She pulled in a deep breath and wiped her eyes again. Yes, sheloved him. But as different as they were, would they end up hating each other? She couldn’t imagine sharing a life with someone she grew to hate.
“No,” she whispered to the snow. “I could never hate Duncan.”
But the question was, would he someday come to hate her?
Chapter Seven
Even though Merryenjoyed being back in London, the return to Broadmere House was bittersweet without Walters. Fipps was the model of efficiency, but it just wasn’t the same. Walters had been family.
After her maid, Jenny, helped her freshen up from the trip, she headed downstairs to the library to check the desk for whatever correspondence they might have already received. The servants who had remained behind to tend the house would have placed the letters and inevitable invitations neatly on the table beside Chance’s desk for the duke to review at his earliest convenience.
“Lady Atterley wasted little time,” she told Serendipity as her sister joined her. “A Valentine’s Day ball. Rather short notice, is it not?”
“I am sure she has it all planned out. She knew most would not return to Mayfair until this week, what with Parliament’s session not starting until the second of February. Short notice is easily forgiven in such cases.” Serendipity flipped through the remainder of the pile, deftly sorting the correspondence into orderly stacks. She pointed at the tallest one. “I wager these are all invitations. Lady Atterley isn’t the only one who wasted little time.”
“The Season is off to a roaring start.” Merry patted the bevy of invitations. “Shall we fetch Chance’s diary andhelphim plan his engagements?”
“He will want them sorted by sender.” Serendipity frowned. “Good heavens, three of these are from Lady Burrastone.”
“Three?” Merry eyed the missives her sister held splayed out like a hand of cards.
“Perhaps she thought to invite each of us individually?”
“How extravagant would that be?” Merry took one, slid her finger under the wax seal, and opened it. “A dinner party the night after Lady Atterley’s ball. Are yours for the same?”
“No. This one is for a dinner party the nightbeforeLady Atterley’s ball. Surely that cannot be correct.”
“Are they at war again?”
Serendipity rolled her eyes. “Most likely. Open the third one.”
Merry snorted a laugh. “Guess what it is.”
“A dinner party the nightofLady Atterley’s ball?”
“Correct!” Merry tossed the invitations into a pile all their own. “I say we steer clear of this war. What say you?”
“I shall tell you after I have spoken with my sources to discover what game they are playing. We do not wish to land on the wrong side of whatever is happening.” Serendipity took the invitation to Lady Atterley’s ball and set off by itself. “Regardless, we shall attend this one. Lady Atterley always opens the Season. That is understood.”
“I wonder if Duncan received an invitation?” Merry frowned down at the artistic script flowing across the front of the letter. If Duncan had been invited to the ball, would he even come?
“Lady Atterley takes it upon herself to know each and every eligible bachelor worthy of an invitation,” Serendipity said. “How she does it is beyond me. The woman knows thetonbetter than it knows itself. I am sure your Duncan will be invited.”
A commotion in the entry hall made them both watch the library door, waiting for Fipps to announce whoever had already come calling, even though they had only just arrived and reopened the house.
“Who would be so rude?” Serendipity whispered. “No one comescalling the week before the start of the Season.”
Merry secretly hoped it was Duncan, even though her sister would find it irksome. But her hopes fell when the voice in the hall was not the velvety baritone of her favorite Scot. “Who is that? I know that voice, but cannot place it.”
Frowning, Serendipity tilted an ear toward the door. “Yes. It is somewhat familiar.”
Then the library door opened, and Chance entered while looking back at whoever followed him. “Come along, Brixham. It’s jolly good to see you again.”
Merry repressed a groan. Viscount Brixham. Now she knew why she recognized the voice. That bloody fool had been one of Chance’s devoted playmates during their childhood and had irritated her without mercy at his every opportunity. Mama and Papa had said he only did it to get her attention because he liked her. Well, he had a damn poor way of showing it.
“Sorry, Mama,” she whispered, only slightly regretting her profanity-laced thoughts regarding the notorious Lord Nicholas Brixham.
“Merry, Serendipity,” Chance said, “you remember Lord Brixham.”
