Page 24 of Manufacturing a Duchess

Missie looked over at Aurora. Her friend was obviously still too shy to notice much of anything, or to handle herself well at all. She appeared to keep asking the Duke of Selkirk to repeat himself. And she looked utterly, totally miserable.

Oh, this will be far too easy. Like taking a cherished toy or sweet treat from a baby. Yes, I am going to win all and be named the Incomparable as well. She smiled her sweetest smile back at the Duke of Galloway. Yes, I am going to win. I will finally escape the unceasing criticisms and disappointments of my mother and the fecklessness of my father. I will have estates and jewels and handsome men paying court to me. Two dukes! Already! And the Season has barely begun.

* * *

At last, the gentlemen took their leave, after calendars had been compared and upcoming engagements noted. All skillfully managed, and Alec found himself once more in Finn’s carriage with a sense of how painless the entire procedure had been.

“Perhaps this will not be as difficult as I imagined,” he said.

“How so?”

“I was expecting this to be the equivalent of having a limb sawn off on the battlefield. There was no pain at all.”

“Early days yet, my friend. We are but newly come to the field. The opening salvoes have been fired, and we are undertaking an initial parley with the enemy before the battle itself commences. Soon we will take our places and charge.”

“That sounds perfectly gruesome, Finn. Today seemed so very civilized. It appears Miss Hardcastle’s parents were right to place their trust in Lady Wentworth for their daughter’s sacrifice upon the Marriage Mart.”

“In answer to your first statement—yes, oh, yes, it is. It is a battle to the death nonetheless, cousin. Never forget that. Leaving the blood and guts aside,” (this made Alec wince), “how did it go with Miss Hardcastle?”

“Most pleasant. When she stops blushing, she is capable of carrying on a very easy conversation.”

“Very good. But cousin, in the interest of complete and open disclosure between comrades, I must let you know she admitted to me at supper last night she had read Homer. In the original Greek.”

“Good God!” ejaculated Alec.

“Yes, a bluestocking. Which might make for eccentricity and not the most domesticated of partners on top of the extreme youth. Just a wrinkle to be navigated. Hmmm. Does one navigate a wrinkle?”

“And perhaps not a desire to be marooned in the far reaches of Scotland,” Alec noted a jab of disappointment, which brought with it a sense of deflation. “Well, as you said, early days as yet. And there may be other heiresses to meet. How did you get along with our Beauty, Miss Wentworth?” He couldn’t keep a faint tinge of envy from this last remark.

“Capital, capital. She says very little of interest, prattles of this and that, and delivers the most enchanting looks. And her dimples, why, they’d be enough for me to sell my kingdom.”

“Finn, you do not have a kingdom.” In spite of himself, Alec laughed. “Do you dislike her so much, then?”

“I do not dislike her at all. I am prodigiously attracted to her. She hints, she feints, she parries, she promises things I dare not speak aloud—all this with the tiniest of gestures. She has clearly been trained by her mama to excel in the Marriage Mart. I wish—” His voice trailed off, the man underneath the pose breaking through. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he resumed in his previous Nonpareil tone, “She would be the perfect adornment to any home.”

“Finn, she is not a thing, a possession, an object to be placed on a mantelpiece for visitors to ooh and aah over. She is an actual person. One you would have to face each morning over the jam-pot.”

“Well, she is not a goddess to be worshipped either, which direction I see you have a tendency to veer in.”

“If I had such a creature as that, I would adore her. And there I am placing her on a mantelpiece myself, like the most perfect of chinaware shepherdesses.”

“Well, yes, adoration is part of the requirement for wooing her. She is not for you, Alec. Remember, this time, she is not for you.”

A faint tension hovered between the two men, and they said nothing more until they arrived at White’s, where they were to play a few hands and then return home. Alec was aware of a feeling of confusion, which stayed with him through the evening—the memory of a pair of bashful warm eyes interrupted by a sense of duty and self-disgust at his mercenary campaign, an ache in his heart to claim the golden beauty of Miss Wentworth, and the memory of the weight of a little girl on his lap, whose future was dependent upon the next few weeks.

Twenty-One

Finally, the evening at Almack’s not only approached—it arrived. Missie’s gown of midnight blue was covered with the sheerest of silver chiffon overskirts. Tiny paste crystals were woven throughout her hair, so that she glittered like the night sky. Aurora was once again in a deep, warm rose, with a matching band laced throughout the complex arrangement of her hair in layers and curls.

Aurora’s eyes danced in anticipation, and she could not stop smiling; Missie’s face was schooled to stillness, yet she could not keep the excitement from shining out of her eyes either. Their white gloved arms were suitably demure, though Aurora gave off a lovely glow, and Missie’s decolletage simply plunged in invitation.

Before they knew it, their carriage pulled up in front of Almack’s and they were being announced. Lady Jersey and Lady Sefton, who were in attendance this evening as the official chaperones, greeted them as they stepped into the Assembly Rooms. Each young woman was appraised with a quick and practiced eye and received a nod of approval. Then they were whisked off into dance after dance, with occasional respites for a glass of punch or a small plate of delicacies, presented to them by their current partner.

As she became acclimated to the whirl of the evening, Aurora began to take note of her surroundings. Butterflies flitted in her stomach as she knew the waltz would be coming up soon, and she would be partnered by the Duke of Selkirk. She blushed in expectation, which pleased the greasy-haired viscount she was dancing with no end. She ignored him until she unfortunately trod on his foot in distraction. His wince brought her back to herself. No wool gathering, Aurora, she scolded silently.

She thought she glimpsed Lady Hinsdale once across the room, who appeared to catch her eye and give a slight smile, and then knowingly tapped the side of her nose. What a peculiar person she is. But as Missie would say, “It does not signify.” Then her mind returned to her upcoming waltz. This mixture of terror and pleasurable anticipation, tightly intertwined, was still new to her, and she was unsure whether she liked it.

She noted the other young women in attendance: what they were wearing, how they styled their hair, and who was dancing with whom. As she sized them up, she was certain they were doing the same to her. And likely finding her wanting. She almost gasped, however, at the sight of one very thin woman of about her age with jet black hair, who appeared terribly weak and was being dragged more than swept around the room by her partner. The gasp came from her color. She looked green.