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“No,” Joshua said.
“Yes,” Miles said over him. “Will you bring the items I gave you earlier?”
Butler nodded and went out.
“What items?” Joshua asked as he made his way to the table.
“You’ll see.” He poured two cups of tea, one for him, one Joshua didn’t ask for. Miles sipped. “Sarah will be at the ball, did I tell you?”
That damn ball. Miles had been making his case all week, despite Joshua insisting he didn’t want to go. “Why are you telling me?” He tried to sound disinterested. But he wasn’t disinterested—he was confused. He had mixed emotions about Sarah now. She’d been the one person in his life he’d believed he’d loved beyond measure. But when her father had refused his suit, and she had married Wexham, and then he’d married Diana...well, there had been more than one night he’d wondered if the love he’d felt for Sarah had been as real as he’d believed it to be when in the throes of it.
His feelings for Diana had been different from the heart-pounding eagerness he’d felt for Sarah. With Diana, there had never been a consuming, burning love. But there had been mutual respect and a compatibility about some things, which, in hindsight, he appreciated more than his passion for Sarah.
He hadn’t seen Sarah in a very long time. The thought of seeing her made him anxious. What if a flame still existed? Could he bear another flame on top of the inferno already raging in him?
But there was someone else who made him anxious about this ball, and that was the princess, who would surely suck all the air from the room. His anxiety had more to do with the curiosity he’d developed for her. She intrigued him in a way he was not accustomed to being intrigued.
“I am telling you because you have not as yet said definitively that you will attend,” Miles said. “But I intend to see you there.”
“Yes, well, thank you for your diligence...but I’m not certain if I have the right clothing,” Joshua said. “I’ve not worn formal attire in some time.”
“You do,” Miles said breezily. “Butler and Mr. Martin have been beside themselves with glee, brushing the cobwebs from your wardrobe. Ah, there he is.”
Joshua glanced over his shoulder as his valet entered the room. He noticed he was holding a pair of scissors, a towel, and a razor strop. “What’s this?”
“Scissors, Your Grace.”
“For...?”
“Your hair, lad,” Miles said. “Your beard. You require a bit of upkeep.”
Joshua’s hand went to his beard. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Everything. It’s a bird’s nest. And there will be ladies present. It’s always necessary to be trimmed up when ladies are concerned.”
“Ladies are not concerned, Miles.”
“My dear friend, all of Devonshire is concerned. Is that not so, Mr. Martin?”
Joshua shot a look at his valet. “Martin, does Lord Clarendon pay your wages?”
“No, Your Grace.” But Mr. Martin didn’t move. He stood there with a firm grip on his scissors.
Damnation.Joshua suspected he looked fairly awful. But to give in to this coercion was to agree to attend that ball. He glared at Miles.
Miles was smiling because he knew he’d already won.
“Bloody hell,” Joshua muttered.
“There it is, Mr. Martin, as close to an agreement as you will get. Have a bath readied. You’ll need to stew him a little and scrub off the grime before we tackle the thatch on his head.”
“Will you stop ordering my valet about as if he is in your employ?” Joshua groused.
“You can have him back when I take my leave. Onward,” Miles said, and fluttered his fingers in the direction of the door.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ONTHEDAYof the ball, Amelia had watched wagons of flowers, additional servants and musicians, and more food and drink than seemed necessary trundle into Iddesleigh House and disgorge their contents.
