‘Oh, well, then. If you held up your hand…’ She rolled her eyes heavenwards and he jerked backwards. No one treated him with such open contempt. Not even his brothers.
‘I do not appreciate your sarcasm.’
She scoffed and dropped her hold on his sleeve. ‘I see that you are fine and I shall retreat. I do apologise for the imposition my company has had on your fine person.’
Then, as if she hadn’t tried to drown him, confound him and insult him with her sarcasm, she added fuel to the fire by turning away from him and making her way back to the bank without so much as a by-your-leave. For a second, he could only stare at her retreating form, but then something brushed his ankle and he decided he’d had enough of being in the Serpentine. Wading after her, he heard her muttering beneath her breath. He wasn’t close enough to hear every word, but the wordsmenandfoolish beyond redemptionwere crystal clear. They were a bit rich coming from her, but he was a gentleman and so he would not point out that she was in the wrong.
Climbing out of the river was harder than getting in as his clothes now weighed a great deal more. He glared at the back of the woman, who was putting on her own boots and ignoring his very existence. Her maid caught his look and quailed. He turned away, not pleased with himself for frightening a woman who had done nothing wrong, but to whom he could not apologise because those damn words were stuck in his throat again.
He tugged down the end of his pantaloons, the material horribly uncomfortable now that it was wet, and he was just debating whether to put his stockings back on or whether to pull on his boots without them, when the woman spoke again.
‘Oh dear, you are very wet.’
He ignored that comment because she was stating the absolute obvious and also on account of the words still being stuck in his throat. He hated it when that happened, which was most of the time. People thought he was standoffish, which was true, but there had beenmoments when he would have preferred to talk and it just wasn’t possible. Now was one of those times.
‘That is rather a fierce glare you have. I suspect you are used to it intimidating people.’
He felt his jaw drop open. Nobody, nobody spoke to him like this. He was a duke, God damn it. He didn’t always enjoy the responsibility his role gave him, or the restrictions, but at least it afforded him respect. This tiny spitfire of a woman was so angry with him, she was vibrating. As far as she was concerned, he was not fit to lick her boots, which was grossly unfair given he was the one who had been grievously wronged.
‘You do not like that being pointed out, do you?’ More muttering under her breath. This time he caught the wordsEnglishmenandpompous.
This woman did not seem to know who he was, which begged the question, who was she? Everyone in London was aware of the Glanmore family. They were descended from a long line of dukes, which, as far as everyone knew, stretched back hundreds of years. The brothers were well-known amongst the nobility, especially him as the duke. Women generally fell over themselves to impress him, not because they liked him, they didn’t know him, but because they wanted to be a duchess or to have access to his wealth. They did not call him pompous under their breath after trying to drown him.
‘You are American,’ he said when he finally placed the accent.
‘Well done.’ She paused in her muttering to glare at him, hands on hips, waiting for more. When it didn’t come, she said, ‘I am sorry that I startled you so badly that you fell in the river. That was poorly done of me. I hope that you understand I had no malicious intent.’
He nodded once.
‘Good. Well, I shall bid you farewell, Mr Serpentine, and let us hope that our paths do not cross again.’
Chapter Two
An orchestra was tuning its instruments at the far end of Mrs Hitchings’ ballroom. The scratch of a bow on a violin string jarred Grace Wilmott’s already frayed nerves. Her tendency to act first and think later had potentially ruined her prospects before she had even begun her entrance into English Society. She should have asked that man’s name, regardless of propriety. It was better than constantly worrying about who he might be.
Next to her, surveying her servants’ work in transforming her ballroom into a glittering delight, Mrs Hitchings beamed. Turning to Grace, she flicked an eye over Grace’s outfit. ‘You, my dear, look resplendent. What a wonderful idea it was of mine to host a ball in your honour. You will soon have all the eligible men of London dangling after you and everyone shall be grateful to me for bringing you into our fold.’
Grace laughed at her friend’s pronouncement, momentarily forgetting the anxiety that had plagued her for two long days. ‘You are too kind, but I thank you for the compliment. You were right to send me to Madame Madeleine. She is a most talented seamstress and has provided me with a wealth of gowns I hope to put to use.’
‘I think you shall be a great success, for who could not like you?’
Grace reached over and squeezed Mrs Hitchings’ hand, forever grateful that she had met the older woman when she had. On the first night of a six-week crossing of the Atlantic, they had been seated next to each other for dinner. The journey, with its tall waves and cramped conditions, had been a terribly uncomfortable affair, made bearable by one another’s company. They had bonded over the fact that they were both widows. The difference was that Mrs Hitchings had loved her husband and still missed him desperately, even after five years, and Grace would be hard-pressed to name one good thing about the man to whom she had been married for twelve miserable years. Towards the end of the journey, Mrs Hitchings had offered to sponsor Grace into Society and she had readily taken her up on the offer. It wasn’t so much that Grace wanted to join the ranks of the English Ton, rather it had turned out to be a necessity. Mrs Hitchings had told her that one could not call on someone one did not know. Grace supposed that, armed with the knowledge she had, the family she wished to speak to might make an exception to this rule, but she needed to do this right. Everything had to be done correctly, hence this ball and this outrageously expensive dress, which did wonderful things for her figure. Short as she was, she had always felt rather like a suet dumpling, but somehow Madame Madeleine had given her curves and made her legs look longer. The woman was a miracle worker.
‘The carriages have begun arriving,’ said Mrs Hitchings. ‘Are you ready, my dear?’
‘I do not suppose I ever shall be.’ A fine tremor was running through Grace at the significance of what she was going to do, and the hurdle she may or may not have created for herself by getting into a row with an English gentleman. A man who was clearly dicked in the nob, but a gentleman nonetheless.
‘Where has this doubt come from? This is not like you. Tonight will be fabulous, you shall see.’
Grace hadn’t been able to admit to her dear friend, who had spent so much of her time and money to try and make this evening a success, that she may have scuppered her chances of being accepted before she had even begun. The man she had met two days ago may have been rude, but he had definitely been a well-bred gentleman. It had been hard to tell when he had been in the water, but up close it was obvious. His clothes were cut from the finest material and everything about the arrogant curl to his lip had screamed money and social standing. He’d ignited her temper and she had exploded. She had called him names, been sarcastic and argumentative and had not acted, not for a second, like a lady. Her behaviour had been utterly ruinous and it would take only one word from him for the Ton to shun her. If that happened, all her carefully laid-out plans would be shattered before they began. The worst of it was, she had no idea who he was; there was no way to prepare herself for his arrival or to feign a headache if she heard his name called.
She inhaled deeply; she had run out of time to ponder the problem further. Mrs Hitchings’ butler opened the ballroom doors and announced the first guests.
Many introductions later, Grace’s head was swimming with names she would never remember and the line of people waiting had finally died down. Fortunately, her worst fears had not come true and that man had not arrived. She was safe, for now at least.
‘I think we should take a turn around the room,’ said Mrs Hitchings. ‘More guests may arrive later, but let us talk to the ones we have.’
‘Of course,’ said Grace, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment. The man she needed to avoid for the rest of her lifehad not turned up, but then neither had the family to whom she wanted to make herself known. No matter, she would make the best of the evening. There was good food and dancing to be enjoyed and new friends to be made. Life was short and she was being given a second chance at it. She was going to make it an excellent one, provided she could avoid scandal, which could be difficult for a number of reasons. None of which she wanted to dwell on.
