Page 7 of Her Duke Next Door
“My lady,” he greeted. “I am Dominique Wallace, the Duke of Livingston. I hear our daughters are best friends. It is wonderful to meet the woman who mothers such a lovely, polite young girl.”
Mary blinked at him, lost for words. She struggled past her own greeting. “Thank you, Your Grace. It is… Quite lovely to meet you too. Your home is beautiful.”
It is a shame you do not stay in it a lot to look after your daughter.
“Your Grace, Mary was just telling us about this ghastly man who almost killed her with his horse near your home this morning! I do not suppose you saw any lone riders on your return?”
“Yes, I think you called this man a rather insufferable cretin, did you not, Lady Yore?” Lord Johnson asked.
Heavens above, Mary thought, as shame made her want to curl up right there on the ground. The Duke’s smile widened.
“Oh, did you? He sounds absolutely awful.”
“That is what we all agreed on!” Lord Halton chimed in. “He must be brought to shame immediately, do you not think? Attacking a poor woman and her daughter like that!”
“I imagine his own pride must have taken quite a hit upon knowing what he had caused,” the Duke said. Mary only stared at him. Itwashim, was it not? Her eyes were not deceiving her. “I do hope you gave him a good dressing down, Lady Yore.”
“Oh, she did!” Lady Johnson giggled. “Lady Yore is feisty indeed, she can hold her ground, Your Grace.”
“I see,” the Duke said, propping his chin on his fist, his eyes fixed on her. She blushed profusely and stood up. “Well, I apologize on behalf of this man. He shames the rest of us men, do not you agree Lord Johnson?”
“Indeed I do, Your Grace.”
Mary slumped in her seat, picking at her white gloves. The Duke of Livingston did not seem the sort of man who would neglect his daughter, but he also acted as though it was not him who had almost trampled her that morning, either. She had spoken in such an entitled way to a Duke! This man who owned a castle! Who was kind enough to let her stay in his home after she had called him a cretin and other shameful descriptives.
Suddenly, overwhelmed by shame and audacity, she stood back. Her chair scraped noisily over the wooden slats of the terrace. The five people turned to look at her. She avoided the Duke’s knowing smile.
“Does something require your attention, Lady Yore?” he asked, cocking his head. “It seems our daughters get on excellently. I would love for us to do the same.”
The two couples both cooed at that, and Mary took a step back. The way he was being so charismatic in front of these people! She disliked it. She did not trust him.
“I—I think I hear Eloise calling for me.”
She was not but Mary hurried off, as far away from the table as possible.
She walked around the hedge maze, cooling off her burning shame, and returned to the party. She immediately sought out the Duke with her eyes, who talked with some other gentlemen but when nobody looked at him, Mary noticed the boredom on his face. It immediately smoothed into polite interest the second eyes landed on him.
So this man has many masks, Mary realized.
His eyes found hers across the garden.
What a pity that such a beautiful woman would have such an insolent tongue. His words echoed in her mind and Mary turned on her heel, putting her back to him as she mingled with more guests. She kept doing that every time she found herself near to where he was throughout the afternoon. Mary avoided the Duke as much as she could, hiding behind statues, turning to take a drink from a passing footman, and conveniently finding herself talking to someone.
Her loneliness lifted from her shoulders today like slipping off a shawl.It was a quiet thing that she let herself admit in her mind.
She was admiring the lanterns that were hung in a creative way around the terrace, while the Duke of Livingston was inside the castle—she had watched to know how to avoid him—to tend to an upcoming harp performance. She lingered by a group of women, all of them peering around as if searching for something in particular. Gossip was more rifer when he left the garden for a while and Mary could not help but be intrigued.
“I heard poor Katie was very upset this morning,” one lady whispered.
“I imagine so! It is not right for a father to leave his child for so long, unattended, as he does with her,” one of her companions answered.
“Well it’s no wonder he runs,” the first lady replied. “If the ghost of my first husband haunted me in my home I would be running out the door too!”
They all laughed together, giggling behind their hands. One of them glanced to Mary.
“How do you know His Grace?” one of them asked. “From London, perhaps? Were you one of the Duchess of Livingston’s friends? You are brave to come here, if so.”
“Our daughters are best friends,” Mary answered. “I live in Dower House, down the road. Why would I be brave to come here?”
