“When you inform everyone,”—the Duke of Beaufort’s eyes bulged—“it’s no longer a secret.”
“Your Grace, if His Grace is too timid to play, you shouldn’t force him.” Miss Fernsby-Webb picked up her napkin again. “I’d rather silence over the discordant musical struggles of a man who believes his caliber is greater than it truly is.”
The Duke of Beaufort banged his fist on the table, startling all three ladies.
“Follow me,” he ground out, obviously struggling to maintain his civility.
The Duke of Beaufort marched to the parlor and sat at the pianoforte, making a grand spectacle of readying himself, then struck the first chord, filling the room with music. Miss Fernsby-Webb, true to her word, sat on the bench beside him and joined in, her alto voice rising and falling in harmony with his.
“Do you see it?” Miss Webb murmured as she sat beside Eveline on the sofa and nodded toward her sister and the Duke of Beaufort.
“See what?” Eveline asked, keeping her voice low.
“The connection between them.”
Eveline shook her head. “You can’t force two people together.”
“Sure, I can.” Miss Webb grinned. “I schemed to bring you and the Duke of Lennox together, and now, you’re engaged.”
“And facing a horrific encounter with a madman.”
“Which you no longer need to endure alone.” Miss Webb shifted her attention back to the pianoforte and nodded her head once. “Three dukes left to match.”
The day crawled by with Eveline’s eyes flicking to the window to inspect each passing carriage, every sound bringing renewed dread.
When would Humphrey come for her?
“Drink this.” The Duke of Lennox sat beside Eveline and handed her a full snifter of liquor.
“I can’t,” she protested, her nose wrinkling at the strong smell wafting from the glass.
“You’re shaking. This will help.” He pantomimed bringing the cup to his lips. “I’m not moving until you consume all of it.”
She complied and coughed as the harsh taste coated her tongue. Warmth spread down her throat, loosening the knot in her stomach. Finishing the liquid, she sighed, passed him the glass, and sagged against him, her eyes half-closing.
The world turned blurry.
She was vaguely aware of Ernest—after a terse argument with the Duke of Lennox—lifting her and carrying her to her bedchamber. He deposited her in the bed, closed the drapes, and exited the room, leaving her in the darkness.
At some point during the night, her chamber filled with the scent of grass, like a meadow just at sunrise. She moaned and rolled toward the smell, burying her face in it and falling back asleep. Though she feared encountering Humphrey, he didn’t visit her dreams.
When she opened her eyes the next morning, the Duke of Lennox, stretched out beside her on top of the covers, rolled over and smiled.
“Good morning,” he said, drawing her closer. “Did you sleep better?”
“I did.” Curling into his chest and inhaling his unusual scent, she sat up with a gasp. “Ernest!”
“Over here,” her brother groaned, unfolding himself from the armchair.
“You both slept in here?” Her head whipped between Ernest and the Duke of Lennox.
“We reached an agreement.” The Duke of Lennox brushed a kiss across her forehead. “After our engagement is announced at the Venning’s ball this evening, Mr. Braddock will attempt to shelve his overly protective brotherly tendencies.”
“I hope all your children are daughters,” Ernest snapped.
Eveline laughed. “Careful, or that curse may attach itself to you.”
“Don’t turn your matchmaking tendencies toward me,” he replied, shuffling toward the door. “I’m satisfied with my current lot.”
