Page 9 of The Scarlet Lady's Duke of Desire
“What is so amusing?” Petunia demanded. She glowered at Melody though her expression was not entirely unfriendly.
“The duke would not waste his time on the likes of me,” Melody scoffed. Painfully, she imagined that he would likely pay a call upon the likes of her cousin instead. After all, the daughter of an earl was a likely bride for a duke.
Just as quickly the thought was overwhelmed by a small glimmer of hope. Though deep down she knew he had only danced with her to get close to Petunia or even to cause a little chaos, she couldn't help but feel a thrill at the image of the duke's arriving in the garden, led to them by her father's butler in order to make a proper introduction.
It made her heart race. Even more so was the thought that word might catch on and every member of thetonwould know that she was being courted by a duke.
Don't be ridiculous!She snapped at herself, forcing the idea away. But still, she could not help but think of one fact, of all the ladies he could have chosen to dance with, why had he chosen her?
It was best not to linger upon such questions and so again she forced all thought of it and the duke away. The hope a visit from a duke would instil in both of her parents did not bear thinking about.
“The duke would never think twice about the likes of me,” Melody repeated firmly. Looking her friend deep in the eye she silently pleaded with her not to push the subject.
She had had just about all she could take of hope and excitement and the thrill of dancing with a handsome nobleman. To save her own sanity, it was best to forget anything had ever happened.
It was not the first time a nobleman had danced with her, and it would not be the last. Though if he had indeed wanted to dance withher, that would most definitely have been a first. No, she was far safer to remind herself that it was Petunia he had truly set his sights on. After all, it had been her permission he had sought to dance with Melody. That had to have been a hint.
Melody was pleased when Petunia seemed to get the hint and changed the subject, instead talking about some gossip she had heard. But even as Melody entered willingly into the conversation, she couldn't help but think,could there be any truth behind Petunia's suggestions? Would the duke be mad enough to call upon me?
Chapter 4
News of James' antics at the ball the night before spread like wildfire, just as he expected they might have done, and no sooner had he risen from his bed to eat breakfast than he received his first visitor of the day. Barely had he removed the top from his hard-boiled egg and poured on a little salt before the rattling of the brass door knocker sounded throughout the house.
It would not take a genius to guess who had come knocking and mentally, James prepared himself as his butler retired from the room to answer the door.
James, knowing his breakfast was to be interrupted, shoved as much egg into his mouth as possible before Travers returned with a bow and an explanation. “Your Grace, Lady Coraline Stevenson, the Countess of Fyling requests an audience.”
James struggled to hold back the cringe at his aunt's name. It was an odd sensation to have as he had so enjoyed her company during his childhood and even his adolescence. Where he had lost his mother, she had filled in and as his mother's sister, she was perhaps the perfect person to do so.
But ever since his becoming duke, his aunt's insistence that he marry had become almost intolerable. So much so that he would have liked nothing more than to turn her away. Yet, without good reason, he knew he could not.
“I shall accept her in the drawing room, please, Mr Travers,” James said, picking up his cloth napkin from his lap and dabbing his mouth to be sure there was not a single crumb upon his face. The very last thing he needed was his aunt judging his appearance when he was certain he already knew why she had come.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Travers said, bowing low once more before removing himself again to have Lady Fyling shown through to the drawing room.
James waited several minutes, eyeing the food that was laid out before him hungrily. The night before had left him oddly more hungry than usual. Perhaps it had something to do with how much alcohol he had drunk though he didn't feel too off. In fact, usually his drinking left him unable to eat the next day and thinking back on it, he thought he had not drunk nearly enough the night before.
Maybe if he had, he would have been too busy suffering in his bed to receive his aunt.
But that was too much to hope for now and so, reluctantly, he pushed himself up from his seat and finally headed through the house to the drawing room.
As he approached the door, he realised he could already hear his aunt chattering away.
“Travers, tell me, has my nephew gone quite mad?” Lady Fyling asked, sounding quite irate indeed. James could immediately tell that she would be in fine form when she confronted him, and he knew he would have to brace himself.
“Forgive me, my lady, but I would not like to say,” Travers said, clearly declining to give his permission. James had to bite the inside of his lip to stop from laughing. He could already imagine his aunt's face and how she would loathe the man's response.
She liked to glean information wherever she could, and Travers rarely gave her the opportunity. It was one of the reasons why James valued the butler who had once been his father's. The man's loyalty had automatically transferred to him upon his father's death, and it had meant the world to him.
“Oh, come on, Travers. You are here with him day in and day out!” Lady Fyling insisted, sounding quite furious. “You must tell me if there is something I must worry about.”
James scoffed at that silently, knowing his aunt would always find something to worry about no matter what the butler said.
Knowing that Travers would have a hard time deflecting her questions and certain he could not put the poor man through such an interrogation, James steeled himself and adjusted his appearance quickly in a nearby mirror before entering the room.
“Aunt Coraline!” He greeted his aunt warmly, spreading his arms wide even as he approached and gave a formal yet familiar hug, kissing her affectionately upon the cheek.
“Do not 'Aunt Coraline' me young man!” She scolded him just as he imagined his mother might have done had she not died when he was barely a babe in leading strings. “You have made quite the fool of yourself!”
