She darted across the room and opened the door, catching a flash of concern flickering through Ernest’s eyes.
“Dress as quickly as you can,” he said, inspecting the room over Eveline’s shoulder. “We have a full house this morning.”
Eveline frowned. “Who else has arrived?”
“Two more dukes and a Mrs. Grove, who’s assisting Mrs. Hawkins with the household duties.” A loud knock resounded on the outer door, and Ernest, glancing heavenward, exhaled a deep breath. “That article caused a flurry of activity. I don’t know how you slept through the din.”
He turned and trudged out of the room, heading toward the staircase.
She raced about the chamber, yanking on clothing, dragging the bristles of an embroidered hairbrush through the tangled mess hanging from her head, and hunting for her shoes, which mysteriously ended up under her bed. Once presentable, she exited the room and descended the staircase, following the low rumbles of voices down the corridor.
“I’d like to know,” said a deep voice that Eveline assumed belonged to the Duke of Mansfield, “what you were thinking when you printed this story?”
The fluttering of paper accompanied his question.
“I was resolving a situation.” The Duke of Lennox’s calm tone floated out of the dining room. “Mr. Drummond is no longer a threat once he understands Miss Braddock is out of his reach. The sooner that happens, the sooner I can marry her.”
A cacophony of sound exploded into the hallway.
“I knew you’d fallen!” Glee punctuated the Duke of Mansfield’s statement.
Uncertain if she should interrupt the discussion, Eveline hesitated in the doorway, her gaze sliding over four dukes, two sisters, and Ernest, seated in front of multiple platters of steaming breakfast foods.
The Duke of Lennox spied her first. He rose, pushing back his chair, and hastened to her side, lifting her hand and placing a searing kiss on her fingers. Then he escorted her to the table, directing Eveline to sit in his previously occupied chair and selecting the empty one beside her.
“How did you sleep?” he asked, dragging his half-eaten plate toward him.
“Terribly.” She leaned against his arm and exhaled. “I dreamed Humphrey attacked me.”
Her response caused the Duke of Lennox to exchange a glance with her brother, then place his hand on her trembling leg. She leaned against his arm, needing the comfort provided by his proximity.
“When is Mr. Drummond expected?” The Duke of Beaufort leaned over and speared two sausages from the platter to his right.
“Tonight,”—the Duke of Lennox’s hand tightened on her leg—“would be the earliest estimation. However, I suspect he’ll make his presence known at the Venning’s ball tomorrow evening. He’ll need time to assess the situation.”
The Duke of Beaufort added two more sausages to his plate. “And how do you propose we entertain ourselves until then?”
“Do you not intend to spend the entirety of your visit in the dining room?” The Duke of Lennox winked at Eveline, drawing a small smile to her lips.
“He should,” the Duke of Mansfield said as he picked up his coffee cup, “provide us with a concert.”
“No.” The Duke of Beaufort’s green eyes narrowed. “I don’t play in public.”
“This isn’t public.” The Duke of Mansfield indicated the group with his cup. “This is your friends and their fiancées.”
“And one sister and one brother.” The Duke of Beaufort slashed his arm toward the end of the table.
Setting a cloth napkin beside her plate, Miss Fernsby-Webb said, “If it eases your trepidation, Your Grace, I’ll accompany you.”
The Duke of Beaufort’s eyes slid to her. “I’m not afraid.”
“Your refusal claims otherwise.” She tilted her head.
The air crackled between them.
“I am doing this under protest.” He shoved back his chair, rising.
“Don’t believe his blustering,” the Duke of Lennox said, leaning over Eveline to address Miss Fernsby-Webb. “Music is his hidden passion.”
