Page 2 of His Darling Duchess
Stowe was thirty, which was all she knew of him other than what Louis had just told her. She hadn’t seen Grantleigh since Stowe returned to England, summoning his heir peremptorily to Stowe Park in Oxfordshire.
Then, a few days ago, Lady Grantleigh called and advised them she was throwing a grand ball at the Stowe townhouse to welcome the duke home to England.
There was no question they would do anything other than accept, of course. Lady Grantleigh had become quite a friend of the Lymseys since her husband’s death and her own permanent return to England. Aurelia was very fond of the older woman, indeed, thought she could not ask for a kinder future mother-in-law.
Lady Grantleigh caught her eye at that very moment, the smile on her face widening as she reached to pluck at her son’s sleeve. Grantleigh’s bored expression disappeared in an instant when he spied Aurelia, replaced by a broad smile. She smiled back at him, thinking how very handsome he looked, with his dark hair rakishly tousled and his perfectly cut coat showing off his height.
The party in front of the Lymseys moved forward, and Aurelia finally caught her first glimpse of the duke.
Stowe had the same dark hair and eyes as his aunt and cousin, and he was around the same height as Grantleigh, but that was where the similarities ended. While Grantleigh was tall and slender, Stowe’s shoulders seemed to strain the seams of his black coat. Far from being fashionably pale, Stowe’s skin bore a bronze tan that spoke of many hours out in all kinds of weather, and though Aurelia was sure his valet had shaved him close for the ball, the shadow of his beard was already beginning to darken his square jaw.
There was no smile on Stowe’s lips as he turned his attention to Lord Lymsey, but he did tip his head in a small gesture of respect as Lymsey bowed.
“I’ve read reports of your speeches to Parliament, my lord,” Stowe said in a low, deep voice which nevertheless cut effectively through the chatter surrounding them. “I’m honoured such a prominent Whig politician would grace this house with hispresence, and I’d like to assure you that although my father was a virulent Tory, my sympathies lie entirely with your cause.”
“Excellent!” Aurelia’s father looked delighted. “I look forward to welcoming you to your seat in the Lords when Parliament sits again, Your Grace.”
“Ahem,” Lady Lymsey said, and the earl looked abashed.
“Beg pardon, beg pardon. Lady Lymsey, Your Grace, and my son Viscount Coleworth, and our daughter Lady Aurelia Cole.”
Stowe bowed to Lady Lymsey with surprising grace for a man so large, greeted Louis with a sort of distant reserve, and bowed again to Aurelia. Hoping to impress him - after all, as Grantleigh’s cousin and the head of the family, his disapproval would put paid to any potential match - she sank the deepest curtsy she could gracefully manage.
She’d never met anyone with eyes so dark; they were very nearly black, Aurelia thought, as Stowe met her eyes briefly. There was no change in his expression as he spoke in that low, commanding voice.
“Your presence graces my home, Lady Aurelia. I hope you will enjoy the evening.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Recognising the polite dismissal, Aurelia withdrew, feeling oddly shaken. Although Stowe had looked at her for only a few moments, she had the strangest sensation he’d looked right into her soul.
“Ouch,” Louis complained as they ascended the stairs to the ballroom, and Aurelia glanced down to see she was digging her fingertips into his forearm through his coat sleeve.
“Sorry.”
“Quite all right, Aur. What’s the matter, feeling a little nervous? All the tabbies will be watching you tonight, after all.”
“I wasn’t nervous until you said that.” She glared daggers at him. Unaffected by sibling fury, Louis shrugged.
“These things are all the same. I’ll dance with you, Grantleigh will dance with you, then every young idiot in here will be calling each other out over who gets a spot on your dance card.”
“Oh, stop.” They paused for a moment at the top of the stairs as there was a crush at the ballroom doors, and Aurelia suddenly shivered. She had the strangest feeling of being watched.
Turning, she glanced discreetly back down, and to her astonishment found it was the Duke of Stowe who was watching her, staring in fact, until his aunt tugged at his sleeve and he returned his attention to the lady in front of him awaiting his attention.
The very same lady in the black and red dress who had so captured Louis’ attention, Aurelia noticed, who was even now swaying closer to Stowe and laying her hand on his sleeve.
Stowe stiffened and moved back just slightly, the lady dropped her hand, and Stowe glanced up at Aurelia again.
“Come on, Aur, you’ll have to wait for Grantleigh to do his duty,” Louis said, obviously misinterpreting the direction of her attention. “I’ll stand up with you for the first if he doesn’t make it upstairs in time.”
He’d been caught staring.
Twice.
Rhys Marlowe, former colonel in His Majesty’s army and now, for his sins, the Duke of Stowe, hastily pulled his eyes away from the fairy princess at the top of the stairs.
“Are you quite all right, dear?” his aunt asked, low-voiced, obviously noting his inattention. “I’m sorry about Mrs Grable-Smithee.”
“Who?”
