The Design of Dukes (The Beautiful Barringtons Book 2), page 4
Once they’d disappeared, Romy turned to face him. “Your Grace.” She bobbed politely before walking quickly to the door, eager to escape his presence. Granby had the most unwelcome effect upon her senses.
“Allow me to escort you to your carriage, Lady Andromeda.” The deep gravelly words tickled her skin, lifting the hair on her arms.
“There is no need.” Romy didn’t halt as she strode by him, catching a whiff of pine mixed with a hint of soap and leather. Woodsy. Just as before. How could she recall how Granby smelled while he didn’t even remember her?
“I insist.”
His long legs easily kept pace with hers as Romy made her way to the sidewalk outside. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she studied the austere line of his jaw dusted with dark hair, wondering if the rocky hardness of his features allowed him to smile.
“Is there something you find interesting about my cravat, my lady?” His lips pressed into a line.
“Not in the least,” she replied, horrified he’d caught her looking. “I was only observing that though your cravat is finely twisted, I don’t care for the color.”
“The color?” Humor edged his reply though his lips didn’t so much as twitch.
“It reminds me of bathwater that has gone cold.”
Granby pushed at the errant wave of his hair again. “Very descriptive. You feel I behaved in an insulting manner by assuming you to be one of Madame Dupree’s assistants, so you are returning the favor by disparaging me in return.”
Romy didn’t care for his observation, mainly because it was true.
He took her arm, the touch sending a tingling sensation up to her shoulder. “How is it that we have never been properly introduced, Lady Andromeda?”
“Avoidance, I suppose.”
“Why would you wish to avoid me? We’ve only just met, haven’t we?” The chill was still there in his words, but there was something else. A silky, slightly carnal quality that hadn’t been present before.
It was rather unnerving.
“I feel certain that should be obvious,” she retorted sharply, wishing he would simply stalk off and terrorize some children instead of herself. Surely there were some about.
When finally they reached her carriage, Granby halted, dark gaze fixed on the ducal seal and the livery of the footmen. “Averell.” He rolled the name over his tongue as if he found it distasteful.
“Yes. I’ve two brothers. The elder is the duke.” Romy always made it a point to remind everyone of the fact that she possessed not one but two brothers. Bastard or not, Leo was beloved by her and her family just as much as Tony.
Granby’s mouth pursed in disdain. He was yet another titled gentleman who adored spending his coin at Elysium all the while despising Leo for being a bastard. If Granby was such a bastion of propriety, it was likely he didn’t care for the Duke of Averell either.
Romy decided she found Granby and his rudeness beneath her.
The Averell footmen immediately came forward as Romy approached. They were both big, strapping young lads who eyed Granby with a stern look while moving immediately to Romy’s side, though the duke towered over them both.
“Hello, Wicks.” She nodded to one. “Rondal.”
Granby raised a brow at her casual tone in addressing the footmen, probably wondering why she would even bother to learn their names. He was that type of duke. The kind she disliked.
She pointedly looked at his hand on her elbow, staring at his fingers until he released her. Marching smartly to the door of her carriage, she tossed over her shoulder.
“Good day, Your Grace.”
David Warburton, Duke of Granby, had recognized the little termagant the moment he saw her inside the modiste’s shop even though she’d been wearing what looked like a flour sack. The last time he’d seen Lady Andromeda Barrington, he hadn’t known her name or that she was the sister of the Duke of Averell. She’d been dressed as a tree of some sort, floating about Lady Masterson’s garden party with a small notebook, hellbent on insulting dukes and their tailors. He’d returned the favor by stating she resembled a shrub.
The most beautiful one he’d ever seen.
Lady Masterson’s garden party had been some time ago, yet David had never forgotten the most annoying creature he’d ever met. Andromeda hadn’t offered any apology for hurling insults toward a duke. No one of his acquaintance would have spoken to him in such a way, man or woman. Not only was he a duke, but David’s size often intimidated those around him, something he generally used to great advantage. He’d wondered, later, why the little shrub had been so unimpressed by him.
Because she’s the daughter and sister of a duke, albeit tarnished ones.
After Andromeda had dismissed him and lost herself in the crowd of guests at Lady Masterson’s, David had meant to seek out his hostess and ask the identity of the young lady, but a sudden rainstorm had disrupted the party, sending the guests back to London. He’d spent the rest of the season searching for her among the gaily dressed ladies of every event he’d attended, but her slender form had never reappeared.
Now he knew why. Andromeda’s father, the Duke of Averell, had died.
As David watched her carriage maneuver itself into the snarl of London traffic, he jerked down the sides of his coat to hide his reaction to Andromeda. The attraction to her was so biting and immediate upon seeing her, it had taken the breath from his body. Desire for her ebbed and flowed through his bones and cock, unwanted and unavoidable.
All things considered, it was for the best she was the Duke of Averell’s sister, a man David neither liked nor respected. The family’s charming list of eccentricities, as society politely referred to their tarnish, included a bastard, Elysium, and a dowager duchess who’d once been a lady’s companion.
A bastard son should be sent to the military as soon as possible with the hope he should be honorably killed in battle. A female should be put into service or shipped off to Australia.
His father’s teachings still resonated loudly within him, dictating his actions and molding him into a duke who would make his father proud. The Barringtons, by their very nature, invited attention, something the current Duke of Granby avoided at all costs. He’d learned well from his father’s mistakes, vowing never to repeat them.
As the carriage rolled away, David caught Lady Andromeda’s delicate profile in the window. She was stunning, as all the Barringtons were rumored to be.
Desire once more curled around his thighs.
“Your Grace.”
David turned to see Lady Beatrice Howard gliding out of the modiste’s shop, sun-kissed curls sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Another beautiful woman, but one possessing an impeccable lineage and a family tree with no spare branches. She rarely expressed an opinion on anything other than the weather. Beatrice would never insult him. She would be an obedient wife and bring little unwanted attention to the Duke of Granby.
In short, Beatrice, unlike Andromeda, was perfect.
2
Romy picked at the lamb on her plate as Cousin Winnie prattled on and on about Lady Ralston’s ball the previous winter. Cousin Winnie, Lady Richardson to those outside her family, could recall with startling clarity the color of each lady’s dress in attendance, how many gentlemen had danced with her daughter Rosalind, and who had been caught on the terrace in a compromising situation.
Romy tried desperately to remember exactly how Cousin Winnie and Rosalind were related to the Barringtons. On her father’s side, she was certain, but the actual connection had never been made clear.
“Goodness, Winnie. Your memory certainly rivals my own.” Romy’s mother picked at a piece of lamb with her fork, smiling at their guest.
A foot nudged Romy’s. “What a coincidence business called Tony away just as Cousin Winnie’s carriage arrived,” Romy’s younger sister Phaedra whispered. “I find it all rather suspect.”
“And poor Freddie,” Theo said to Romy’s left. “Imagine—our nephew suddenly had a new tooth come in just as Cousin Winnie stepped into the foyer. And Maggie had to tend to him personally. I’d not thought our sister-in-law so devious.”
“Olivia,” Phaedra said in a hushed voice to their mother’s ward who sat just across the table. “You look quite ill. Pale as a sheet, in fact. Perhaps I should escort you to your room and read to you until you feel better.”
Olivia calmly chewed a sliver of carrot, barely raising a brow at Phaedra’s audacious suggestion. “I don’t think your mother would approve. And I resent being told I resemble a bedsheet.”
“Approve of what?” Amanda Barrington, the Dowager Duchess of Averell looked down the table at them, a slight frown marring her pretty features.
“Why, attending Lady Molsin’s house party.” Cousin Winnie clapped her hands sharply. “Knowing you girls haven’t been out much”—she gave Romy’s mother a pained expression—“and justifiably so, I have asked Lady Molsin if she has room for two more guests in addition to myself and Rosalind. Isn’t that so, dear?”
Rosalind, seated next to her mother, gave the table a weak smile.
“How wonderful,” Romy said before Cousin Winnie began to regale Romy’s mother with the lavish details of a dinner party she’d once attended at Lady Molsin’s, right down to the pattern on the china the meal had been served upon.
“Rosalind.” Romy waved her fork in Rosalind’s direction and mouthed, “I shall never forgive you.”
Rosalind shrugged and mouthed back. “I had no choice.”
“I should love a house party,” Phaedra said happily.
“Oh no, dear.” Cousin Winnie shook her head, graying ringlets dangling at her temples. “You’re far too young for such a thing. Only Andromeda and Theodosia.” She stopped. “With your permission, of course, Amanda.”
Romy’s mother stopped picking at her plate. “You have it if the girls wish to attend, which I’m certain they do. I am acquainted with Lady Molsin, though I’ve not spoken to her in ages.”
“She’s throwing the house party to celebrate the expected engagement of her nephew, but there will be several eligible gentlemen in attendance, including the Earl of Blythe.”
Theo’s fork slid from her fingers, propelling a pea into Romy’s cheek.
“Theo,” she said quietly watching the pea bounce and roll beneath her chair. “Whatever is wrong with you?”
“She’s pelted you with peas,” Phaedra whispered in a sing-song voice. “Because of Blythe. You don’t know because you’ve been at the modiste’s and not the park.”
“Not another word.” Romy didn’t bother to ask how Phaedra knew about Madame Dupree. There were few secrets between the sisters and Olivia. It was a struggle to keep anything quiet. “You will say nothing of that,” she hissed under her breath.
Phaedra’s attention returned to her plate.
“I should love to attend, Mama.” Theo addressed her mother. “If Cousin Winnie is certain of our welcome.”
“Yes, of course. You and Andromeda would be graciously received. Don’t you think so, Rosalind?”
Rosalind nodded.
Romy glared at her cousin, who refused to meet her eyes. She’d no desire to attend a bloody house party; the family had only just returned to London. At least a dozen new sketches sat in her portfolio upstairs just waiting for Madame Dupree. Now was not the time to dash off to the country, especially since she was now a silent partner in a modiste’s shop.
“Perhaps Theo should go—” she started, deciding to decline the invitation.
Another pea hit her cheek. This time deliberately.
“Romy and I would be delighted to attend, Cousin Winnie.” Theo gave their cousin a demure look, which was completely out of character. Theo hadn’t been demure a day in her life. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”
Struggling not to choke on her lamb, Romy whispered to Theo, “I don’t wish to go.”
Romy had assumed her sister had gotten over her girlish adoration of the Earl of Blythe. Apparently not. And something had happened in the park which she wasn’t aware of.
“Wonderful.” Cousin Winnie clapped her hands again. “I shall inform Lady Molsin, who will be thrilled, I’m sure. We’ll have such fun. There’s even to be a ball the final night. Lots of dancing with dashing, eligible gentlemen. Even Lord Torrington will be in attendance.” She cast a meaningful glance at her daughter.
Rosalind rolled her eyes while stabbing at the peas on her plate. “He’s much too old for me.”
“Distinguished, darling.” Cousin Winnie’s smile tightened. “And an earl. Perhaps more than one announcement will be made.”
Poor Rosalind. It appeared Cousin Winnie had already decided on a match for her.
“And I’m certain the dance is only an excuse to make an official announcement of the duke’s impending marriage. He’s taken Lady Beatrice for a ride in Hyde Park, and he escorted her and her mother, Lady Foxwood, while shopping several weeks ago. Both are sure signs an announcement is forthcoming.”
“The duke?” Romy said carefully, dread mixing with the lamb to form a ball in her stomach.
“Well, yes. Haven’t you been listening?” Cousin Winnie appeared confused. “I’m sure I mentioned it. The Duke of Granby. Lady Molsin is his aunt. He’s been seen in the company of Lady Beatrice Howard, so I’m certain an announcement will be made soon. Very likely at the house party. Isn’t it exciting?”
The ball in Romy’s stomach hardened to stone, and she put down her fork.
“Granby?” Mama’s brow wrinkled.
“Yes. That Granby.” Cousin Winnie nodded while her eyes floated over Romy, her sisters, and Rosalind. “The son of that most unfortunate union.”
Mama nodded in understanding.
Unfortunate union? Whatever was Cousin Winnie talking about?
She waited patiently for Cousin Winnie to return to her discussion about Granby, but the older woman moved on to a different topic. A discussion of Lord Berton’s new wife and her poor fashion choices.
Theo was beaming next to her, obviously thrilled by the idea of being in Blythe’s presence for the duration of a week-long house party. Phaedra pouted, surely disappointed she wasn’t going. Olivia, as usual, appeared calm, spearing her peas and asking Rosalind if she’d like to go to Gunter’s the following day for a lemon ice.
Placing her fork down, Romy found her appetite for lamb, formerly one of her favorite dishes, had dramatically faded. She could not attend a house party where she’d be placed in close proximity with the Duke of Granby.
The problem remaining was how to broach the subject with Theo.
3
“I can’t possibly attend.”
Romy paced back and forth, feet dragging against the rug. “Beatrice and I don’t get on. If you will recall, I threatened her at Mama’s ball.”
“When Tony compromised Maggie? Oh, yes, I remember very well. Didn’t you suggest you’d have her tossed out by one of our footmen?”
Romy frowned at her sister. “I did. Her and Rebecca Turnbull.”
“Lady Carstairs,” Theo interjected.
“That she is now married to Carstairs isn’t important. What is crucial for you to understand is that my presence at the house party will give Beatrice fits. She and Rebecca might well have me removed. Think of Cousin Winnie’s embarrassment, if nothing else.”
“Lady Molsin is hosting the house party, not Beatrice or her parents. The Foxwoods can’t have you thrown out.”
Romy stopped pacing. “That isn’t exactly the point, Theo. I shouldn’t go.”
“Do you not have any feeling for our poor cousin Rosalind? She really needs us there. Cousin Winnie is busy tossing her at Lord Torrington. Who else shall stand beside and protect her? And Miss Waterstone is attending. How often have you told me you should like to be her friend because she has so few?”
It was true. Romy had a soft spot for Miss Waterstone and, indeed, anyone who needed a champion.
“I’m sure her father is forcing her to attend. Poor dear.” A concerned look crossed Theo’s face. “She’s lovely. It isn’t her fault she has a small lisp. I can’t imagine you’d leave Miss Waterstone to fend for herself.”
Theo knew very well Romy wouldn’t, which had surely been Theo’s point in mentioning her. And Romy would like to see Miss Waterstone in the gorgeous gown she’d designed for her. “Granby and I don’t get on,” she muttered.
“Granby?” Theo fluffed the coverlet on Romy’s bed before she sat, her eyes following as Romy resumed her agitated steps across the rug. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with the duke.”
“I am. It is an acquaintance I don’t care to further. He is most unpleasant.”
“So is Beatrice. But it doesn’t signify. We must go. I can’t go without you.”
“Why not? As you’ve pointed out, Rosalind will be there with Cousin Winnie.”
“I couldn’t possibly manage to guide Rosalind on my own. What’s more, I can’t depend on Rosalind to guide me,” Theo said in a quiet voice.
“Guide you?” If Romy didn’t stop pacing soon, a path might be forged in the rug.
“On Blythe.” Her sister’s eyes flashed behind the glass of her spectacles, one finger drawing circles on Romy’s coverlet.
Romy halted, coming to stand before her sister. “This is all because of Blythe? You have seen him exactly one time, riding in Hyde Park over a year ago.”
Theo looked away. “My observation of him has been much more recent.”
“You have just come out, Theo. Barely. How in the world would you have become acquainted with him? We’ve only attended a handful of events, and I don’t recall him being at any of them.”
“We met briefly as I walked with Phaedra and Olivia.” She shrugged, pulling on a loose thread. “In the park, on the path by the river.”
“Do not destroy my quilt, Theo. Explain yourself.”
“Fine. It was not a proper introduction. He was flying a kite.” Her face took on a dreamy look. “Shaped like a large fish. A trout, possibly.”
Romy rolled her eyes and asked for patience. “I don’t care what his kite looked like.”
