Page 23 of Manufacturing a Duchess

And, with that, he languidly stood, left the room, and returned a few minutes later with a young lady possessed of still dripping eyes who was struggling to hold in her sobs. As she entered the room, Alec opened his arms and Marjorie launched herself into them with a fresh flood of tears while he softly stroked her head. Eventually, they subsided for good. With a little sigh of contentment, she curled up into his lap and rested her head against him.

“I’m sorry, Papa. Does your head hurt dreadfully?”

“No, it’s not my head, puss. It’s only the thoughts inside it. Things fathers have to worry about. You mustn’t take it so to heart, imp. If your friend did not come today, perhaps she will come tomorrow. Now, on your feet. I need to change my shirt—you have watered it thoroughly, and I need to be at my most elegant to make some calls. Pax?”

“Pax.” And she climbed down from his lap, smiled a blinding smile at Finn, and headed out of the room to find Peg. Finn shook his head, obviously stunned at the speed by which this complete reversal of mood had been accomplished.

Alec smiled ruefully and stood. “Clearly you are not a parent, cousin. Heartbreaks may be frequent, but the recovery is glorious and a blessed relief. At least with Marjorie. Archibald! I won’t be but a minute, Finn.”

“Take your time. Take your time.”

Twenty

The two dukes presented their cards to the footman and were ushered into the morning room in which, in addition to the objects of their visit and those objects’ chaperone, were already situated two junior lieutenants, a marquess, and one baron. Millicent, however, dimpled delightfully at the two of them, and Aurora blushed when she saw Alec, then bent her head down to her embroidery.

“Please come in, Your Graces, please come in,” fluttered Lady Wentworth. “Have a dish of tea with us. We are recounting the delights of yesterday evening at Lady Hinsdale’s and discussing what further evenings and events the Season may have in store for us.”

Like a master general, before they were aware of it, Lady Wentworth had somehow displaced the two junior lieutenants, reorganized the marquess and the baron, and had Alec seated next to Aurora and Finn next to Millicent.

There was some unhappiness on the part of the earlier callers as a result of this re-shuffling of the players. One of the junior lieutenants appeared to be on the verge of calling the Duke of Galloway out for usurping his ability to hover and attempt to catch the delightful Miss Wentworth’s eye, but his companion had quickly sized up the two veterans and decided retreat was the better part of valor. A marquess and a baron were fair game, but two members of the Ton who had clearly seen action in the wars necessitated a withdrawal. With a collection of bows to their hostess and glances of longing directed at Missie, the quartet of younger men reluctantly took their leave. Alec found himself wryly amused by the parting gestures of said marquess, who apparently needed to remind himself to direct an apologetic glance Aurora’s way, as if to say he was sorry to have overlooked her, then blushed as he seemingly recalled which of the two young women was the heiress, and that he had been remiss in his attentions to her. But am I doing any better?

The quartet’s departure left the two dukes firmly seated next to their objects of desire while also holding a cup and saucer filled with the most delightful of teas and the definite sensation their respective campaigns were underway.

“How are you enjoying London, Miss Hardcastle?”

She paused and swallowed. With a deliberate effort, she set down her embroidery and attempted to speak. “It is marvelous, Your Grace. Though, truly, I have not seen much of it. There is a great deal of history here.”

“Ah, yes, the Tower.”

“Yes, such as the Tower.” Here Miss Hardcastle finally raised her face and looked at him directly. Alec had the distinct impression she was looking right into him, that she would be able to read him like a book, and it made him uncomfortable. He shifted slightly, and she dropped her eyes again. He felt a sudden loss when she did so, however, which surprised him, and he realized he wanted her to look at him again. “So, do you prefer the city or the country?”

“I do prefer the country. Cities are terribly important, but I miss the openness. Here you are all so crowded together. I have managed an outing to the park,” and here she blushed and looked very intently at her embroidery.

“I understand you perfectly, Miss Hardcastle.” There was something in his tone that caused her to look up again, puzzled, unsure of whether or not he was quizzing her. His gaze remained placid, though, and then became slightly wistful. “I miss my home as well.”

“Is it beautiful where you are from, sir?”

“The most beautiful place on earth. There is nowhere else to compare with Scotland. It is an old estate and lacks all of the latest folderols of London. I would not trade it, though, for a thousand cities.”

Alec noted the warmth in the smile Aurora bestowed on him as well as how it lit up her eyes and animated her face. “And I understand you perfectly, Your Grace. And how is, if I may⁠—”

But Alec heard nothing further as his eyes strayed to where Millicent sat, ostensibly focused on the Duke of Galloway. Nevertheless, he knew she was aware of his gaze, or his presence, because of the occasional glances that she would steal his way in turn. When he turned his attention back to Aurora, she smiled politely at him and ventured nothing further beyond a simple yes or no to any questions that he politely raised.

* * *

Finn pretended not to notice the byplay. He was content for the moment to look at Millicent. She was exquisite, with that extra bloom that comes from being young and excited to be where she was, her studied manner of calm notwithstanding. Her words of the weather, the quality of the ices available at Gunther’s, and the pleasures of the dance at Lady Hinsdale’s were polished, careful, and cool, but not cold. He found himself wanting to get underneath the mask she wielded, blocking off the young woman—little more than a girl, really—beneath it.

“Miss Wentworth—” the impulse to break through got the better of him.

“Yes, Your Grace?” she replied, her head tilted just so, the gray eyes deepening into slate and looking up at him fetchingly.

Finn suddenly felt foolish. Or lost. Or something. “I was meaning to enquire if you have ever visited Scotland?”

“Regrettably no, sir. I have heard it is most wild and beautiful. I should like to one day, with the proper company, of course.” The dimple reappeared again.

* * *

What Missie was thinking and feeling, not even she herself was ready to acknowledge. All she was willing to admit was that no one should be able to see the desperation of the role she was playing. She had to win; the stakes were too high. And any time she felt a tug of hesitation, she remembered her father and the perilous circumstances of her future. Most assuredly, she had to win. And by win, she meant everything.