Page 38 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

Gideon let out a breath and gazed up at the sky. “Look, Damian, I don’t want to argue with you, and I certainly don’t want to cause a scene tonight. Neither of us ought to be here but let us try to emerge from this evening without doing anything either of us will regret.”

Damian shrugged. “It sounds dull, but whatever will make you stop looking like you’re on the way to your own execution.”

“I’ll try,” Gideon said, stretching his lips in a parody of a smile.

Damian pulled a face. “Stop that, you’re scaring me.”

Gideon snorted, laughing for real now and the two of them arrived at the doors looking as if they did not hate the sight of each other, which was something.

The butler greeted them politely and showed them into an elegant drawing room decorated in shades of pale green and gold. Damian, who was a great admirer of beauty and appreciated quality, approved of the layout and the décor, admiring the way the late afternoon sunlight flooded the room through the large windows. The scent of the garden drifted on a subtle breeze and the air was filled with the gentle hum of conversation, which died as Damian and Gideon entered the room.

The beautiful white marble fireplace that dominated the space had a hearty fire going, despite the day still being warm, and two older ladies sat on either side of it, apparently directing everyone else as they saw fit.

“Ah, Mr Bramwell,” exclaimed one of them, crooking a bejewelled finger at Gideon. “Come. I want you to meet everyone, and I suppose this wicked-looking fellow is your brother?” she remarked with a smirk, running what Damian considered an expert eye over him.

“It is,” Deon replied, managing not to grimace, which was something. “Your grace, may I make known to you my brother, Viscount Rivington. Damian, the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney.”

Damian, who recognised something of a kindred spirit in the dowager, turned on the charm. “Your grace, may I say what a pleasure it is to meet you. I have heard so much about you.” He took her hand, bowing low over it and pressed a fleeting kiss to her knuckles.

“Scapegrace,” the dowager replied, wrapping his hand with her fan, but her eyes twinkled with appreciation all the same. “I know all about you too, Rivington, so you mind your manners and keep your hands to yourself.”

Damian smothered a choked laugh, glancing at his brother who looked utterly mortified.

“Maria!” exclaimed the other older lady in the room, expressing shock, though Damian felt it was more for the benefit of the two younger women present than with any real feeling.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be stuffy, Helena, it don’t suit you. I’ve warned the fellow to stay away from the gels and they’re too sensible to fall for his charms, I’ll warrant,” the dowager remarked placidly.

“How do you know I won’t fall for theirs?” Damian asked, darting a glance at the young women to see how this gallantry was received. As he’d expected, Lady Henrietta looked mildly nauseated, Lady Cecilia, however, was biting her lip as if trying to hold back a laugh.

“Lady Henrietta, I have brought the plans you wished to see,” Deon cut in hurriedly, no doubt hoping to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters. Such a dull dog, and just when he was beginning to enjoy himself.

“Yes, we can look at them in the library once dinner is over, if that suits you?” Lady Henrietta replied.

Damian was about to turn back to the dowagers for a more stimulating conversation when the door opened again. A tall, starkly handsome man walked into the room and Damian sighed inwardly. Any chance of lively conversation had likely just fled for good as he saw the Duke of Hawkney enter. There was another man with him, though, a clergyman, by God. Damian groaned. The evening had just taken a turn for the worse.

“Hawkney, about time. I want my dinner,” the dowager grumbled upon seeing her grandson. “Honeywell, good to see you. You won’t mind if we go through now?”

“Not in the least, your grace. I admit I am a trifle peckish myself,” the fellow said, his blue eyes twinkling as he looked around and greeted the assembled guests.

“Good evening, Reverend Honeywell,” Deon said, shaking the man’s hand with what Damian considered surprising warmth. “You have not yet been introduced to my brother.”

Damian bowed, slanting Deon a wary look. “Reverend,” he replied. In his experience, clergymen were a humourless lot who treated him like his sinful existence might be contagious. Hypocrites, most of them.

“Don’t look so horrified,” Deon murmured as the small group moved towards the doors. “Honeywell is a good fellow.”

Damian shot him a sceptical glance but said nothing as the duke escorted the Dowager Duchess of Langley, and Honeywell took the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney’s arm at her insistence, leaving Deon and Damian to escort the young ladies.

Gideon offered his arm to Lady Henrietta, leaving Damian with Lady Cecilia. Damian glanced at her. The rather bold creature who had winked at him might have been a figment of his imagination now, for she was the picture of a modest young woman, keeping her eyes downcast.

Damian offered her his arm. “Lady Cecilia.”

Her gloved fingers rested lightly upon his sleeve, and Damian studied her as she looked up, meeting his gaze. Her eyes, which he had thought a pale hazel, were gold, he realised with a start. It was such an unusual shade; he stared for a moment.

Lady Cecilia stared right back.

Ah, he thought, there she is, and wondered what to make of the contrary creature as he led her through to dinner.

Gideon looked across the magnificent table, which seemed to glitter, resplendent with crystal and polished silver. Wax tapers flickered in magnificent candelabra, casting warm pools of light and dancing shadows over the fine porcelain set out before them. The opulence of the dining room had quite taken his breath away: red silk and gold and a display of wealth so dizzying he’d felt momentarily out of his depth.