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“Your Grace, what a wonderful surprise! As you know, I am Matthew Wyre, Baron of Wyre. This is my dear wife, Isabelle.”
Lady Wyre was much taller than her husband and had evidently tried to recapture the slim waist of her youth with plenty of corsets and stays which creaked as she curtsied. She was very pale, as if she never went outside, and was rendered paler by her dark hair and dark eyes.
Benedict’s gaze went automatically to the third occupant of the room.
Miss Rosaline Wyre looked rather as if she was going to be sick. She did not curtsey, despite a ferocious glare from her parents. She clutched her skirts – a very old-fashioned and much mended gown, nothing at all like the resplendent yellow thing she’d worn in Dainty’s – and only stared at Benedict.
“This is my eldest daughter, Rosaline.” The Baron said, still glaring at his daughter.
“Yes, Miss Wyre and I have met.” Benedict said, ignoring the gasp of surprise from all three of them. “It is Miss Wyre I came to see.”
CHAPTER8
Rosaline was absolutely sure that her life was over.
The Duke himself came striding in and any hopes Rosaline had cherished that it was all a tremendous mistake were ruined.
She could almost see sums of pounds, shillings, and pence flashing behind her father’s eyes at the Duke walked in. As soon as Loudwater announced him, both the Baron and Baroness looked instantly to Rosaline. She knew exactly what they were thinking.
If he would only fix upon Rosaline, all of our troubles would be over.
Then he said those awful words –It is Miss Wyre I came to see– and that was that. The Baron and Baroness were moments from leaping into the air and clicking their heels together.
The Baroness only tittered, as if the Duke had said something remarkably funny, and gestured for them all to sit down. She exchanged an eager glance with her husband.
“Loudwater, bring tea.”
Loudwater wavered, obviously not keen to point out that they had no tea. Rosaline’s ten pounds from Cordelia were still hidden under her mattress, ready for the next market day.
“There isn’t any.”
Rosaline wasn’t sure what compelled her to speak up. Loudwater cast her a grateful look.
The Baroness, on the other hand, turned as red as a tomato, and turned to fix a furious glare on her daughter.
“Don’t be such a foolish girl. No tea, indeed. Whatever next. Loudwater, bring tea at once.”
Poor Loudwater sagged a little, mumbled an affirmative, and left. Rosaline heard his slow footsteps heading down the hall, going towards the kitchen where he would implore the cook and Margaret to produce something they did not have.
The Duke only smiled coldly. He sat alone on an armchair, one leg neatly crossed over the other, arms folded. He was too large for the chair, and Rosaline was sure that she heard it creaking under his weight. It was an old sofa, so it wasn’t out of the question that it might collapse altogether.
“Ican’t stay, I’m afraid.” The Duke said smoothly. “I was wondering if I could have an audience with Miss Wyre. In private, if you do not mind?”
There was a brief silence. Really, they should have Rosaline’s lady's maid sitting in the room with them.
Of course, Rosaline did not have a lady's maid.
The Baron and Baroness exchanged quick, excited glances, and turned back to the Duke.
“Of course, Your Grace. You may join the Baron in the library after your finish your conversation.” The Baroness paused, obviously remembering the clouds of cobwebs in the library. It was too late, of course. Rosaline had a feeling that a dusty library wouldn’t make much difference to the Duke at the moment.
He said nothing, only smiling and inclining his head. The Baron and Baroness rose to their feet. The Baroness shot a warning glance at Rosaline.
Be careful,that look said.Don’t make a mistake or you’ll regret it, my girl.
“Ishall send Ruth down directly.” The Baroness said airily. “She ought to have finished her mending by now.”
Rosaline fought not to roll her eyes.
