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“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. If we seal this letter with your seal, I can guarantee her Mama will be the one who opens it. D’you think her mother will let her miss out on a second date with a duke? No, she’ll be there, I guarantee it.”
Benedict considered it, chewing his lip. Joshua was poised to write, pen at the ready, and their best paper set out.
“Well? Shall I write?” Joshua prompted.
Unbidden, Benedict brought up a memory of Miss Atwood, sliding a cup of tea, a slice of cake, and some of her sandwich along to her maid. The older woman had smiled gratefully. The maid’s rumbling stomach hadn’t gone unnoticed by Benedict.
Whatever Miss Atwood’s flaws, she was a kind girl as well as an outspoken one. Benedict knew plenty of women who would never consider feeding their chaperones, or even acknowledging them at all. Some ladies were even outright cruel to their servants.
Benedict did not agree with that. He knew that he wasn’t the easiest man to work for, but he also prided himself on fairness and kindness.
“Alright,” Benedict said finally. “Write what you think is suitable.”
He leaned over Joshua’s shoulder, watching him write. Joshua had marvelously formed handwriting, much nicer than Benedict’s own spiky, serviceable writing.
My Dear Mr., Mrs., and Miss Atwood
Ihave recently had the pleasure of spending an hour or two with your Delightful Daughter at Dainty’s Tea Shop.
As Miss Atwood and I were unable to establish a second location to meet, I am writing to you to convey my Compliments and my Desire to Further the Acquaintance. Might I recommend a Promenade in Hyde Park, at the hour of 4pm Tomorrow?
Iawait your Reply.
Your Obedient Servant,
Lord B. McCarthy, Duke of Keswick
“There,” Joshua said, signing off with a flourish. “Now all you have to do is make your seal on the letter, and I guarantee this little note will be at the top of Mrs. Atwood’s correspondence by this afternoon.
Joshua carefully dribbled a blob of hot red wax onto the creamy envelope, and Benedict imprinted his signet ring in it. Joshua rang for a footman, and before they knew it, the letter was gone.
“Well, that’s done.” Benedict said, a little breathlessly, throwing himself back down in his seat. He fidgeted with his cuffs, not entirely able to believe what he’d just done.
Asking a lady to a second meeting was a clear indication of interest. It was hardly an engagement, and not quite an understanding, but it wassomething. Mr. and Mrs. Atwood would now, quite rightly, have expectations of Benedict. Maybe they were already envisioning their daughter as the Duchess of Keswick.
But did Cordelia Atwoodwantto be the Duchess of Keswick?
Benedict let his eyes close, conjuring up the picture of Miss Atwood once again. She hadn’t at all been what he’d expected. The fashion at the moment was for full-figured, robust blondes, all very beautiful and properly coy and demure. Miss Atwood was small and thin, her yellow gown (again, not a fashionable color) perfectly highlighting her chestnut curls and honey-colored eyes.
He would be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to her. But then, Benedict had been attracted to women before. It didn’t necessarily mean anything at all.
There wassomethingabout her. Something intrigued him. With the other ladies on the Dowager’s list, Benedict got the impression that what one saw was what one got. Polite, well-mannered, demure ladies, all very beautiful, all very interested in him.
Unfortunately, Benedict couldn’t summon much interest in them in return. He sometimes felt guilty, but it was often apparent that the ladies were only looking at his title, not at him.
Well, they were usually too afraid to lift their eyes and look at him.
Not Miss Atwood. She’d looked him squarely in the eye, meeting his gaze without a hint of fear. Benedict smiled to himself. Yes, there was something about her that intrigued him. She was forceful and talkative, and it was a brave woman who displayed her appetite (as women were not, apparently, supposed to eat at all) in front of a gentleman.
There was no denying that Benedict was looking forward to tomorrow afternoon, in Hyde Park. Would she be there?
CHAPTER5
Rosaline felt oddly drained after her visit to Dainty’s. She arrived home to a barrage of questions from the Baroness. Where had she been, why wasn’t she home to help? The Baron had requested roast beef for dinner, and simply couldn’t understand why there was only tripe and a few fillets of tasteless mystery fish that Margaret had found at the market.
The Baroness seemed to think that his displeasure was Rosaline’s personal fault.
“Where did you get that dress?” she asked, her pale blue eyes going round with greed. “It’s lovely.”
