Page 14 of A Duke for Adela
Adela gave their discussion no more thought as she reluctantly prepared herself for the visitors they were to have this afternoon. The British Museum lecture was scheduled to start at three o’clock.
They were scheduled to be home to visitors starting at two o’clock.
The timing was atrocious.
Was there any chance she could be rid of all her callers in under one hour and rush off to the museum? Even if she missed the first half hour, at least she would catch most of the two-hour lecture.
Betsy had worked wonders on her hairstyle again and chosen a lovely gown the pink and red hues of a raspberry for her to wear.
Adela had to admit, the gowns Eloise and Phoebe had ordered for her were exquisite and very much to her liking. She felt quite womanly in them, for they were softer and more attractive than her usual afternoon garb which consisted of durable, dark fabrics that were mostly practical for hiding ink stains.
Seeing herself in this gown made her wish the duke would stop by, if only to have a glimpse of her in it. She was curious to know whether he would find her attractive.
Perhaps, even delectable?
She laughed at herself.
By five minutes past two, Eloise’s salon was filled with callers.
Phoebe was there, of course, her nose twitching like a little ferret’s as she attempted to glean some juicy gossip.
Adela was truly fond of the woman, but she was an incorrigible snoop.
She smiled at John and Sophie Farthingale, their neighbors who resided at Number 3 Chipping Way. They had stopped by with two of their daughters, Daisy and Daffodil, and a newly arrived relation of theirs by the name of Marigold Farthingale who was remarkably poised for a girl of only seventeen. Marigold was still a few years away from entering the marriage mart, but Adela expected this amiable girl would steal hearts when her turn came.
All the Farthingales were warm and friendly, and Adela had become quite close with the family now that she was living with Eloise, who was the dowager Countess of Trent. Daisy Farthingale had married Eloise’s youngest grandson, Lord Gabriel Dayne. Daffodil was married to the Duke of Edgeware, but one would never know she was a duchess because of her charmingly unassuming manner. She had insisted early on in their acquaintance that Adela not hold to formality. “My parents named me Daffodil,” she had remarked, “but all my friends and family call me Dillie. You must do the same. Perhaps when I turn fifty, I shall demand to be addressed as Your Grace. It feels quite odd to require my family and close friends to do this now.”
These Farthingale sisters were nice as can be.
Adela had taken to them immediately.
She loved how deeply caring and protective they were of each other, especially of their newly arrived cousin, Marigold.
Adela was also fascinated by how much in love they were with their husbands, a feeling reciprocated in full by these strong, rugged, and affectionately doting men.
This is what Adela wished for herself.
But how did one go about finding one’s perfect match? The marriage mart was not the place to do it. Of all the gentlemen now present in Eloise’s salon, not a one had ever spoken to her before today. They had no idea what her interests were, what she enjoyed, or what she disliked.
Yet, these were the very men who had sent her flowers representing eternal and abiding love. How could she believe any of them?
She was lost in her thoughts as she sipped her tea and endured another of her supposed suitors waxing poetic about her eyes, when all chatter came to an abrupt halt.
Watling appeared at the portal. “His Grace, the Duke of Huntsford.”
Adela set down her cup with a clatter and looked up hopefully.
Had he already retrieved her stolen work?
But he strode in empty-handed.
Well, perhaps he had turned over the stack of papers to Watling for safe storage since he could not very well hand them over to her in the midst of this throng.
He took one look at her and smiled in understanding of the entire trail of her thoughts.
He greeted Eloise first, then moved on to greet Dillie who took precedence because of her rank as duchess, then Phoebe, Daisy and the senior Farthingales, and finally turned his attention to her. “Miss Swift, an infinite pleasure.”
She blushed as he took her hand, not merely bowing over it but planting a kiss on it, something he had not done with any of the other ladies.
