Page 9 of A Duke in Autumn

“She most certainly would, if she thought it too revealing.”

Lady Annet sighed, shaking her head sadly.

“At least come to the modiste with me, and show her the sketches, to see what she thinks. I am sure that we can find a way for you to have one of these made up, and a chance for you to wear it.”

Eugenia stared at her friend. What Lady Annet was suggesting was well beyond good behaviour – so far beyond that it almost made Eugenia feel faint. But, at the same time, it was the most tempting thing that Eugenia had ever heard. To have a modiste see her sketches, and tell her if they were such that those gowns could actually be made… and, maybe, to even eventually see one made real, to wear it… her head spun at the thought.

She wanted to do it. She told herself that she most definitely should not consider such a thing – that the styles which she sketched were all far too daring, too revealing, for her to ever have the courage to wear. But she wanted to. So very, very, much.

“All right. If we can keep that visit secret from my mother.”

What had she done? Had she really just agreed to a clandestine excursion, and intentionally hiding it from her mother? Lady Annet’s smile said that yes, she had.

Chapter Five

Morris studied the room as he entered. The Assembly Rooms were crowded to overflowing, a swirl of soft pastel colours, interspersed with the occasional strong shade worn by an older woman, and offset by the darker tones of the gentlemen present - although some gentlemen of more foppish persuasion seemed determined to outdo the women. Morris winced at one such, whose puce toned waistcoat almost glowed with a light of its own, and turned his eyes away.

His gaze fell upon Lady Eugenia, who was attired in a gown of pale blue, a shade which he knew would make her eyes seem even more blue than they normally looked. He frowned at the thought – when had he started paying attention to young women’s eye colour? He moved further into the room, still watching her, and conscious of the ripple of whispers which went through those present – the ladies noticing his arrival, and commenting. Being one of the most eligible men in England was a burden he would rather not have had to bear.

The whispers reached Lady Eugenia, and she turned.

He met her eyes, and the sounds of the room faded away. Momentarily, a smile crossed her face, then she stilled, restoring her expression to polite quiet. That momentary smile warmed him, despite the immediate return to a frosty surface. She turned her gaze from him, and his awareness of everything else around him rushed back in.

Since the picnic, he had only seen her a small number of times – and each time, her demeanour had been slightly frosty, impeccably polite, and distant. It was almost as if she intended to annoy him. But he could not forget seeing her in the afternoon sun, with her feet in the stream – no amount of polite distance could erase that image from his mind.

He was determined to thaw the frostiness, to discover more of her – that one crack in the shell of perfection had whet his appetite for more. He moved across the crowded room, directly towards her. The whispers fluttered around him, a soft sound like the sound of the fans that failed to disguise the whispering. Let them whisper. He had never much cared for their opinions and rules, no matter that he had been raised to know every rule, to fulfil his eventual role as a Duke.

His father and grandfather probably rolled in their graves, to see how utterly he defied social expectation, when he had the opportunity.

He reached Lady Eugenia’s side, and bowed over her hand, greeting her, her mother, and Lady Annet, who stood with them. Around them, the jealous eyes of a flock of young ladies fixed upon Lady Eugenia.

“Good evening, Ladies. I trust that you are well?”

Belatedly, he released her hand.

She blushed, and looked away – but before she did, he saw a flash of annoyance in her eyes. Interesting.

“I am indeed well, Your Grace.”

The Dowager Duchess frowned at Lady Eugenia’s minimal response. Morris found it amusing – the only woman he cared to converse with appeared to be the only one in the room with no interest in attracting his attention. Well, he would see about that – after all, the more time he spent with her, the less he might be forced to endure the fluttering of the others.

“Might I hope for the honour of a dance, Lady Eugenia? I believe that the orchestra are just starting for the first set.”

The whispers began again, with a decidedly sharp edge, flowing out from the women closest to them, who could overhear. He waited for her answer. Her eyes flicked away from him, and he knew that she was aware of the whispers too. She looked back, and gave a regal inclination of her head.

“Certainly, Your Grace.”

The words were perfect, but the tension in the way that she stood told him that she would, given the choice, have refused him. Knowing that was the oddest sensation of his life. Women never refused him – well, except perhaps his mother and his great great-aunt.

He offered his arm, and she placed her hand upon it. They moved through the room towards where the dancers were forming up. He spoke very softly, so that only she would hear.

“Ignore the whisperers, they are not worthy of your attention. Such things are an occupational hazard of being an unmarried Duke. Or a Lady whom a Duke chooses to speak to.”

Her eyes flicked up to his for a moment, their blue depths filled with something that might, almost, have been amusement.

“Shall I pity your suffering, Your Grace? For I do understand – my brother claims that the cessation of that sort of attention is one of the best benefits of his marriage.”

“Pity is not required. Sympathy, perhaps. But I have made it almost a mission in my life to defy the expectations of society at large. I will make my own choices about how I live, within the bounds dictated by common sense. I would not willingly hurt others, but I most certainly will not bend to their every whim.”