The Duke's Last Hunt by Rosanne E. Lortz Read Free Book Online

sensation that she had met him before, but she could not recall the time or place.
    As she had foreseen, Lady Adele’s dress was stunning—a white dress of the finest muslin with an overlay of delicate pink lacework and a daring décolletage. “And how did you enjoy your tour of the house, Miss Malcolm?” asked Lady Adele from across the table.
    “Very well, thank you,” replied Eliza. She felt that she ought to add something, some comment about the cornices or the columns, but nothing came to her. She lapsed into silence, praying that she did not appear as inept at conversation as she felt. On the far end of the table, Rufus was explaining to her father just how many horses, hounds, and neighbors there would be at the hunt four days from now.
    “May I offer you some fish?” said a voice in her right ear. Lord Henry was holding a large platter upon which a gargantuan boiled turbot was staring gruesomely at her.
    “Yes, thank you,” Eliza replied faintly, remembering only after he started to serve it that she did not in fact like fish.
    “It’s quite good with the anchovy butter,” said her helpful swain, ladling some of that sauce next to the turbot on her plate.
    “Excellent,” murmured Eliza, the smell of the anchovies starting to waft into her nose. Determined not to engage Lord Henry in any further conversation, she looked to her left and saw Mr. Blount manfully attacking his piece of roast pheasant. She wished he would dish some onto her plate, but he was paying her no notice and it would be impolite to ask.
    The talk of the hunt was still going on, and now Mr. Curtis and Rufus’ friend Mr. Turold had joined in. Eliza picked up her fork and made a halfhearted effort to spear a mouthful of turbot, but the piece of boiled fish disintegrated onto her plate.
    “I have a new pair of hunting pistols,” said Rufus, his voice rising with enthusiasm. “The cleanest action you’ve ever seen!”
    “I would love to try them,” said Robert. “If you don’t need both, perhaps you’ll loan me one for the hunt.”
    “Lud no, it would be wasted on you!” said Rufus. “Walter shall have it, for after me he is the best shot.”
    Eliza stared at her plate. She could not eat the fish. She could not do it.
    “I am noticing your dress, Miss Malcolm,” called Rufus’ sister from across the table. She was clearly bored with the talk of guns.
    “And I yours,” said Eliza. She thought of what her mother would say if she ever attempted a neckline like Lady Adele’s, and a smile nearly rose to her lips.
    “I’ve seen nothing like it in town this season,” continued Lady Adele. “Who is your modiste?”
    Eliza blanched. It was no crime to wear a dress out of fashion, but it was a subject she had hoped to avoid over the dinner table. “Madame Lavelle.”
    “Do you know the shop, Mother?” said Lady Adele with interest. “I do not recognize the name.”
    No, she would not recognize it, thought Eliza, for Lady Adele had come out only this season, and this dress had been one of the last to be made before Madame Lavelle had closed her doors.
    “I had a dress made by Madame Lavelle several years ago,” said the duchess, setting down her wine glass thoughtfully. “The rose-colored crepe, Adele, but you may have been too young to recall.” She turned to Eliza. “I was not aware that Madame Lavelle still plied her needle.”
    “Nor does she,” said Eliza, seeing now that the awful truth must come out. “She made up this gown for me several years ago.”
    “Oh!” said Adele, clearly startled that such an enormity could happen or be admitted to. “Several years ago? I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Her outcry drew the attention of the gentlemen at the table, and the hunting conversation, which had hitherto seemed interminable, now came to an unfortunate and untimely end.
    Eliza knew that she ought to turn the conversation to some other subject, but she could not stop her face from flaming red or her