Page 31 of The Duchess Games

Poor Viola, eating toast and beef tea in her room. At least it wasn’t pilchard. Still, Cat gave a half-serious thought as to how she could smuggle lamb slices upstairs.

“How does your sister fare? Does she require a doctor?” Callum asked her as she eyed the peas and the likelihood of filling her gloves without anyone noticing. Best not. “I would be happy to send for one.”

Cat shook her head. “Thank you, she is well enough. Just a bit of the sniffles.” She realized as soon as she said it that she was probably not supposed to discuss sniffles and people’s noses over partridges. She dropped her gaze to a smear of mint sauce on her plate.

No planting facers, no talk of bodies, no peevish defense of her county.

Proper etiquette was a pain the arse.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Callum said. “I am certain she is a better patient than my sister.”

“I am the soul of grace and dignity,” Summer protested.

“Until your nose swells up,” he snorted. He was easier with his sister, those harsh edges softened.

Apparently, dukes and their sisters could talk about noses.

“I am a duke’s sister,” she said with mock offense. “I assure you my nose does not swell.”

“Only your head,” Lord Blackpool muttered.

Summer’s eyes narrowed instantly. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he drawled. “Nothing at all.”

Chapter Eleven

After a course of enough cheese to empty the estate dairy had been shared between the guests, the dowager duchess rose. The ladies followed her lead, retiring to the drawing room as the gentlemen remained at the table with glasses of port. Mr. Armstrong made a joke about smuggled brandy.

Cat blinked at him as if she didn’t understand what he was saying. She did not look at Callum.

It was not easy.

The ladies drank tea brought to them by yet more footmen in curled white wigs, only worn in the most traditional of households. The tea did not have even the faintest whiff of oilskin bags used to smuggle them across the Channel. Cat had to admit it was delicious, more so than the smuggled kind.

She had seated herself alone, perched on the end of a settee at the edge of the main conversation, as far from the dowager duchess as was possible without hanging out of the window. She did not want to draw attention to herself. She was already outside of her element, invited to be part of the décor, not in the spotlight. Her seat at dinner, and her adventure with Callum in the pond was not supporting the natural order of things as demanded by the dowager duchess. Cat could see it in the purse of her lips, followed by the deliberate refusal to further acknowledge a girl from the village.

But unfortunately, Cat needed to stay exactly where she was. She would hide behind the draperies if it meant not being sent home yet.

Lady Ruby joined her, accepting a teacup painted with yellow roses from a footman with three other footmen jostling to beat him to it. Cat didn’t blame them. Lady Ruby was that beautiful. She might have been made of porcelain, except for the sharpness in her eyes. “Is your sister truly ill? Because she is the only worthy opponent, and I shall be put out if she has to leave.”

Cat smiled. “I assure you she feels the same.”

Lady Ruby sent her a sidelong glance. “Is this part of some curious strategy?”

“She is unwell, though it’s not serious.”

Lady Ruby nodded decisively. “I’ll send my maid with a honey tea. It never fails to sort me out.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“I assure you, I am rarely accused of kindness.” Her mouth was a perfect rosebud. She didn’t smile but Cat had the impression that she hardly smiled. Some people didn’t. She didn’t take it personally.

“Kindness takes many forms.”

Lady Ruby paused. Her inscrutable expression shifted, but only by a whisper. “They will eat you alive.”

Cat laughed. “I’m a village girl, Lady Ruby. They would find me salty and unpalatable.”