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“Why ever not?” Margaret asked seriously. “I wouldn’t do anything, of course, and I say this only in present company. Neither of you will run out to tell everyone what I said, will you?”

Eleanor didn’t reply to that. Charlotte sat with her hand covering her smile, and her shoulders bobbed up and down silently. She shook her head.

“There are far more interesting things to gossip about,” Margaret continued. “And you don’t need to look at me like that, Eleanor. I am a woman, after all. I have needs.”

“We don’t need to discuss those needs over tea and cakes,” Eleanor complained.

“Perhaps not,” Margaret agreed. “However, we can discuss how broad His Grace’s shoulders are and his striking eyes. You must have surely noticed that, Eleanor.”

Eleanor had noticed both and more, but especially the ferocious intensity in his eyes. She hadn’t been able to look away at times. And it was obvious that he was handsome, but that didn’t compensate for his character. Broad shoulders or broad chest or thick arms be damned.

“Aha!” Margaret said as she poked Eleanor in the shoulder. “I can see that you’re thinking about him right now. Oh, what fun you’ll have this Season with such a handsome man by your side.”

“I wasn’t thinking of him,” Eleanor grumbled as she looked down at her plate.

Charlotte wasn’t laughing silently anymore.

“Can we please change the subject?” Eleanor begged. She glared at Charlotte with wide eyes, hoping her friend would back her up.

“I wouldn’t mind having a handsome man like His Grace accompanying me to events,” Charlotte said. “That way, only the most striking and powerful men would approach me, and there would be so much jealousy rippling through society. It would be positively delightful.”

“You’re not helping, Lottie,” Eleanor hissed.

“His lips,” Margaret muttered. “Oh, I am far too old to be kissing a man like him, but I’m sure they could tell some tales. I wouldn’t mind⁠—”

“Mother!” Eleanor hissed, not only worried about what she might say before Lottie, but also about what the staff would overhear. They didn’t need the staff talking about the dowager viscountess lusting after younger men. “Please stop talking like that.”

Margaret waved a hand in the air. “Fine, my dear. I’m only wondering aloud why every unmarried lady in London is not already in love with him. He is one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. I shall speak to Nathaniel. Instead of His Grace being your chaperone, perhaps he will take you as his wife, and you won’t have to attend any of those silly balls.”

“You are attending the silly balls, Mother.” Eleanor tried to keep calm, but she was becoming more and more exasperated.

“Yes, but I have lived the serious portion of my life, and I deserve some silliness,” Margaret said, her voice songlike. “You are young, Eleanor. This is the time when you start a family and put off the silliness until later in life.” Margaret clasped her hands together. “Oh, what beautiful children you two would have.”

Charlotte threw herself back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling with laughter.

“You are no help,” Eleanor scolded her. “Mother, I am not marrying the duke and starting a family with him. I will find a good man to do so with, and His Grace will be nothing more than a bystander. That is that.”

Charlotte swung forward again, the laughter fading away, but the smile remaining plastered to her face.

Eleanor rolled her eyes and then flared her nostrils at Lottie.

“What?” Charlotte gasped, completely unaware that she was being mischievous. “I’m not the one saying anything about you and His Grace, though your mother is right. You and he would make cute children.”

“Then you have not listened to anything I have said about him,” Eleanor said, turning to face the other way and crossing her arms. “He is not out to make children with me; he is out to make my life a misery for his own amusement. The best I can do is to ignore him and hope he doesn’t scare away every other eligible man in London.”

CHAPTER 5

Gabriel strode down the hallway on the lower floor of his manor. He nodded to the housekeeper as he passed her, carrying a bundle of linens, and carried on into the kitchens. The two cooks looked up, waiting for his order; one gently stirred a saucepan.

He found that upon entering the kitchen, he had completely forgotten why he had gone there, and the tendon in his neck tensed.

“What is for supper?” Gabriel boomed, needing to say something.

“Pheasant, Your Grace,” the older cook said. “Just as you requested.”

Now, he remembered. His uncle, Richard Devereux, was visiting and would be joining him for supper. Only, a telegram had come to inform the duke that his uncle would be arriving earlier than stated.

“I would like a platter of food brought to the morning room as soon as our guest arrives.”