Page 1 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
Chapter One
“And where did you say are the prettiest bonnets in London again, my dear?” The Dowager Duchess of Newden arched her delicately plucked eyebrows as she leaned towards the young lady who sat opposite her. “I declare I am all agog to hear the answer!”
Thomas Riverton, the Duke of Newden, barely managed to suppress an irritated sigh, bouncing his leg in an absent-minded way, almost managing to spill his tea. His grandmother shot him a pained glance. He knew what that look meant. After all, he had been on the receiving end of it too many times to count.
Lady Susannah Winter looked a bit dazed, gaping like a fish, when she realized she was being addressed by the old lady. She had been prattling on in an artless way about bonnets, of all things, her speech breathless as she admitted her fondness for dyed plumes over flowers. Or was it flowers over dyed plumes?
Thomas couldn’t quite recall. He had only been sitting in the drawing room of Chamberlain House, his London residence, for a mere ten minutes having tea with the young lady and her equally alarming mother, Lady Wickham, but already, he was bored witless.
He gritted his teeth. Whenwasit going to end?
“Madame Debois on Bond Street, Your Grace,” Lady Susannah replied, blinking rapidly. “Oh, Madame Debois makes the most divine bonnets! Does she not, Mama?”
“Very pretty, indeed,” Lady Wickham agreed, nodding vigorously, her double chin jiggling alarmingly. “Madame Debois studied her craft inParis, after all!”
The Dowager Duchess raised an eyebrow. “Really? How fascinating.” She swiveled in her chair, glaring at her grandson. “Do you not think so, Your Grace?”
“Pardon?” Thomas had drifted off again. He forced a smile on his face as he gazed at his grandmother. “What am I supposed to think?”
The Dowager Duchess harrumphed. “Bonnet making, my dear boy! Do you not agree with Lady Wickham and Lady Susannah that Paris is the epicenter of the craft?”
“Ah,” Thomas said, trying to suppress a laugh as he frowned, pretending to take the question seriously. He could hear the dryamusement in his grandmother’s voice. “Paris is the epicenter for most creative pursuits, Grandmother, so I suppose it must take the prize for the craft of bonnet design as well.”
“My thoughts exactly,” the Dowager Duchess replied in a dry tone, her gray eyes full of mischief. “The great paintings of Le Brun, Moillon, and Mignard pale into insignificance compared to the genius of Madame Debois, bonnet maker of Bond Street.”
Thomas almost spat out his tea.
Lady Wickham blinked, looking uncertain, but smiled weakly. Lady Susannah tittered in an awkward way, casting a quick glance at her mother, seeking reassurance.
Thomas could tell they weren’t certain if his grandmother was making fun of them or not. But then, most people weren’t. His grandmother had that effect.
Oh, when will this insufferable morning tea party end? When will Grandmother concede that I am not interested in Lady Susannah and have no desire to court her or marry her?
Thomas drained his teacup and then placed it down, barely able to suppress his boredom. It was almost causing him physical pain.
His eyes flicked to Lady Susannah. She was pretty enough, in the conventional fashion, with tightly coiled curls like those of a poodle framing her wide, bland face. She was the daughter of anearl and so had the necessary pedigree, but she left him as cold as a gravestone in the boneyard.
He sighed irritably. But then again, Lady Susannah could have been the most famed beauty in London, charismatic and sensual, desired by a hundred gentlemen, and hestillwouldn’t want to marry her.
He didn’t want to marry anyone. Ever. A fact his dear grandmother knew but liked to ignore. The Dowager Duchess was as set on her grandson marrying as Thomas was set on remaining an eternal bachelor. It was a battle royale, indeed.
And today was just another battle in the ongoing war.
His grandmother shot him another venomous look then turned to the artless young lady, pursing her lips, looking determined.
“And what do you like to read, my dear?” she asked. “Are you familiar with Homer or Virgil?”
Lady Susannah’s jaw dropped in a most comical way. Quickly, she gazed at her mother, who imperceptibly shrugged her shoulders, looking as confounded by the question as her daughter.
“I… I am not familiar with them,” she squeaked, her pale blue eyes wide with terror. “Do they write gothic romances at all? I am very fond ofthemwhen I have the chance to read althoughMama doesn’t like me to read overly much as she says it will make me go blind…”
The Dowager Duchess raised her eyebrows so high that they almost reached her hairline. She looked like she was in physical pain.
Thomas suppressed a laugh. His grandmother was an avid reader of the finest minds and couldn’t abide an ignorant person who never, or rarely, picked up a book. She called such people cultural deserts.
“It is true, My Lady,” Thomas said, looking grave, unable to resist. “If a young lady spends too much time reading, she will inevitably go blind, and devouring too many novels will make it hard to conceive a child as well.” He let out a sorrowful sigh. “Or so I have heard.”
The Dowager Duchess stared at him, looking thunderous. Thomas grinned at her. He stood up. He couldn’t take any more of this. He had better things to do with his time…
