Page 10 of The Trouble With Her Duke
“Good morning, girls,” the Dowager Duchess of Featherly said, giving each of her friends a kiss on the cheek.
“We thought we’d save Charles time in hurrying back and forth,” Dora said in her usual blunt tone. The Dowager Duchess of Richmond was a tall, elegant woman whose black hair was streaked with gray. The contrast was striking, and Lydia quite liked it. Dora always wore colors that harmonized with her complexion, today being no different, as she adjusted the folds of her olive-green gown.
“And so, we timed our arrival perfectly,” Bianca added with a throaty chuckle as she handed Charles her pelisse and hat. The Dowager Duchess of Leighton was a curvaceous confection of a woman who no doubt had an exceptionally talented abigail with a skill for dying hair. Her red hair was curled to perfection and was complemented by a sapphire blue gown and matching necklace.
“I have been looking forward to this tea all day!” Rosalind said, her cornflower blue eyes twinkling. The Dowager Duchess of Glanville was petite, with a cloud of silvery hair that Lydia did not doubt at one time had been a lovely shade of blonde. Wearing a pale pink gown, she beamed at everyone before seating herself on the settee next to the Dowager Duchess of Featherly. Bianca sat on the dowager’s other side, while Dora preferred the matching armchair next to Lydia.
“You have all met my delightful companion, of course,” Sophy, the Dowager Duchess of Featherly, said, inclining her head in Lydia’s direction.
“Lovely to see you again, dear,” Rosalind said.
Lydia smiled at the three Golden Duchesses.
“If I recall, we’ve had luncheon together but never tea,” the Dowager Duchess of Featherly said with a chuckle.
“And if I recall, we agreed to use each other’s first names,” the Dowager Duchess of Richmond said. “With a room full of dowager duchesses, things might become confusing with all the Your Graces-this, and Your Graces-that.” She rolled her eyes, making the other dowagers giggle. “Do call me Dora. May we call you Lydia, my dear?”
“Of course, Your—Dora.” Lydia smiled.
The tall, graying woman adjusted the folds of her olive-colored gown.
* * *
“Lydia, my dear, did you know that Dora’s son, the Duke of Richmond, owns Carlton’s Gentlemen’s Club here in Bath? I’ve heard it’s popular.”
“I believe my brothers may have mentioned it,” Lydia said, shifting in her seat. How could she forget? She’d fallen on her derriere in front of that same club not three hours ago—in front of the Duke of Danforth, no less.
“I agree with Dora and the others. We are all friends here. We don’t need to create unnecessary confusion,” the Dowager Duchess of Glanville added. “All my friends call me Rosalind.”
Lydia nodded and couldn’t help but smile back. Rosalind was the sweetest lady she’d ever met. Here is yet another connection. Rosalind was also the aunt of the Duke of Danforth’s late wife. Lydia felt her cheeks heat once more as she recalled his smile and that dimple in his chin. She had maligned a duke to his face.
“Lydia, you look a little flushed. Is anything amiss?” the dowager asked.
“She’s sitting next to the fireplace,” Dora said. “Of course, her cheeks are rosy.”
“But it’s very becoming,” the Dowager Duchess of Leighton added with a wink. “I love the informality we have when we are together. And please, call me Bianca,” the bejeweled, redhead said, taking Lydia’s hand and giving it a light squeeze. “We will be fast friends. I can tell!”
“And I insist you call me Sophy,” her employer said with a smile.
That would be hardest of all. “I promise to try. But please forgive me if I slip and say, Your Graces.”
“Oh, that reminds me, girls,” declared Rosalind. “Bianca has made plans for the theatre tonight! I am simply pea green with envy. The Earl of Felton asked her to see the new production of Macbeth.”
“He’s been a widower for less than a year. Isn’t it a little soon for the earl to be back out in circulation?” Dora said, arching a brow.
“Pish-tosh!” Bianca shot back with a flick of her wrist. “Everything is different today than in our parents’ time. Besides, it’s not as if he hasn’t been seen about town already.”
“You’ve been hoping he’d call on you,” Rosalind said. “I’m happy for you, Bianca.”
“Thank you, Rosalind,” Bianca said, smiling. “I could almost pinch myself.”
“Well, I suggest you don’t. Then we’d have to concoct some silly story to explain the bruise to the gossipmongers,” Dora countered.
“Girls, as delightful as this news is, we are here to discuss Rosalind’s news,” Sophy said. “And remember that Lydia is here.”
“Yes, of course.” Dora gave a regal nod.
Lydia saw a look pass between the four women and clasped her hands to keep them from trembling. Why was she so nervous? These four ladies held the reins of Bath Society in their hands. And here they’d welcomed her into their inner circle. I must think positively, she reminded herself. Lydia had never been inclined to a sunny disposition. Growing up without a mother and with three bossy older brothers had seen to that. But surely this announcement boded something good.
