was James’s turn to choke on his wine. “Who says, Lady Amanda?” he asked, a note of laughter in his voice.
“Everyone.” Lady Amanda sniffed. “I’m not a member of your mealymouthed generation, James.”
“For which I must be grateful.”
“I think the Earl of Mardale has a daughter making her bows this year,” Major Draysmith offered.
“Mardale—now there was a fine figure of a man,” Lady Amanda said. “I’m sure he must have produced attractive offspring.”
“Are we embarrassing you, Sarah?” James asked softly as the conversation moved on to rival mantua-makers.
“A little,” she admitted. She rubbed her fingers over the soft fabric of her borrowed dress. Now that she had seen—and worn—Lizzie’s dress, she knew she could never afford the clothes she would need for a trip to London. She lowered her voice. “Your grace, I’ve been thinking of my future.”
James gave Sarah a slow smile. “I am glad to hear that.”
She felt unaccountably flustered. “Yes, well, I think it would be best if I found a situation as a teacher now, instead of going to London.”
Unfortunately, there was a lull in the general conversation just then and Sarah’s words carried. Lady Gladys put her wineglass down so quickly, she knocked it against her plate. A few drops of wine jumped out onto the tablecloth.
“A situation as a teacher? You aren’t going to be a teacher, Sarah; you’re going to be a duchess. If you have such a burning desire to teach, teach your own children. I’m sure James won’t waste any time filling his nursery.”
Sarah was sure her face was as red as Molly’s hair. She was afraid to look at James for fear she’d prove the theory of spontaneous combustion.
“Lady Gladys, it’s quite clear that I am not suited for the position of duchess.”
“Why not? You’re young and female, aren’t you? James, do you think Sarah is unsuited to be your duchess?”
“Not at all, Aunt.”
Sarah risked a glance at James. His lips turned up into what she could only describe as a smirk.
“I can’t say that I’ve thoroughly investigated all of her credentials of course, but I believe she will suit very well indeed.”
“I thought you had investigated all her credentials, James,” Lady Amanda said. “That’s why we’re in this situation.”
Sarah watched James’s smile vanish and his ears turn red.
“Perhaps we should change the subject,” he said. “Lizzie, how go the preparations for London?”
Lizzie’s mouth was hanging open so wide that her chin just about touched the table. “Did you say you were going to marry Sarah, James?”
“I guess we forgot to mention that, didn’t we? Nothing has been decided conclusively, but Sarah has agreed to consider my suit.”
Lizzie’s eyes grew huge. Sarah could tell she was full of questions—the first one, Sarah supposed, was where she and James had met. They had better come up with a plausible story if they didn’t want the true tale known.
“We met when I was in America,” James was saying.
Sarah turned to look at him. She was very much afraid that she was goggle-eyed. She bit her tongue before she could ask him when he had been in her country. He must have been there once; his family would certainly know if he had not.
“I thought our love was hopeless with an ocean separating us, so I said nothing. I couldn’t even bring myself to mention it to Robbie.”
Sarah restrained herself from kicking him under the table. He should consider a career writing novels if he could sell that story to anyone. Lizzie looked doubtful; Robbie rolled his eyes.
“Well, James,” Lizzie said, “if you’re going to marry Sarah, you should give some thought to her clothes. She needs a whole new wardrobe—she doesn’t even have a nightdress!”
Sarah knew she would blush if she looked at James, so she studied her plate instead. “Really, your grace, my clothes—or lack of them—is not your concern.”
“I’m certainly concerned with your lack of clothes, sweetheart. But if you deny me the pleasure of clothing you, certainly you will agree that it is Robbie’s responsibility as head of your family. We’ll just have the bills sent to him, right, Robbie?”
“Yes, of course. Be happy to stand the nonsense.”
Sarah looked at Robbie.