Page 55 of To Ensnare a Duke

"I suppose all dukes have a bit of peculiarity around them."

"Isn't that the truth."

"Are you still in pain, Miss? Your movements are still ginger and not with the ease I normally see you."

Inwardly, I scowl. Blast. I thought I was doing well with hiding my current predicament. "Do not worry about me. It's just the morning. I'll be better as the day tarries."

"Or," she bends low, winking. "You could be indisposed? Unable to face the crowds threatening to gather?"

And risk further punishment? I think not. Shaking my head, I give her hand a pat. "If my intended thinks it's time for me to meet his friends, then I suppose I must," I say out loud.

"I know of a few of them from the other maids. They certainly seem like a nice lot. Peculiar, but nice."

"As you said, most dukes are. I can only imagine their duchesses would need to be equally so to match them."

The dining room bustles about with so many people gathered within. Soft laughs and deep chuckles spill out of the door, making my heart pound. They sound like they're all having the grandest of times.

Looking toward the front of the house, my heart sinks. If only Greyson were here. Though we sent correspondence as soon as the next day, I've still not heard word or even seen the man. I can only hope he's not angry with me. I didn't see what Portswell sent him, but I hope he was kind in his assessment.

"Come now, child," Aunt Amelia cries out as she hobbles down the stairs. "Into the fray. We mustn't tarry."

With a smile, I pull her to the side, waiting for a moment. "Has Greyson responded?"

A small bit of the happiness fades in her eyes. "Not that I've seen, child."

"But the wedding is tomorrow. I suppose we can delay-"

"We will do nothing of the sort," Portswell booms out from next to me. At his closeness, I jump, my fingers fluttering over my heart. "Well met, my future bride. Are your nerves a bit unsteady today?"

I resist the urge to glare at him in front of my aunt, who gazes upon him like some besotted calf. "A lady so close to her wedding day would no doubt be a bundle of nerves."

"Fear not. I have sent my best riders to hunt your brother down. I will do my best to make sure he is in attendance."

"Such a kind man," Aunt Amelia cries, her eyes lighting up again. "I do so enjoy knowing that we are to have such a lad in the family."

He turns to me with a smirk and draws up my hand, lowering his lips until they hover over the skin. "And you, my bride? Do you agree with her assessment?"

Before I can answer, she jabs me in the ribs with her elbow. "But of course she does. How can she think anything different?"

"But of course," he echoes, a smile dancing in his eyes. "Come. Introductions need to be made."

When I come into the dining room, everything stops. So many strangers sit around my table. The dukes, I know through their status and the interactions with my brother, but I never made the time or effort to get to know them on a friendly basis. There were always other enticing things to do than to listen to talks of parliament and how Alphas are the best gift to the world.

The women I know even less about. Besides Miss Campbell, I've only met the others in passing. Since they were quick to be snatched off the marriage mart and off to their honeymoons, I've not had time to properly make their acquaintances. They seem nice enough, however, so maybe this will be a good thing.

The men all rise, their smiles easy and gentle, as if they know they possess the power to drive fear into anyone's hearts, but they refuse. In their eyes, however, I can see the harsh ruthlessness reflected. Much like the hunger in Portswell's gaze. As the man guides me further inside, I resist the urge to shiver under their dark scrutiny.

"Let's see," Portswell begins. “You should be familiar with all of us, but just in case, I suppose I should start from the left side of the table and work my way around. You already know Whiteport, Norhaven, and Miss Cynthia Campbell." The three nod their heads as the two dukes sit down.

"Next to her is Her Grace, the Duchess of Foxford and His Grace, the Duke of Foxford."

The woman's blue eyes sparkle as she nods to me. Her husband, on the other hand, seems to appraise my value as his gaze travels up and down my body before nodding and sitting.

"Next to them are Her Grace, the Duchess of Birchleigh and His Grace, the Duke of Birchleigh."

"Well met!" The woman cries, earning a scowl from her husband.

"Next to them are Her Grace, the Duchess of Blackport and His Grace, the Duke of Blackport."