Page 21 of Manufacturing a Duchess

“Then you must take it up again directly, Your Grace.”

“Yes, well,” and he settled into an uneasy silence.

* * *

Not sure what to do, Aurora said nothing further as they filed into the supper room and took their seats.

She found herself seated with the Duke of Selkirk on one side and the Duke of Galloway on the other. Missie was on the opposite side of the table, facing Selkirk, and, as the evening progressed and Missie exchanged conversations with the gentlemen on either side of her, she would occasionally give a quiet, barely detectible smile as she turned her attention from one to the other. Aurora watched, fascinated. For the gentlemen surrounding her friend were, within the ritual of the meal which called on a lady to switch her conversation from the companion on one side to the companion on the other with each new dish, completely taken with her. As was the Duke of Galloway. As was the Duke of Selkirk.

“‘All thou know’st speak, and be confident,’” Aurora murmured, a little louder than she intended, and for the second time that evening. She blushed crimson as she heard herself. Oh, I am making the most complete cake of myself that ever was this evening.

“I beg your pardon,” said a startled Duke of Galloway, whose polite soliloquy on the wild beauties of the Scottish countryside was decidedly thrown off track by her comment.

“I, oh, goodness, I said that out loud.”

“Yes, I am rather afraid you did. That sounds like, well, Homer?”

“Yes.”

* * *

“And you read him in Greek or in translation?” Finn asked, amusement at the sudden novelty of the conversation he was having with the young heiress breaking through his initial surprise.

“In Greek and then translation. Chapman.”

He peered at her to see if she was pulling his leg, but her large blue eyes were very solemn as she said this. Good Lord—a bluestocking! A bluestocking heiress!

Before he had the chance to reply, it was time to switch partners again, and Miss Hardcastle was back attempting to smile politely at Alec while he rambled on about something.

* * *

Aurora knew she had grossly mis-stepped, as young ladies of breeding would not know Greek, would certainly not quote Homer, and would especially not do either at the supper table. The sensation of utter failure sank to the bottom of her stomach and curdled whatever food she had already eaten. From that point on, she only pretended to eat in a desperate attempt to avoid further notice. The excruciating meal finally ended and, on their return to the ballroom, which had now been cleared for dancing, Missie came up close enough to say very quietly—but most distinctly—in Aurora’s ear, “I heard the word Greek. Rorie, how could you be such a fool? Smile. Laugh. Say general nothings. You will be a disaster if you go on about knowing Greek.” And then Missie glided on by, on the arm of the marquess whose father was a frequent gaming companion of her own father’s and who had escorted her to dinner (as Aurora would hear all about the next day). Crestfallen, Aurora vowed not to say another word.

The Duke of Selkirk returned her to the Wentworths and, with a bow, said, “I hope I may have the pleasure of Miss Hardcastle’s company in one of the dances?”

“You may,” returned Lady Wentworth, mellowed by the meal and her glasses of wine, a mellowness which Aurora knew would be completely dispelled if she had heard of Aurora’s gaffes—mathematics and Greek (luckily, Missie had missed the mathematics discussion). Lord Wentworth excused himself and went off to find a card game somewhere to help carry him through the ordeal of the remainder of the evening.

* * *

People had begun to pair up and form lines in the center of the room. Millicent’s marquess came up to claim her for a partner, and then a curly-headed youth of about her own age came up to claim Aurora. Lady Wentworth watched from the sidelines, gracefully bobbing her head in greeting to friends around the room. During a pause in the dancing, while she waited at her chaperone’s side for her next partner to claim her, Aurora watched as Lady Hinsdale stopped for a moment during her perambulations as hostess and patted Lady W. on the arm. “Very good, Portia. Very good,” Aurora heard her say, accompanied by a small smile in Aurora’s direction. Their hostess continued on her way before Lady Wentworth had the chance to open her mouth in reply.

* * *

The next dance was claimed by the Duke of Selkirk (for Aurora), and the Duke of Galloway (for Missie). And the next by two officers. And on and on the evening went until the final dance was danced and the musicians began to pack away their instruments. Aurora had found herself often tongue-tied, yet the longer the dancing went on, the more she began to relax and enjoy herself. In fact, by the time of the final dance (again, with the Duke, an instance not lost upon her chaperone—twice in one evening!) her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks flushed. With a final bow, he left Aurora with Lady Wentworth, after requesting the pleasure of calling upon them.

“Please do, Your Grace. You will find us at home,” that worthy party answered him.

Eighteen

For the first time since she had arrived in London, Aurora slept until Hyacinth brought her a cup of chocolate. She felt heavy and tired. She had never been up so late in her entire life. Except for that time when she was ten and Papa had taken her up to the roof walk to see a meteor shower … or was it a comet? Her head felt thick.

With a decided yank, Hyacinth pulled the curtains open, spilling the bright light of mid-morning into the room and over the bed. The sudden contrast caused Aurora to swiftly shield her eyes until they could adjust.

She was sorry she had missed Lucy. She had promised to tell her everything about the evening. Well, that would simply have to wait until tomorrow. And she had missed the chance to go out and find Marjorie in the park. Well, that too would have to wait. Peering carefully at Hyacinth as she bustled about the room, selecting a day dress for Aurora to wear, she noticed the lady’s maid seemed actually pleased about something. You could not easily tell with Hyacinth—her usual expression was generally disapproving, particularly when it came to Aurora. Today there was a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth. Was she, was she smiling? If so, then it meant that last night had gone well.

A little fizz of excitement began to grow in the middle of Aurora’s stomach, and she nearly let out a whoop. She docilely submitted to being dressed and coiffured and then skipped downstairs (after checking first to ensure no one was about on the stairs at that moment) to the breakfast room. Even though she was later than usual, she was the only person up. She found herself ravenous and gratefully set upon the offerings along the wall, even the kippers (of which she was not usually fond). She stopped herself barely in time from going up for seconds. If she continued in this way, she would never be able to fit into her new gowns.

She had too much energy now to sit and wait for Missie to come down for her brioche, so she stepped through the French doors to the small garden and contented herself with pacing to and fro out there.