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A brow arched and she swung a sideways look at him. “What are you suggesting?”
“It could well have been a mistake. Someone took it accidentally or the modiste made an error.”
She shook her head vigorously. “Mrs. Doyle is not prone to errors and who would take a dress by mistake?”
Oliver shrugged. “I am just suggesting that perhaps there is no mystery at all.”
“If the modiste made a mistake she would have owned up to it. Why make us all think someone took it on purpose? It makes no sense.”
“To cover for her incompetence,” he suggested mildly. He wanted this gown found as much as anyone did but chasing after some redhead did not seem the best way to go about it. Before long, he wagered, the gown would turn up and the mystery would be over. For some reason, Eleanor was determined it should be turned into quite the event.
Of course, he didn’t really mind wasting his time on the matter. After all, his other options were running away from his mother or running away from eager young ladies.
“Mrs. Doyle is far from incompetent.” She stabbed a fork into the meat with such viciousness, Oliver was grateful she wasn’t holding a knife in her other hand lest he end up on the receiving end of her annoyance. “And I’m certain someone took the dress on purpose.”
“It just seems a strange thing to do.”
Eleanor set down her fork and fixed him with a stare. “I am not unaccustomed to men doubting a woman’s word, and naturally, I would expect such a thing from you, but as I said before, you need not involve yourself in this dress business. I can find out what happened to it all on my own.”
The strong set of her jaw made his lips quirk. Not because he found her annoyance amusing but because he could not help but admire her determination. “You will not rid yourself of me that easily, Ellie,” he assured her softly, leaning in and catching the floral notes of her fragrance.
Her gaze searched his, then her lips parted, drawing his attention to the fullness of them. His fingers twitched with the desire to press a thumb to them and feel their softness.
“Where is dessert?” the duke demanded. “I am ravenous.”
Oliver snapped his attention swiftly away, glancing around the table to see if anyone had noticed his distraction.
“Papa, you need to finish your main course first,” Chastity said.
“I’d prefer to have dessert,” Demeter said. “We’ve had pheasant three nights running.”
“This isn’t pheasant,” said Cassie, “it’s grouse.”
“Nonsense,” their brother said. “It’s chicken.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “You think everything tastes like chicken.”
Eliza cleared her throat. “It is pheasant actually.”
“I told you!” Demeter declared, gesturing triumphantly.
Eleanor shook her head with a slight smile and somehow Oliver held back a chuckle. If he was to aid Eleanor in this dress nonsense, it was only for this family and his friend, and for no other reasons at all.
Chapter Seven
Eleanor winced as Aunt Sarah reached notes that surely had never been heard before. Her off-pitch warbling of Greensleeves did not disturb little Nancy it seemed, who slumbered peacefully in Aunt Sarah’s arms. Sharing an amused look with Chastity, Eleanor shrugged. At least she supposed, her aunt’s singing distracted her from replaying her conversation with Oliver from last night over and over in her mind.
You will not rid yourself of me that easily, Ellie.
Why would he even say such a thing? Blast the man for lingering in her mind.
Chastity leaned forward from her position on the chaise. “My child must have inherited Valentine’s musical ear,” she whispered.
“I sang to all of you as babes.” Aunt Sarah did another slow circle of the drawing room as Eleanor watched from her seat at the writing table. “Apart from you, Eleanor, of course. You were a little too old for being rocked in my arms.” Aunt Sarah paused in front of Eleanor. “Of course, I would have done if you had wanted me to, but you were such a fierce little thing, so determined to be brave and strong.”
“Can you blame her, Aunt Sarah?” Cassie asked, setting down her hand of cards briefly. She and Demeter were mid-game, and everyone knew Cassie had no hope of winning against Demeter, who could be counted on to best even the most proficient of card players, but they all took a turn in trying occasionally. “She had just come all the way from beautiful Jamaica to dreary old England.”
“It was dreary,” Eleanor recalled. “Trust me to arrive in the middle of winter. I’d never been so cold.”
