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But one must never forget one’s station. By the very nature of your profession, you are more immediately called upon to set a watch over your temper and feelings… as Miss Appleton would decree.
Not setting a watch over his feelings in the least, the Scandalous Mr Cadwalader chortled, then squinted. “That’s her brother Captain Brecken with her. Resigned his commission in the army after being wounded.” Isabelle watched the gentleman shuffle to the portico with a discernible limp, features grooved as he drew his coat close against the chill wind.
Mari stabbed a finger out. “Who’s the blond lady, Cousin Hugh?”
“Hmm, don’t know. Pretty piece but not to Rhys’ taste.”
Isabelle really shouldn’t ask.
So she didn’t.
“And that’s…” A short girl with bouncing ringlets jumped from the yellow carriage, followed by an even shorter older woman garbed in exactly the same pink pelisse. “Gads. That’s the eager Miss Craddock and her yet more eager mother. Where did Elen get this rum lot?”
Compelling her lips to still, Isabelle observed as the two women gazed about their surroundings, nudged one another and then with resolute purses of lips hurtled for the entrance.
Mari giggled. “Cousin Elen told me the invitees were chosen for their Welsh bloodlines, the aspect of their hips and a suitable temperament.”
“Lud,” muttered the Scandalous Mr Cadwalader. “Not the luxuriant tail? Broodmares indeed. Ah, and here comes our sacrificial lamb to the slaughter.”
Isabelle stretched her neck to see if the duke was as substantial as she remembered from walloping into him three nights past.
Lengthy legs clad in black breeches and top-boots strode out from beneath the portico, black curls dishevelled and jacket creased.
He was so…untamed and visceral.
As a rule, Isabelle quashed admiration for any gentleman, but if she was forced to choose favoured aspects, she would have said pale, neat and scholarly.
The duke’s brooding masculinity, however, would certainly cause an un-governess-like rumpus within any female below the age of five and ninety.
“He’s been working again,” murmured the Scandalous Mr Cadwalader.
“Working? How do you mean?”
His lips quirked. “Essential…” He flung a hand aloft. “…ducal matters, I’m sure.” Then winced and clasped his shoulder. “I’m off to rest, but I shall see you at dinner. I believe you will both be joining us?”
Mari nodded with a serious pout. “Cousin Elen said I must study the ladies closely as they’ll demonstrate how to act for my own Season. Though I suppose…”
“Yes, Moppet?”
“If none of them manage to bag my uncle, then at least this will show me what not to do.”
The Scandalous Mr Cadwalader chuckled while Isabelle failed to suppress her own giggle.
And from the forecourt below, the Duke of Aberdare glanced up to their second-floor window with a scowl.
