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“Seeing as how I have managed to maneuver the stairs from my room several times now, I would say that I’ll be just fine.”
But Miss Denby did not seem to see just how annoyed he was becoming. “My brother was left without a leg, you know,” she blathered on. “He was wounded in a duel. Though you must have heard about it. Everyone has heard about it. It’s why I’m here on the Isle, after all. He took to drinking after, and gambling, and our family was left in dire straits. I would have married to save us, had anyone wanted me. But no one wants me. I’m quite scandalous, it seems, though I certainly didn’t do anything to warrant it. Truly, is it my fault Lord Ludlow became obsessed with me? I certainly didn’t encourage him. Though my brother would tell me otherwise. I’m apparentlytoo friendlywith men, whatever that means. But I have a natural openness. It’s not a failing. Would you think it’s a failing, Your Grace?”
All the while she was speaking, with a quickness and candor that had his head spinning, Daniel could do little more than gape at her. Even the dog and his offensive sniffing was forgotten. “Your brother was in a duel?”
Why that was the first thing that popped out of his mouth, he would never know. Blessedly Miss Denby didn’t seem to think there was anything odd in it.
“Oh, yes,” she said, apparently giving up tugging her dog away entirely as she warmed to her story. “It was silly for him to enter into it, and so I told him when he found Lord Ludlow in my room. It must have been a mistake, I told him. Surely Lord Ludlow had entered the wrong window. There was no sense in getting himself killed over it. Which only seemed to enrage him the more, now that I think on it. I did not learn until later, of course, that Lord Ludlow truly had meant to climb into my window. But how was I to know, I ask you?”
Which she actually seemed to be doing, as she finally paused to take breath and looked at him expectantly. He managed a sickly smile—blessedly the dog had lost interest in him and was now bounding across the back lawn in a kind of uncoordinated canine abandon, and so he was able to focus solely on Miss Denby—and managed a weak “I’m sure I don’t know.”
She threw her hands up—as if to say,Exactly!—then drew in a deep breath. He watched her in fatalistic horror, certain she was going to start off again on another long-winded monologue, when a frantic barking sounded.
Her attention was diverted in an instant. “Mouse,” she cried, “leave that poor squirrel alone.” Then, with barely a glance his way, she bolted after the creature. He watched, mouth agape, as she grabbed up her skirts in both hands and sprinted down the stone steps and across the back lawn.
“Holy hell,” he mumbled.
A sudden laugh sounded behind him. He turned to see Mrs. Kitteridge striding across the balcony toward him.
She placed a hand over her mouth. “I am so sorry for finding any amusement in the situation,” she said through her fingers—a useless endeavor in hiding her laugh, as her eyes fairly danced with her mirth. “But you really can’t blame me, can you?”
“I suppose not,” he grumbled. “Is she always like that?”
“Exuberant, you mean?” she queried with impressive innocence, before ruining the effect and laughing again, this time outright. “Ah, yes, I’m afraid so. Though this was not her most exuberant conversation by far.”
He felt himself go green. She gave him a commiserating smile. “Shall I take her off the list of prospectives, then?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to declare that, yes, that would be the wisest course of action. He glanced at Miss Denby then, and watched as she laughingly flung a stick for her dog to chase. She wasn’t a horrible person. She had already proven to be kind, and friendly—ortoo friendly, as her brother had apparently termed her. And besides, he had only known her a day. No one could truly know a person after such a short time. It would be ridiculous at this early stage to discount anyone, especially as he’d been informed that Synne was not exactly flush in marital prospects this late in the summer season.
“No,” he said. “Not entirely. Though”—he sent a wry smile Mrs. Kitteridge’s way—“perhaps we’d best focus our attentions elsewhere for now? At least until I’ve grown a bit more used to Miss Denby’s particular brand of high spirits.”
She chuckled. “A wise course of action, indeed. And duly noted. If the weather clears by tomorrow we’ll head into town, and we shall see if there isn’t someone else that suits you better.”
As he watched her retreat back inside, he rather thought that, if he was looking for someone who suited him, Mrs. Kitteridge would be it.
But no, he told himself fiercely, turning his attention back to Miss Denby galloping across the lawn after her dog, he was not looking for someone who might call to his heart, not after the heartbreak of daring to love before. And Mrs. Kitteridge, he knew instinctively, would do just that if he gave her the chance.
***
After the debacle with Miss Denby—who seemed blessedly unaware that the attempts to get her alone with the duke the previous day had been anything other than mere politeness—Margery refused to lose even a modicum of hope that she could match His Grace with someone on Synne. Miss Denby had a very energetic personality, after all, and though she had been popular in London before the scandal that had taken her brother’s leg, Margery was forced to admit that her volubleness was not to everyone’s taste. Most especially not to a quiet, awkward duke who seemed to dread going about in society so much that he had hired aconjugality coordinatorto find him a bride.
Taking advantage of the blue skies and warmer weather that had visited them overnight, she thought a stroll in town would surely be the perfect place to start the duke’s indoctrination into Synne society. She would be able to see how he might truly interact with the young, single—and decidedly calmer—women on the Isle. It was one thing to be subjected to a forced evening with a group of strangers, or to converse alone with a woman who was the very opposite of himself; it was quite another to take a casual walk with Gran and the duke’s mother, mayhap meeting new acquaintances along the way yet able to extricate himself in a moment. Perhaps he would be more relaxed in such a setting. And there was no time to waste, after all, with the clock ticking ever closer to the date that the blackmail funds were due…
As soon as Margery stepped foot from the carriage, however, any hope she might have had that her job of finding him a wife would be easier than she’d first assumed—something that had taken a significant beating after his walk with Miss Denby—was dashed to pieces. She bit her lip as she watched him from under her lashes, anxiety rising up in her. Though the foot traffic on Admiralty Row was light, the duke showed no signs of relaxing. If anything, the farther down the wide avenue they traversed, the starker and more guarded his expression became.
And, the crux of it was, she understood only too well why.
Margery winced as yet another young woman—a Miss Abigail Swan, the painfully thin, colorless daughter to the town’s physician—hastily extricated herself from conversation with Gran, her eyes sliding anxiously to the duke as she did so. It was not the first time that morning that a young woman had shown a less-than-complimentary reaction to the man. She peered at him from under her lashes, any hope she might have had that he hadn’t witnessed Miss Swan’s nervous exit quickly snuffed as she spied the ruddy hue staining his cheeks.
She blew out a frustrated breath as they continued on their way down the avenue, her worries put aside as aggravation reared. What was wrong with the women on this Isle? So the man had some scars? They certainly did not detract from his attractiveness. In fact, he was one of the most magnetic, striking, desirable men she had ever seen.
For a moment she entertained herself with musings on where else he might have scars. Which transformed into wondering what he might look like unclothed, if he were as powerful beneath his fine wardrobe as he appeared, what his skin might feel like, taste like…
She blanched. Goodness, was she such a letch as that? To pant after a man who was in essence her client? Of course, she’d been incredibly lonely these past years without Aaron. And her body had begun aching for physical affection. But that was no excuse. No excuse at all.
Though surely if she were this attracted to the man, someone else on this blasted Isle would be as well. Or at least not so intimidated by his appearance that they might remain in his company for more than a few minutes.
Just then she spied Mr. and Mrs. Pickering and their daughter across the street. The couple caught sight of Gran and, waving and calling out energetically, dragged their protesting daughter into the light early-afternoon traffic, earning them more than one loud curse as drivers were forced to pull their horses up.
