Page 57 of Her Duke in Shining Armor
She then went to her closet and took out the worn hooded cloak, and a pair of breeches that she had made herself. If she had to run, a dress would hamper her so this was her best option. Lastly, she went to her escritoire and took up a sharp letter opener. She needed a weapon and this was her only option. Even praying for God’s favor that she wouldn’t have to use it, she laid it out anyway.
Better safe than sorry…
* * *
The first thing Aaron noticed when he stepped into the foyer of Wyndrake’s house was the masculine feel. For a man who reportedly had been married for over ten years, Aaron would have expected that after so many years a woman would have softened these hard lines and strict dark furniture.
There was no hint of femininity in the space.
A massive shimmering white marble fireplace and the dark-clad butler that greeted him were both extremely ostentatious in equal measure. The butler had perfectly-combed silver hair and dark eyes looked down on him over a crooked nose and that wasafterhe had bowed.
“Welcome, may I have your card, Your Grace?” The butler's droning voice was the perfect tone for mesmerism.
Handing the slip of paper over, Aaron looked around. Men clad in dark suits and dinner jackers holding champagne flutes were just past the arch of the foyer. Beyond that, a small table near the windows was bare in the way of cloth covering but was decorated with tiny glass sculptures. A leather settee and a circle of plush white chairs were immaculate.
“Welcome, Your Grace, please enjoy the evening,” the butler bowed and Aaron moved off to hand his coat and hat to another servant. A servant with a Napoleon Complex, how…unique.
Once again, Aaron was assured that the Duchess was either clueless when it came to her house or that she had caved into her husband’s tastes. The furnishings were black leather, with dark wood walls and a plush carpet of the deepest blue.
While mingling, once nor twice had Aaron caught the gaze of several older ladies, garbed in lovely pastels, studying him discreetly above their fluttering fans, gathering information to tell their daughters. Why? He was probably only the gentleman there without a lady on his arm or a ring on his finger.
Aaron sighed into his glass—instead of a musical he had probably entered the marriage market. He could feel their eyes, assessing him like a dangling slab of meat, carefully tracing down the cut of his dinner jacket over his shoulders, the tie of his cravat, the seam of his trousers and the blackness of his Hessians.
God truth, he wished Eleanor was there with him but then again, he didn’t want to see the triumphant look in Wyndrake’s eyes. A small hush ran through the room and the people parted like Moses before the Red Sea.
Speak of the Devil.
Duke Wyndrake and his honey-haired wife had entered. The lady was clad in luminescent white, a complete opposite to her dark-clad husband. Well, perhaps not fully dark-clad, his waistcoat was of the deepest— bloodiest—red. Aaron tried to not meet his gaze but he was discovered anyway,
“Oberton,” Wyndrake’s baritone sounded a trifle strained. “Welcome.”
Aaron nodded, “Thank you.”
If he was on the strictest of terms, Aaron did not know why he should any different.
“May I introduce my wife, Her Grace, Amelia Collings, Duchess of Wyndrake.”
Aaron bowed and slanted a sly smile to her, “I am honored Duchess, you have a lovely home. I am also surprised by the invitation. Your esteemed husband and I do not exactly see eye-to-eye on many matters.”
The Duchess turned to her husband, the golden light of the chandelier glinting off her pearl earrings, “My dear sir, why is that?”
The glare Wyndrake was trying to drill into his head was blithely ignored. His words were said through clenched teeth, “Nothing to trouble you, dear, just legislation matters.”
The lady rolled her eyes, “You men remind me of the stags my father had, bucking horns all the time. Do try to be courteous, my lords. I am off to see Lady Verr.”
With a tap to Wyndrake’s hand, she was gone in a smooth slide of white sheer. Wyndrake turned to him and hissed, “Keep it in Oberton, the ice is thin.”
“You did not send that invitation on your own accord, did you?” Aaron stated.
“My wife has taken to you, Oberton, stay a while before you run out,” Wyndrake said while stalking off after avoiding the question.
Aaron highly doubted that the Duchess liked him but he had vowed to stay a while and keep his peace for as long as he could. No matter how he wanted to flatly accuse Wyndrake of the near murder of Julius, he couldn’t do it in polite company. Although if his charge was met with Wyndrake defending his honor, he wouldn’t mind a dawn appointment.
He tugged out his timepiece and noted that it was just past eight. By nine-thirty he would have to leave. The bell of the evening’s musicale rang once, twice, and then lastly, three times. Admittedly, he lingered in the doorway, where rows of plush chairs had been placed facing a golden-wood pianoforte, for a few moments as the music began.
Finally taking a seat at the very back, Aaron half listened to the music flowing from the pianoforte on the dais knowing that Eleanor would have outdone this woman playing blindfolded and with a hand tied behind her back.
Speaking of Eleanor…What was she doing with the child?
