“Of course you’re staying,” Miss Finch said as she placed the cue stick into his hands. “What’s the point of being a duke if you can’t roll about in the mud or perform circus tricks or wager at billiards with friends instead of attending your own party once in a while?”
“None of those are things dukes do,” he informed her.
She smiled. “They should.”
Sébastien motioned toward the green baize. “Take your shot.”
Alexander frowned at the table. “Where did the pockets go?”
“Mon Dieu,” Lucien muttered.
Sébastien chortled with glee. “This is the best thing that could have happened to this tournament. He’s never seen carom billiards before!”
“What do I do?” Alexander whispered to Miss Finch.
She demonstrated. “With a straight rail, your cue ball hits both object balls in one strike.”
He tried.
It did not work.
“My turn.” Sébastien leapt to his feet. “Prepare for destruction.”
Miss Finch handed Alexander an empty goblet. “Red or white wine?”
He set the goblet down. “Miss Finch—”
All three le Ducs stared at him. “You call her ‘Miss Finch?’”
“As is proper,” Alexander said.
More to the point, Miss Finch hadn’t given him leave to call her anything else.
“I like it,” announced Sébastien. “His Grace is only permitted ‘Miss Finch’ whilst everyone else in the village may call her Cynthia Louise for short.”
“‘Miss Finch’ is shorter than ‘Cynthia Louise,’” Alexander pointed out defensively.
“And as a penalty for Sébastien’s impudence,” Miss Finch interrupted, “I hereby grant His Grace permission to call me ‘Cynthia,’ which is even shorter than ‘Cynthia Louise.’”
“I thought we were friends,” Sébastien muttered.
He and his siblings swiveled expectant gazes toward Alexander.
“Er,” he said.
From the moment he’d inherited the title, no one outside of the family had ever again called Alexander by his Christian name.
His spine tingled as he said, “Miss—er—Cynthia may call me ‘Alexander’ whilst the rest of you scoundrels continue to call me ‘Nottingvale.’”
“Rude,” said Sébastien. “You’re catching on.”
He then bent to the table and made several shots that inspired grunts of approval from his brother and good-natured cursing from two very unladylike ladies.
Alexander should have been appalled.
Instead, he couldn’t stop smiling.
He was having more fun than he had ever had at a Yuletide party, and all he’d done was walk into a room, fail to make his shot, and parry a few insults.
