The Seduction of a Duke by Donna MacMeans Read Free Book Online Page B

stationed in the middle of the house. From their position on the mezzanine level, Mary and Fran could lean over the ornate iron-and-bronze rail to the gathering below. Alva had spared no expense for the ball from the look of the decorations. A large bronze fountain, filled with floating lotus blooms and water hyacinths, bubbled directly beneath them. Hummingbirds and brightly colored butterflies had been brought in specifically to flutter about the spectacular floral masterpiece. She suspected a few of her honeybees had found their own entrance as well, drawn to the overwhelming floral scent of lilies and roses. A white-wigged footman dressed in Louis XIV fashion stood just beyond the fountain, announcing the names of the guests as they arrived.
    Had Fran not already recognized the Duke’s costume the moment he strolled through the decorative grille into the en tryway, she would have known by her mother’s effusive efforts that a person of societal import had arrived.
    “Now!” She urged Mary with a slight push. Mary tentatively approached the wide, sweeping turn of the staircase to descend to the main floor, her blue and green silks rippling on the smooth steps behind her.
    Fran retreated behind a giant potted fern to observe her plan unfold. Guilt and uncertainty roiled in her stomach. She wouldn’t have taken such desperate measures if the stakes, her very future, weren’t so critical, she reassured herself.
    The fair-headed Duke, dressed in a regimental uniform, had the athletic build and soft charm that many would call handsome. He was not as old as she had imagined, nor as corpulent. Her attention, however, was drawn to the Duke’s companion, a man dressed in tails as if for a formal evening, but with the head of a frog, reminding her of a favored storybook character from her childhood. Holding a hand to her mouth to soften the chuckle that rose to her lips, she imagined the princess in The Frog King would have had little difficulty befriending such a well-formed amphibian. She cautiously moved forward, risking discovery, to see his direction.
    “His Grace, the ninth Duke of Bedford, and Mr. Percival Hunt,” the footman announced.
    Her mother’s face lit with an internal glow. Rising from a curtsy, she stepped forward to receive her special guest. She looked so carefree and happy. When was the last time her mother had looked so joyful?
    Doubt surrounding the appropriateness of the switch began to gnaw at Fran’s nerves. Her mother beamed approval of the handsome young man. Anticipating her mother’s disappointment when she discovered the trick, Fran felt a moment of guilt. Perhaps this plan was not the clever solution she had envisioned.
    She quickly descended a few steps. Her mother wouldn’t approve of the costume switch, but she’d never forgive the planned deception with Mary. However, Fran had barely touched the fifth step when she realized. Mary had reached the bottom of the stairs. The deception was in play. Fran would be too late to stop it.
    “Your Grace,” her mother, beautifully attired as a Venetian princess, extended a hand toward the staircase. “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Miss Francesca—”
    Her mother stopped in mid-introduction and stared hard at Mary. No one else would probably have noted the difference, but Fran saw the joy drain from her mother’s eyes. A cold, passionless steel returned in its stead.
    Mary’s peacock feathers flitted in constant motion as she bent in a surprisingly graceful curtsy with arm extended. Fran herself could not have executed it better. “Miss Francesca Winthrop, Your Grace,” she said, her voice strong and clear.
    “Well done, Mary!” Fran whispered before retreating back to the landing. Too involved with the scene below to leave, but too afraid of her mother’s reaction to remain in sight, she slipped back behind the fern.
    “Miss Winthrop,” the Duke smiled and accepted Mary’s hand, bestowing a kiss on her fingertips. Her mother