Page 9 of A Duke for Diana
“It’s an honest mistake,” Geoffrey said. “No harm done.”
She gazed at him as if trying to figure him out. “So that’s why you and your mother came here with your sister?”
He nodded. “I should explain. We . . . that is, Rosy . . . Rosabel—”
“My daughter is shy, Lady Diana,” Mother said, looking at him in bemusement. “She’s not used to high society—indeed, none of us are. My late husband was the third son of Viscount Brookhouse, but we were never . . . part of that world. So we went on in Newcastle in our own merry way until my husband died. Shortly afterward, some duke—a very distant cousin of his—died, too, and Geoffrey inherited the dukedom out of the blue. So now we’re in this situation.” She looked at Geoffrey. “Yes?”
“That about sums it up,” he said, relieved to have his mother do the explaining. Lady Diana was unnerving him with her beauty and her perfect manners and her hard-won smiles.
Lady Diana stared at him. “Oh, you’rethatduke.”
He tensed. “What do you mean?”
“There was talk of an heir to the Duke of Grenwood last year, but I’d completely forgotten about it, mostly because rumors about who the heir was were rather wild. Some said he was an American, which was why no one had ever met him, and others claimed that the Brookhouse family disinherited him for being a blackguard, leaving him only the title of duke, because they couldn’t takethataway from him. The most outrageous one was that he’d been under everyone’s noses all this time, working as an engineer in Newcastle.”
“That last one is true,” Rosy said cheerfully. When they all stared at her, she added, “And a bit of the middle one, too. Well, Geoffrey isn’t a blackguard, and it was really Papa who was disinherited, but that happened before I was even born.” She must have realized they were still staring at her, for she said, “What?”
Lady Diana chuckled. “So, definitely not an American, then? I’m just making sure.”
Rosy blinked, then shook her head, pulling into herself the way she always did when strangers focused on her.
Lady Diana shifted her gaze to Mother. “And she’s shy, you say?”
“Not always, apparently,” Geoffrey said dryly. “Or at least not with you.”
“That will certainly make matters easier,” Lady Diana said. “Assuming you agree to engage our services.” Before he could answer, she added, “Ah, here are my sisters at last.”
As she performed the introductions, he noticed that, in his own opinion, neither of the two was as attractive as Lady Diana. Granted, Mrs. Pierce had blond hair, blue eyes, and a curvy figure, a combination he sometimes found appealing, but she was too short—given his height, he would tower over her. As for Lady Verity, her hair was a slightly darker shade than Mrs. Pierce’s, and she had green eyes, but while every bit as tall as Lady Diana, she was too thin.
He liked some meat on a woman’s bones, especially in bed. He didn’t want to feel he might crush a chit every time he lay atop her. And despite Lady Diana’s elegance—something he’d always associated with fragility—she did seem well capable of bearing his weight.
He groaned. Already he was thinking like a duke, auditioning prospective wives to bear his heir and winnowing them down to the one he found most compelling. But none of these women were remotely acceptable, even if he did plan to marry, which he didn’t. Or not anytime soon anyway. He might be a duke, but they were far above him in manners, breeding, and all the other things that mattered to their sort. They wouldn’t give him a second glance, even iftheyplanned to marry, which it appeared they didn’t or they wouldn’t have started this business in the first place.
A pity, then, that he found Lady Diana so fetching. Indeed, if the trio of sisters hadn’t come so highly recommended, he would turn around and leave right now. But he could tell from the excited chatter of Rosy and Mother that they liked the ladies, which counted for something with him.
After several minutes of discussion, Lady Diana whispered to her sisters. Then Mrs. Pierce asked his mother if she’d like a tour of the town house, and Mother readily assented. As those two walked off, Lady Verity asked Rosy if she’d like to go sample some of the pastries left from the previous night’s event. Never one to refuse pastry, Rosy gave a quick nod and those two headed off, too.
He and Lady Diana were now left alone, obviously by design. So when she gestured to the settee, apparently expecting him to sit on it, he did so, albeit reluctantly. The damned thing felt as flimsy as it looked.
Lady Diana perched on the chair opposite him as gracefully as a swan. “Shall I call for more tea, Your Grace?”
“No need. This shouldn’t take long.”
With a frown, Lady Diana picked up a portable writing desk like one he might use in the field. When she took up a pencil and licked the tip of it, a fleeting and very wicked image entered his head. He stamped it out at once.
“I hope you don’t mind if we have a private chat, just the two of us,” she said. “I’d rather discuss what we offer without three people asking questions. It goes more quickly this way. So, can you tell me what sort of help you desire from us for your sister’s début?”
He propped one ankle on his knee. “I don’t know enough about débuts to tell you even that much.”
Lady Diana nodded, as if that wasn’t unusual. “At a minimum, I would think you’d wish us to prepare her for her presentation to the queen.”
“Certainly. That is, I’m aware she must be presented, but I’m not sure what that might entail.” Feeling impish, he asked, “Is there a début orchestra? Does Rosy wave to the queen from across a room? Must Rosy give a series of curtsies? Or is that the queen’s duty?”
She eyed him askance. “You aren’t taking this seriously, are you?”
He sobered. “I am. But I’m so entirely out of my depth that I don’t know what to ask for.”
“Would you prefer that your mother participate in this discussion?”
