Page 69 of Never Beguile a Duke
Nora frowned, her face scrunching with confusion. “You don’t like the Duke of Roxburghe?”
“I find him quite amusing.” Winifred wrapped an arm around her sister’s waist. “I shall miss you both after the wedding.”
“Where are you going?” Nora asked, her spiked voice causing the Misses Sutton to glance back at them.
“I doubt the Duke of Roxburghe wishes me to live with you during the honeymoon phase of your relationship.” Elbowing Nora, Winifred winked. “And he will appreciate me much more once I’m no longer your chaperone.”
“Where will you stay?” Nora asked as she pushed open the door to their shared chamber.
“With me,” their mother said, groaning when Doctor Barnes pressed on a bandaged portion of her head.
Absolutely not.
“You’re recovering quite well, Mrs. Webb,” he said, straightening and collecting his leather bag. “I don’t see any harm in participating in tonight’s activities, as long as you don’t exert yourself too much.”
He bowed to Nora and Winifred, then exited, closing the door behind him.
“Such a kind man,” Mrs. Webb said, climbing from the bed. “Winifred, have you considered?—”
“No.” Winifred strode across the floor and knelt in front of her trunk. “I’ll not hear another matchmaking suggestion. You’ve already thrown your support behind Mr. Hollingsworth, removed that same support, then returned it again.”
“I only did what I thought was best,” her mother replied with a sniff. “When you have daughters, you’ll understand the struggle of raising willful girls.”
“Enough,” Nora said, squashing the impending argument. “Neither of us owes you any consideration, Amelia. If Winifred wishes to wed the stable boy or remain a permanent spinster, the Duke of Roxburghe and I will defend—and fund—whatever choice she desires.”
“Thank you,” Winifred mouthed, glancing over as Nora crouched beside her.
Nora nodded once and opened her trunk. “Am I correct in assuming you have nothing to wear this evening, Amelia?”
“You are.” It pained their mother to make that admission, which is why Winifred was quite certain Nora forced her to state the words aloud.
“I have a gown that should fit you.” Nora sorted through several colorful dresses, unearthing a puce garment that had faded to dusky mauve.
Their mother visibly shuddered, then she curtsied, offered a wide smile, and took the gown. “Of course, I am grateful for whatever charity the future Duchess of Roxburghe chooses to bestow upon me.”
Winifred rolled her eyes, forcing Nora to dive into her trunk as she burst into laughter.
“What did you do?” Nora hissed thirty minutes later as they were seated in the middle of a long dining table beside their mother.
“Nothing; I was with you all day,” Winifred murmured, her gaze skating over the guests.
On one end of the table sat the Dukes of Roxburghe, Lennox, and Grisham. Gathered on the opposite side were the Dukes of Mansfield, Warwick, and Beaufort. Beside them, a thick buffer of gentlemen prevented Winifred from catching sight of the Duke of Beaufort’s dark blond hair.
However, she could hear his voice, and each word that floated her direction pushed her into a deeper melancholy, especially since Miss Juliette was absent again from the meal. By the time they finished eating, Winifred wholly believed she had caused the Duke of Beaufort’s sudden dismissal.
“My friends!” The Duke of Beaufort stood and lifted his glass, saluting the opposite end of the table. “It is my honor to share this joyful occasion with you and your lovely fiancées.”
He toasted Nora—avoiding eye contact with Winifred—then turned to Miss Braddock, and then Miss Philbert. “I wish you many happy years together.”
A collective cheer rose around the table, and all the guests lifted their glasses, saluting the three couples.
“However,”—the Duke of Beaufort set down his empty goblet—“I wonder how well each of your fiancées knows you. Therefore, in twenty minutes we will play a game… You’re all going to participate in a blindfold waltz!”
“What’s that?” Miss Braddock whispered as she leaned across the table toward Winifred.
The Duke of Beaufort held up his hands, quelling the guests’ murmurs. “For those of you who’ve not heard the term, each lady will be blindfolded and must dance with three gentlemen. At the end of the song, the lady must guess which gentleman was her fiancé. And, to make this more difficult, the couples may not speak to each other.”
Clearing his throat, the Duke of Grisham stood. “What does my dear fiancée win if she guesses correctly?”
