Page 11 of Manufacturing a Duchess

Aurora regained enough composure to look at Marjorie and held out her hand. “It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Marjorie.”

Marjorie extended her own hand tentatively, gripped her new friend’s fingers, and then let go. “And yours, Miss Aurora.” She bobbed a slight curtsy and then turned toward her father.

Demurely, Marjorie reached up, placed her hand in his, and started out with him to the tower’s exterior door. Suddenly, she tugged on it, whispered to him as he bent his head, and then scampered back to Aurora. “Please, Miss Aurora. On fine days, I go with Peg to the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens. Papa has made me the most splendiferous sailboat, well, sailing ship. It has masts and all manner of ap, appurtenances. We go there at half past ten. Please come to see my sailboat. I mean, ship!”

“I would love to Marjorie. I shall see you again, then.”

Marjorie dimpled and, curls bouncing, skipped back to her waiting father and his more stylish companion. Aurora noted, as the trio left, the little girl slipped a hand into each gentleman’s. Thus escorted, Marjorie made her exit.

Aurora crossed back to Missie. Hyacinth was carefully hovering in Missie’s shadow. The maid’s mouth looked a little less grim, though her lips were still pressed firmly together.

“Well,” said Missie, good humor definitely restored as she tucked her arm into Aurora’s. “This was a decided piece of luck. Hyacinth has been speaking with one of the Yeoman Warders.” She gestured vaguely behind her. “The dark-haired gentleman is Lord Alec Raeburn; the other gentleman is Lord Henry Mackenzie. Lord Mackenzie is Duke of Galloway, one of the richest dukedoms in Scotland. Now, I may not remember all of the French set pieces we had to memorize at school, but I do remember my Debrett’s, and Lord Mackenzie was one of its shining exemplars. And Lord Raeburn—he is Duke of Selkirk. Isn’t he— Ah, words cannot describe.” She pinched her friend’s arm and began to giggle. “La! He is terribly romantic in his appearance. Almost like Byron! I must tell Mama. Oh, not that, for certain. She would not approve of that type of observation. But the fact we have encountered them. And been noted! Two dukes! This outing was cleverer than you realized, Rorie. Who would have presumed even you might come up with such an idea!”

“Won’t she be upset at our outing?”

“Not when she learns whose acquaintance we have made. Well, not exactly made. Oh, you know what I mean. Whose acquaintance we perhaps piqued? No, she will be pleased, very pleased indeed.” She stopped and put her head to one side. “Fancy being a widower and taking your small child with you to London for the Season. How terribly eccentric. Children should be left in the schoolroom until they are of age. If she were mine, I would pack her off to her governess or a ladies’ academy and have done with it.”

The ride back to Eaton Square was a far cry from their trip to the City. Missie chattered away about thousands of pounds per annum, and which were the assemblies they should attend to see and be seen at, and could Aurora not tell they had both been military men? What a tragedy that the Duke of Selkirk had lost his wife, and then—once again—how peculiar he should bring his daughter with him to London if he was seeking a wife for himself. For, clearly, what other reason could he have for being there?

Aurora sat silently, aware of her lack of style and fashion all the modistes and milliners in the world could not correct. She was still an invisible nonentity. I have been nowhere and do not know much about anything outside of a book.

“The cities of a world of nations,

With all their manners, minds, and fashions,

He saw and knew.”

Yes, that was how he had struck her. Lord Raeburn, Duke of Selkirk. He had clearly seen more of the “cities of a world of nations” than she had.

And what had she seen? Nothing. And what was she seeing now? Anything? Oh, yes, she saw things. But what she saw made her feel completely hopeless and out of place, with utterly no way to find it, whatever it was supposed to be. In comparison to her friend, she might as well not exist. It was both a comfort and a feeling of utter rejection.

She looked over at Missie. Both young women were in the same carriage, but the distance between them felt like it stretched to the moon.

She picked up her guidebook and pretended to read it. Her head began to ache with the memory of a pair of dark eyes that dismissed her, and the unpleasantness of his firm grip on her arm as he had steadied her. At least, she told herself it was unpleasant.

Nine

The care and treatment of bears, and the necessity of having the proper means of defending oneself when meeting them in the wild, had formed the topic of conversation in the Duke of Galloway’s carriage as it made its way back to the other end of town. A stop at a bookshop, for the trio to have a delighted exploration of the newest arrivals, followed by another stop at Gunther’s for the promised ices, rounded out their day’s excursions. An invitation was extended to drink tea in Berkeley Square to make their greetings to the Dowager Duchess of Galloway, who was also in residence, but the Duke of Selkirk excused himself and his daughter, arguing that too much excitement in one day led to the inability to fall asleep and much disruption of household life. They would be happy to accept another time.

Marjorie had looked regretful at this, because it was turning into such a thrilling day that seeing the grand house in Berkeley Square would have been the frosting on what was turning out to be a goodly-sized slice of cake. However, when her father said no in just that tone, she knew it was useless to argue. She proceeded to demonstrate her displeasure at this decision by sitting next to Finn in the carriage and gently stroking his hand to help ease any disappointment on his part in having his invitation rejected, while pointedly ignoring her father. All of which Alec duly remarked on with a raised eyebrow.

All too soon, they were in Russell Square and lumbering to a stop in front of their rooms. Finn caught Alec’s glance, wryly noting Marjorie’s continued possession of Finn’s hand. All Alec did, however, was to issue an invitation to take tea with them, “Though I can’t say as to what state we will find things; they were rather a shambles this morning.”

Finn happily acquiesced. In spite of Alec’s protests, Finn found a tidy, cozy atmosphere, with a cheerful fire in the parlor and the much put-upon Peg and Archibald bustling about getting the tea things. Marjorie started to droop by the time they got inside, so Peg chivvied her off to her room. This left the two men to sit comfortably by the fire, munching on some bread, country cheese and mustard, and slices of roast beef.

“Ah, this is the life, Alec. I am almost tempted to take my shoes off and wiggle my stockinged toes on the fender.”

“Please don’t,” and Alec tossed back the last of his cup of tea. “Would you like something a little stronger?”

“No, not for me as yet. I am too contented to move.”

Alec’s only response was to begin humming quietly, beating a quiet tattoo on the arm of his chair to accompany the tune. Alec and his music. Probably Bach. It was a good sign.

Finn had closed his eyes as he was leaning back into the chair but then cocked one open. “I envy you this, Alec.”

“This?” Alec stopped humming and gave a strangled laugh. “It is a far cry from Berkeley Square. And not up to a duke’s standards.”

“Fiddle!” came the reply. “Berkeley Square is highly overrated. Besides, here you are free from hovering hordes of servants and the gimlet eye of my mother. Who is, naturally, in residence.”