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

Malcolm’s dress—three seasons old—but her utter embarrassment over the matter made him think better of it.
    “I’ve never thought about whether they do or not. But maybe you’re right.” Stephen said. “And in that case, what exactly are Rufus’ intentions in bringing Miss Malcolm here?”
    “What are you saying? That everyone should follow your lead and be on the lookout for an heiress?”
    Stephen reddened. “Is that what you think of me?”
    “No, no,” said Henry, clapping him on the shoulder. “I jest.”
    “What are you two whispering about?” demanded Rufus. He had grown tired of Robert’s effusions and was looking for a way to escape.
    “Just how incredibly dull it is to be in our own company,” said Henry. “Why don’t we rejoin the ladies? I know that Stephen, at least, will favor that idea.”
    “You seem to favor the idea as well,” said Walter Turold. “Any particular reason why?”
    Henry held his breath momentarily. It was the first time in years that Walter had addressed him directly. “A very particular reason,” he said, forcing a smile. He would maintain his charade to the end. “The lovely Miss Malcolm and I are old friends. I can introduce you to her if you like.”
    “I fear you’re behind the times in that regard,” said Rufus with a smirk. “Walter’s the one who pointed out Miss Malcolm to me .”
    “Oh?” said Henry. “And how did Miss Malcolm catch your eye, Walter?”
    Stephen nudged his friend’s arm.
    “But perhaps a question better answered when the lady’s father is not present,” said Henry, without any discomfiture. He gave a friendly bow to Sir Arthur. “Shall we, gentlemen?” And without waiting for a reply, he stepped out the dining room door and crossed the corridor to enter the drawing room.
    * * *
    Eliza folded and unfolded her hands, rubbing her palms against the golden overlay of her skirt. As soon as they had entered the drawing room, the two older ladies had taken a seat on the sofa and begun to talk of events twenty or thirty years past, when France still had its king and when America still served the crown. It was the only thread that bound them together, their common age—and it was a thread that neither Eliza nor Lady Adele shared.
    “Come, sit by the window with me,” directed Lady Adele, and Eliza soon found herself secluded in an unexpected tête-à-tête with the duke’s sister.
    “What do you think of Mr. Blount?”
    Eliza wondered if the question were a test. “He seems very polite.”
    “He’s courting me, you know.” Lady Adele took one of her brown curls in hand and began to twist it around her finger.
    Eliza was not sure whether this last was a statement of fact, an exuberant boast, or a warning against trespass.
    “I am…glad to hear it.”
    “I haven’t decided yet, of course,” continued Adele. “He’s handsome and kind, but not exactly a catch…well, for me at least.”
    Eliza felt herself gaping and closed her mouth. She had never had a friend speak this frankly to her before. Her mother was forthright enough, but never on such a topic.
    “Do you have a good many other suitors then?”
    “Oh, Lud, yes,” said Lady Adele. “Well, that is to say, I did after my coming-out ball earlier this year, but I may have put them off a bit by showing such a preference for Steph—that is, Mr. Blount. But if I should decide against him, I suppose they’ll all come back again.”
    “It seems cruel to keep him in suspense,” said Eliza, feeling genuinely sorry for anyone at the mercy of this pretty tyrant’s whims.
    “Oh?” Lady Adele’s eyebrows lifted like a topsail catching the wind. “And are you not keeping my brother Rufus in suspense?”
    Eliza’s face reddened. The situation was not the same! She had never given him encouragement; he had simply shown an interest all on his own. And if, over the course of this visit, she learned that she could not return that interest, she would most certainly tell