Page 20 of The Lady's Guide to Well-Endowed Dukes
“There! Didn’t I say he was taken with you!” Margaret folded her hands upon her lap. “As good natured as the duke is, I doubt he usually goes out of his way to charm elderly spinsters.”
Estela took a sip of the excellent pressed oranges. She’d been wondering herself about his motives, and could only conclude this was an olive branch of sorts. Whether it was the afternoon sun, or the wine, or the deliciousness of the food, she was feeling a great deal more benevolent towards him.
Nonetheless, that didn’t change the substance of the situation.
“You’re forgetting Miss Maitland.” Estela tapped her fingernail upon her glass. “His Grace wishes to honor thebetrothal. He and I had a long chat about it yesterday, and he made himself clear.”
Margaret looked thoughtful. “I’m sure you know best dear. Still, gentlemen do change their minds, almost as much as we ladies.”
Estela had to admit, Lord Rockley had made such a fuss about behaving honorably and keeping his word that it did smack of ‘protesting too much’—as if he’d been trying to convince himself, rather than her.
There had been a moment when she’d felt sure he was succumbing, despite his principles. She knew she oughtn’t to mention what had passed between Lord Rockley and herself, but the substance of his ‘problem’ was too tantalizing not to allude to.
“I think our handsome escort is simply wanting to make up for a small awkwardness between us. You see, he did come to my cabin while you were in Bari and…”
Oona clasped her hands in obvious excitement.
“Go on, dear. We’re all ears.” Margaret leaned forward.
“Naturally, Lord Rockley wishes to fulfil his duties as a husband, and to give Miss Maitland the marriage every woman deserves. However, there’s an obstacle.” Estela glanced over to the door of the restaurant, reassuring herself that he was still closeted inside.
Did she dare go on? Her godmothers would be discreet, and they were quite open-minded, but the matter was so delicate.
“To be frank, it’s a bedroom matter, and the duke asked if I might have advice to offer, to aid him, so to speak—having been married so many times myself.”
Oona looked perturbed. “He wanted to discuss a bedroom matter, for Miss Maitland’s benefit, and he came to your cabin, where nothing happened between the two of you?” Her hand flew to her mouth. “He has a terrible disease! And it’s on hispiddle-paddle! The poor man! Has he pustules? Are they very bad?”
Margaret looked similarly horrified. “It all makes sense now. He’s afflicted in some way so embarrassing that he could never tell his bride to be. Is it a wilting walloper? His mighty oak is more of a weeping willow?”
Estela shook her head, barely suppressing her laughter. “No pustules, and no withered wallopers—at least as far as I know. From what I gather, the…um…artefact in question is in full working order.”
“Then whatever is the problem?” Oona’s brow furrowed as she searched her mind for other possible ailments. “Don’t tell me he’s blighted with a teensy tiddler! A plunger too puny to perform the job. A miniature maypole. A Lilliputian holy-poker. A diminutive dingle-dongle. It’s too tragic!”
“Dear me. That is disappointing.” Margaret’s shoulders slumped.
“I can assure you, that’s not the problem.” Estela bit at her lip. Of course, she hadn’t yet seen it, but she’d gained some idea of the duke’s proportions purely from the swell at the front of his trousers during their tête-à-tête.
“Then it must be his nuggins!” Oona fairly shouted the word, causing several heads to swivel in their direction. “They do vary in size, so I’ve heard, but even the most modest nutmegs are capable of spawning offspring.”
“Oh yes, that’s far less distressing, although still unfortunate, I suppose.” Margaret looked thoughtful again. “Men can be quite sensitive regarding their pibbles. He wanted you to take a look, I suppose, to hearten him that he wasn’t too much below par.”
“Not exactly. Lord Rockley is actually possessed of something…bigger than one finds in the general way. Much larger in fact. One might say, an asset of generous proportions.” Estela was enjoying this far more than she ought to. “As a result,he fears consummation will be impossible. He sought my advice but, when it came down to it, he proved too coy.”
An astounded silence ensued. Oona’s mouth dropped open slightly. Margaret’s eyes doubled in size.
The hush was broken by the arrival of the man in question, closely followed the waiter, carrying a silver platter laden with unarguably phallic-lookingcannoli.
“Awe-inspiring are they not?” Lord Rockley looked from face to face, clearly under the impression that the pastries had produced the stunned expressions worn by Oona and Margaret.
“They most certainly are.” With the aid of the tongs, Estela helped herself to the uppermost of the pile, setting it upon her plate. She then raised thecannoliand bit down upon it with a murmur of approval.
A liberal amount of filling escaped the confines of the roll, so that she was obliged to lick it from the corners of her mouth.
“Most delicious, Lord Rockley.” Saucily, she dipped her tongue to the center and gave him a wink.
CHAPTER 8
Replete from thecannoli,a companionable calm descended upon the four of them.
