And clamor they did.
In their droves and with their marriageable daughters in tow, circling around him and forming another unwelcome barricade between him and his intended destination. With every forced smile and insincere “Merry Christmas” he scanned the room but saw neither Diana nor any of her family.
“Your Grace.” While searching the sea of faces, he failed to notice Mr. Regis and Dahlia until it was too late. “We have called at your house several times these past weeks and despaired of you ever coming back from Shropshire. I’m sure your man told you?” The businessman had a determined glint in his eyes as he pushed his daughter forward. “Dahlia, especially, was eager to speak to you.”
Dahlia looked nothing of the sort but nodded, forcing a politesmile as brittle as his. “Seeing as we were unable to be there, I wanted to… er…” She shot a panicked glance at her father.
“You wanted to inquire about the funeral service.”
“Yes. I did… um… was it a lovely service?”
“I should have written, Miss Regis, and now feel bad that I didn’t.” With everything else that had happened, poor Dahlia had completely slipped Giles’s mind. “It was a lovely service.” As lovely as a sparsely attended and impersonal funeral could have been when one considered the duke’s objectionable character and fiscal abuse of his tenants. But as Diana had wisely said, it was undoubtedly the funeral he had deserved. There hadn’t been anything but dry eyes in the chapel, or at the graveside, but this gentle creature did not need to know that. “As per your instructions, Miss Regis, I laid some flowers in your name.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. That is most thoughtful.” She curtsied again, clearly ill at ease as she gestured to her gown. It was too bright for her delicate coloring and too tight for her generous figure and it was obvious from her wince that she knew it, too. “I… um… apologize for my lack of proper mourning attire, only I… um… we…” Her gaze flicked again to her father, who only glared at her inarticulateness and discomfort. “We were unsure of the proper protocols pertaining to the… um… unusual situation. Your father and I were never officially engaged, you see, so…” Her rounded cheeks blushed scarlet.
“Please do not trouble yourself with any concerns, Miss Regis.” When the rules of propriety dictated he probably shouldn’t be here at all, let alone resplendent in his scarlet silk waistcoat, Giles was in no position to judge. “It is Christmas Eve. A day for celebration. His Grace would have wanted you to move on and enjoy the yuletide, not waste it in grief.” At least he would have if he’d possessed an ounce of humanity.
“I see you are celebrating the yuletide as well.” Mr. Regis scanned him up and down, taking in the jaunty waistcoat and the sprig of mistletoe Giles had pinned to his lapel in his trademark mischievous homage to the season. At least that was how he justified it to Dalton, who had referred to it, with a knowing wink, as his “emergency mistletoe” in case an opportunity with the “prickly minx” presented itself. “I presume it wouldn’t be seen in any way as inappropriate if we invited you to dine with us this week?” Regis took a step closer, practically pinning Giles to the wall. “Which evening would suit?”
“Alas—I already have plans for Christmas Day. Then Tuesday I have urgent business meetings all day and intend to return to Shropshire first thing on Wednesday.” He threw that lie in, preempting Dahlia’s pushy father but smiling at the girl to soften the blow, noticing she looked relieved he was busy. “Sadly, this is a fleeting visit.”
Her father, on the other hand, was annoyed to be thwarted. “And when do you return, sir?”
“Not until the spring at least.” A vague enough date to spare him any further invitations, or so he hoped. Until Mr. Regis scuppered things.
“Perhaps we could visit you there next month then?” Giles kicked himself for his own lack of forethought. He hadn’t anticipated Regis would invite himself, yet realized too late that he should have. The man was like a hungry dog outside a butcher’s window. “I have business in the north in January and I am sure my Dahlia would love to finally see the estate she should have been mistress of.”
“That would be delightful.” About as delightful as having pins hammered beneath his fingernails.
“Shall we agree on a date?”
Not in a million years.“Let us not be that formal, Mr. Regis.”
“We shall call at our convenience then once my business is concluded.”
“A splendid idea.” So long as Giles remembered not to be in.
After her father nudged her, poor Dahlia blushed again. “Thank you, Your Grace. I… um… hear Shropshire is… um… lovely but… um… have sadly never been.”
“My business takes us frequently north…” As Mr. Regis droned on, Giles sensed her before he saw her dark, lopsided tresses striding purposefully around the edge of the room toward the door.
Straightaway his fatigue and anxious mood disappeared. Even the relentless Mr. Regis receded into the background. Diana was the most splendid sight for sore eyes. The sense of elation at seeing her after so long sent warmth radiating beneath his skin and lightened his aching limbs. Transfixed, he drank her in, instantly amused by her no-nonsense manner even when she was unaware she was being watched.
As always, Diana portrayed with every inch a woman on a mission to avoid joining in. He had never once seen her dance or socialize outside of their circle, and she gave short shrift to any of the gentlemen foolish enough to attempt to engage her. She was always either unsociable or unnoticed. The latter had always baffled him because he had always noticed her, but knowing what she did for the newspaper her behavior all made sense now.
Tonight, her brow was furrowed as she rummaged in her reticule while her heavy shawl dragged along the floor. She avoidedmaking eye contact with anyone and did her best impression of an irritated woman on the cusp of anger, and as a result the crowd parted like the Red Sea to allow her to pass. Then, just like that, she was gone again. Swallowed by the crush in the hallway and instantly leaving him bereft.
Not caring if it would be construed as rude, he made the snap decision to take a leaf out of her book and emulate her tactics to escape.
“If you will excuse me.” Regis bristled as Giles interrupted him midflow. “But I have just spied someone I urgently need to talk to.” He started walking away before he finished the sentence, and in the absence of a reticule patted down his coat the moment his feet hit the hallway, as if he had mislaid something important as an excuse not to meet anyone else’s eyes. It worked a treat and he managed to march his way across the entire hall and, when he spotted her hair again, half the ballroom in hot pursuit unencumbered.
“Giles Sinclair! As I live and breathe!” An acquaintance from White’s stepped into his path and forced him to stop as Diana darted into an alcove. “I haven’t seen you in forever! How are you, old boy?”
“It’s Your Grace now.” Another acquaintance slapped him on the back as he blocked his view. “My condolences. I heard the news. Just terrible. Allow me to introduce you to my sister…”
It was a conspiracy. Fate doing everything in its power to thwart him. Before he could excuse himself, Diana glanced furtively around before she slipped out of the French doors onto the terrace. Then Vee rushed toward him from nowhere and grabbed both his hands.
“You are late, Giles!” Like his knight in shining armor she dragged him away. “Do excuse us—but His Grace asked us to save him a chair for the carols and they are about to start.” She tugged him several feet away before she grinned. “They are like vultures, aren’t they? There is nothing like an unattached duke to put the cat amongst the pigeons—and just look at all the pigeons.”
