Page 28 of How to Tempt a Duke

The sweet jasmine scent drew his attention. He met her imploring expression.

“I can’t do this without you.” Her smooth forehead furrowed. “I feel as though I’m finally beginning to comprehend what’s expected of me. But I need you.”

She needed him. Such a caress to his ego. But needing him in the flippant way she did would not grant him what he wanted.

“You have been ideal to practice with,” she added. “And I’ve truly appreciated it.”

Part of him wished they had more time, that there might be more of an opportunity to procure her trust and friendship. And yet her father Westix remained lodged in Charles’s mind. Westix and the wrong done to Charles’s own father.

This woman was not for him. Marriage was not for him. Not when the need to explore ran in his blood and the Coeur de Feu still needed to be found. He required those journals with urgency.

Utilizing that thought, Charles steeled himself for what he must do. “Forgive me, Lady Eleanor.” He bowed low, more to break the hold of her gaze than for civility’s sake. “You are in superb care with Lottie, and you will excel at flirtation at the ball. I am certain you will be the Diana of the matrimonial hunt.”

Without another word, he straightened and strode from the room, set on seeing his promise fulfilled.

Eleanor had developed doubts about attending the modiste appointment that afternoon. Life had been so very different when she hadn’t been aware of their dire financial circumstances. And so, when her mother had fallen prey to the crippling effects of another one of her headaches, Eleanor had been all too eager to cancel the appointment and remain at home with the ailing Countess.

That choice led to a fascinating series of events—beginning with Eleanor taking tea with her mother in the drawing room. Oftentimes taking tea soothed the rougher edges of the Countess’s debilitation.

Their butler, Edmonds, entered the room, with a silver tray perched atop his fingertips. He stopped before the Countess, presenting the tray with his usual grace. Her mother lifted the card from it between the pinch of her fingers and her lips tucked down at the corners.

Eleanor sat higher in her seat, attempting with what she hoped was discretion to read over her mother’s shoulder. Without success. The print on the card was too small from where she sat.

The Countess nodded at Edmonds. “Send him in and tell Bessie to bring in another setting for tea.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

“Someone will be joining us?” Eleanor inquired politely.

The Countess cast a dubious look her way and lifted a brow. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you craning your neck. I appreciate you taking to your new lessons with such sincerity, but please ensure your manners do not suffer.”

Chastened, Eleanor regarded the bits of tea leaf floating about the bottom of her dainty porcelain cup.

“If you must know,” her mother began, “our visitor is His Grace the Duke of Somersville.”

Somersville... The name was familiar.

“He and your father were at university together. They had their...” her mother swept her hand through the air with a disdainful gesture “...their club together. Until they fought like children over some of the items they’d found and ruined the club along with their friendship.”

She sighed and rattled off the details with the ennui of a person reciting a list of tedious daily tasks.

“The Duke died in his sleep several months past. I’d heard his son was out adventuring and has now returned to claim his title, his estate, and most likely the dusty relics from our study.”

The slight roll of the Countess’s eyes was all the explanation Eleanor needed to know what her mother thought of the Duke. She understood now why she recalled the name. Her father’s face had turned purple every time the name Somersville had been mentioned. There had even been an incident when the Duke had paid a visit and shouting had been heard from the study.

Whoever the new Duke of Somersville was, he was not a friend of the family.

“Why did they quarrel?” Eleanor spoke in a quiet voice to keep their conversation from carrying down the hall, where the Duke might overhear.

Her mother took a careful sip of her tea. “Mummies’ bones, fragments of old pottery and the like. The lot of it is a bunch of dreary rubbish, if you ask me. I gave the previous Duke nearly everything he asked for after your father died, having no purpose for it myself. It would appear his son is under the illusion that I have been inclined to retain some.” She set her cup in the saucer. “The Somersvilles are nothing if not persistent. I know if I decline seeing him now there will be another card tomorrow and another the next day until I finally concede.”

Unwelcome Duke or not, this would be the first person Eleanor had met since she’d begun her specialized edification with Lottie and Lord Charles in earnest. Her nerves disturbed the mirrored surface of her tea with a perceptible tremble. She set her cup down, lest it rattle in its saucer.

Should she use this Duke for practice? A test prior to her grand attempt at Lady Covington’s masquerade ball?

Her father would be appalled if he were alive. And that was the final reason she needed to convince herself it was a good idea.

She ran through the instructions in her head. Be kind, be genuine, make eye contact, smile. Pretend you have a kitten in your lap.