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“Sounds good,” he called back, settling into his seat, the knot in his chest unfurling a bit. At least for today, the decision had been made not to go on. But that feeling of relief only lasted for a bit as the rain pummeled the carriage, the wind driving the water near sideways.
Another five minutes passed as Chase watched the ocean, the waves growing large and furious as they beat against the shore but soon the rain dulled even the view of the ocean’s anger.
“Yer Grace,” his driver hollered over the beating wind. “I see a home up ahead. Should we stop and seek shelter?”
He grimaced. The notion of asking a complete stranger for help filled him with dread. Who knew what he would find? “How much longer until we reach the village?”
“I don’t rightly reckon,” the driver answered. “But we’re getting near soaked out here.”
Chase sighed. “You’re right. Let’s stop.” His valet and footman were also in attendance and while the footman was used to such conditions, his valet, Mr. Wendel, was not. Besides, no man should be out in a storm like this.
The carriage pulled up the drive, long and sweeping, rising up a hill. Not only would they be safe from the wrath of the ocean, they’d likely have excellent views. Soon, a stately manor house appeared and in moments, staff flooded out the doors to greet the unexpected guests.
Stepping down from the carriage, he followed a well-trained butler into a large entry. A portly but jovial fellow dressed in an immaculate evening coat swept down the stairs. “Welcome,” he called as if Chase were an expected guest. “Welcome to Highland Manor. I am the Honorable Thomas Moorish. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
Chase gave a slight bow of his head, putting on his best dukely façade. “The Duke of Rathmore, at your service.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Your Grace,” he breathed. “What brings you to my humble home?”
Chase’s eyebrows lifted, giving the grand entry a sweep of his gaze. “Your home is lovely and the storm has stopped my travels, at least for the night. I wondered if I might be able to weather its wrath here and impose upon your fine hospitality.”
The other man nodded. “We’d be most delighted to have such a guest.”
Chase nodded again as he noted the we in the sentence. Did the man have a wife? Children? Then something wonderful caught his gaze. At the top of the stairs, one, two, three, four, five ladies appeared. Dressed in a rainbow of pastels, two brunettes, two blondes, and one redhead gazed down at him. At least that’s how it appeared from his spot near the door. He couldn’t quite make out any of them individually but the effect of all five was staggering. Had he wanted to keep driving? Damn fool. This was the perfect spot to weather a storm.
* * *
Miss Ophelia Moorish stood at the top of the stairs and gazed down at the young duke. He was the stuff of fairy tales and romances and… She stopped, realizing she was getting carried away.
As a longtime lover of all books, she tended to cast herself as the heroine in the pages and make the people who surrounded her characters in her own story. It had gotten her in trouble on more than one occasion.
For example, last year she’d discovered a gelding that had gotten trapped in the sea grass that stretched for miles when the tide was out. She’d imagined herself the animal’s great rescuer. Instead, it had nearly trampled her in its fear. She had gotten the horse safely out, but she’d suffered a broken arm from the experience.
Drawing a deep breath, she looked at the duke again. He’d removed his hat and dark hair waved back from his forehead and down over his ears. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but his jaw was square and his shoulders broad. Her heart hammered in her chest again. He really was like a prince from a story.
And she could swear his gaze followed her every move. Was that her imagination again? She wasn’t certain but her pulse accelerated even more.
“Girls,” her father called from the bottom of the steps. “Come down and meet our guest.”
One of her sisters, likely Bianca, giggled hysterically while Juliet fluttered her hand in the air. Ophelia pursed her lips. Apparently, she wasn’t the only sister who had noticed the handsome duke.
As the eldest, however, she was most entitled to seek his attention. She was nearly two and twenty and still had yet to participate in a proper season. Without a mother and with five sisters, her father hadn’t been able to step away from his business and family in order to take her. Adrianna, her youngest sister, was about to turn eigh
teen. Her father threatened to unleash them all on London at once. Not conventional, but potentially necessary.
Ophelia sighed. She understood and she agreed. When their mother had passed, she’d taken up the role of mother figure with her young sisters and she didn’t regret it a bit. But lately, she’d begun to wonder about her own future. Would there ever be time for her to find her own husband and have her own family? And what about the adventure of a season? The opportunity to live her own fairy tale before she settled into a future?
She had to confess, she loved children. Even when they cried or acted naughty. Caring for her sisters had been a blessing and she’d gladly do it again.
Her sisters stepped back, allowing her to make her way down the steps first. Gently, she lifted the front of her skirt, giving His Grace her best smile. He smiled back, and she nearly gasped with awe. He had the sort of flashing green eyes that made her heart race in her chest. His nose had a bit of a crook, but that only made him more masculine, while his mouth was full and completely…well…kissable. His shoulders were just as broad as she’d imagined and his skin-tight breeches left little question to the narrowness of his hips and muscles of his legs. His boots were polished to a high shine and she admired them for a moment before she realized she’d just given him a head to toe perusal.
Her gaze snapped back up to his eyes and he quirked one eyebrow as his smile broadened into a knowing grin. Heat flamed in her cheeks.
“Your Grace, this is my eldest daughter, Miss Ophelia Moorish.”
She dipped into a deep curtsy, her cheeks still radiating heat as she murmured, “Your Grace.”
Her father went down the line by age. “My second eldest, Juliet. Then we have Cordelia, Bianca, and lastly, Adrianna.” Each woman curtseyed in turn but Ophelia noted that the duke’s gaze returned to her the moment the introductions finished. Heat spread through her body at his sparkling emerald eyes.
