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Chapter 13
Evie sat at the breakfast table politely conversing with their host, relaying the tale of their trip as if nothing was amiss. As if they hadn’t spent the morning writhing against each other in bed. Gabriel could hardly concentrate on the conversation. His mind was still in their bedroom. Evie turned to him briefly, caught his intense stare, and her cheeks heated before she turned away. So, she wasn’t as composed as she’d like him to think. Gabriel smiled in self-satisfaction.
Tiny footsteps sounded in the room, preceding the heavy thumps and loud barking. Gabriel turned to regard the intruders of the morning—Lady Millicent Townsend and her dog Button. The dog ran past Gabriel and settled next to her master, wagging its tail. It was white with black spots and almost the size of a small pony.Buttonindeed.
Gabriel scowled at the animal but stood to greet the young lady.
“Millie, what did I say about Button at the dining table?” Vane said sternly.
Button looked pleadingly at him, and the marquess sighed.
“He insisted on seeing you, Papa,” the girl answered.
“I’m sure he did,” Vane grumbled.
Millie’s gaze ran warily over Gabriel and Evie. She ducked her head and sat to the right of her father.
“Did you greet our guests, Millie?” Vane asked.
Millicent pursed her lips. “Are you my new governess?” she asked in a half-whisper, looking suspiciously at Evie.
“No, I am not.” Evie stood from her chair and sank into a perfect curtsy. “I am the Duchess of Somerset. But my friends call me Evie.”
Millie looked at her in awe. “A duchess,” she murmured.
“And this is my husband, Gabriel,” she continued.
Gabriel sketched a bow.
“Are you a duke?” Millie tilted her head, gazing at Gabriel.
“No, my lady. I am just a viscount.”
Millie scrunched up her nose, thinking.
“Now, shouldn’t you introduce yourself?” Evie asked.
Millicent studied Evie begrudgingly but finally scooted from her chair and sank in a careless curtsy. She tripped, almost toppling over, but caught herself on the side of the table and sat back down.
Vane’s eyes widened as he studied his daughter. He then turned to Evie. “This is the first time she’s ever done that around guests.”
Evie ignored the marquess and instead spoke to his daughter. “See, in polite society, ladies curtsy to their guests, and the higher the rank of the lady, the more gracefully she moves.”
Millie seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “Why is your husband a viscount if you are a duchess?” she finally asked.
“I am a duchess in my own right. I inherited the dukedom from my grandfather.”
“My father is a marquess,” she said, proudly puffing out her chest. “Will I be a marchioness then?” she asked, picking up a fork and chasing food around her plate.
Evie pursed her lips in thought. “No,” she finally said. “It is very rare for women to inherit a title.”
“Why?” Millie asked around the bite of food.
“Millie, you have to chew and swallow before you speak,” Vane admonished her.
Millie threw him a disgruntled glance. She looked at Evie, but the latter waited for her patiently. Millie swallowed and addressed Evie once more. “Why?”
“This is the way of the world,” Evie said.
