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“I would not know.”
“Perhaps I could review with the duke himself, if he would be so kind to be available for a meeting?”
“Under no circumstances is the duke to be bothered.”
First she had been fetched out of her house by the estate’s footman, now she was tasked with deciphering the whims of the wealthy. The allure of this job was dimming slightly. “Is there anything at all that you would like me to keep in mind?”
“Areyounot the designer, Miss Barrow? Can you not make these decisions on your own?” She paused. “Did you not assure me that I would be satisfied?”
There was that word again.Satisfied. Letty eyed the duchess. For all her froideur, there was something about her that was appealing. She was commanding, intelligent, and confident, all traits that Letty warmed to. The duchess also had magnificent deep blue eyes that snapped with fire when she was busy looking down her nose at her. Too bad there was no passion behind them, only irritation.
“You shall be satisfied,” Letty promised, her voice low. “But a designer is not a magician, Your Grace. I cannot conjure paper and fabric and wood from thin air. It would be best to know what I am working with here, if I am to make something exceptional for the duke.”
The duchess was still for a long moment. The only movement was in her eyes, scrutinizing the room in such a way that Letty wondered if she had ever truly looked at it before. Given the rumors one heard about her husband, maybe she hadn’t. “It is just a room, Miss Barrow. I am sure you can find something to fill it.”
Ah. Here was the side of the nobility that she was familiar with. John had been much the same—in one breath, he had been charming, in the next, frivolous and capricious. Letty would bet her best drafting pencil that the duchess would change her mind tomorrow and have her start on another room instead.
But it didn’t matter, she reminded herself. At least she would be well compensated for whatever work she could get out of it.
“I accepted the job in good faith, Your Grace. I will show you what I can do.”
* * *
For a cold November night, Lady Taylor’s soiree was well enough attended to boast an evening of dancing as well as an elegant supper. Scores of flames danced atop the chandeliers, magnified by mirrors that lined the walls. The light that bounced off the pearls and emeralds and rubies on necks and fingers and gowns turned the room into a glittering marvel.
Anne’s own dress sparkled like starlight when she glanced down at it, tiny diamonds nestled deep within thick black velvet. She had only been half in jest earlier when she had told Miss Barrow that the dowager duchess preferred her to overdress for all occasions, though she herself preferred clean tailoring in her wardrobe. With all the other values of the dukedom, the dowager had instilled in her head that the rank demanded heaps of jewels and ornamentation. Thus she bore the weight of a dazzling tiara on her head tonight, and to save herself neck strain, she balanced it with small pearl earbobs.
Anne nodded at an acquaintance and considered the refreshment table. A little wine would be nice. She picked up a glass of pink champagne.
Lord knew that her nerves needed it today after speaking with Miss Barrow and putting her plan in motion to ruin Hawthorne’s rooms. Miss Barrow was an interesting sort of woman. She was bold. Unconventional. Anne liked that she had spoken to her as if she were an equal. She oughtn’t have liked it, of course. Her mother-in-law would be shocked at the insolence. But it was so rare that anyonetalkedwith her. And more than that,disagreedwith her. It was refreshing.
Those full lips of hers seemed always ready to smile, the little lines at the corner of her eyes crinkling as if she were perpetually amused. But she shouldn’t be noticing Miss Barrow’s eyes. Even if they were a marvelous deep brown, with flecks of gold. That way led to distraction.
It also hinted atsatisfaction.
She shook her head clear.
There were dozens of people that she mingled with every week who were respectable, distinguished, elegant, and well-spoken. But for all the conversations she had, there was not a single person who she talked to like she had talked with Miss Barrow today.
On the other hand, there were plenty of people that Anne could hear talking tonight, and none were words that they would dare speak to her face. It was about her husband, of course. A constant source of amusement and derision to theton.
Hawthorne’s actions had never touched hers before. There was no reason to believe that they would touch her now. If she could keep him out of her house and at a distance, then everything should be fine. She didn’t know why tonight the gossip rankled her, when she had grown accustomed to it over the years.
Anne tried to relax with the knowledge that she was exactly where she belonged. This was a typical soiree, and she was fulfilling her typical role. It was well known that she seldom bestowed her favor upon any man for a dance. The royal dukes, of course, could never be turned down, no matter how clammy their hands were. She had spun around a ballroom with Prince George several times this past summer, which was never a highlight of her evenings though she was duty-bound to act as if it were. Mere misters knew better than to even consider asking their hostess if they had a chance to approach her.
While she drank her champagne, she debated with herself whether or not she would drop a word of advice in the ears of a debutante who looked too eager to escape to the gardens on the arm of a besotted friend.
Anne was known to be something of a stickler.
She spied a flirtation or two, and a pair of ladies who might be giggling a trifle too enthusiastically together, but nothing beyond the pale. Perhaps it was time for her to move on from analyzing others, and to seek what she herself might want.
A warm hand settled on her shoulder, and Anne jerked away.
But before she turned, she knew that only one person would dare lay a hand on a duchess.
Her duke.
Chapter Five
