Page 9 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
His attention had drifted off during a discourse on holiday traditions; wasn’t that it?
His hostess leaned his way. “No doubt you were thinking ahead to my ordeal.”
He set down his spoon. “Aye, forgive me, your grace. I was woolgathering. You were speaking of your childhood Christmases. The Yuletide was always a busy time at my father’s inn.”
“Your father kept an inn?”
Soft laughter across the table drew their attention. Ann looked from side to side at her two dinner companions, pointedly ignoring his many attempts to catch her attention.
As, in truth, he’d done to her earlier before dinner, until she approached him directly.
She’d changed in the last two years. The candlelight sparked highlights of dark gold in her hair, and the smile she bestowed so generously on Lovelace lit her from the inside.
“You must have met many interesting people growing up in an inn.”
He roused himself and said, “Indeed, your grace,” and then was saved from further discussion when the duke, at the other end of the table rose from his seat. “My friends,” he said, “I know my lady will want to withdraw soon…”
The duke and his duchess exchanged fond smiles.
“And as one member of our party will leave us in the wee hours to return to his family, I wanted to offer a farewell to my friend, George Lovelace.” He signaled a footman who came round with the whisky bottle.
Lovelace was leaving? So much for Ann’s flirtation with him.
“We shall miss you, Lovelace,” Warton said, “but more stags for us, eh Cottingwith? And your numbers of ladies and gentlemen will be even at table, duchess.”
“Don’t be too certain,” the duchess said.
The duke took his seat again. “As a matter of fact, we are expecting two more guests to join us. The Marquess of Hatherot will arrive any day, Highland weather permitting, and Mr. Gordon Henderson has sent word that he’ll join us tomorrow for a few days.”
Ann’s handsfroze around her whisky glass and she couldn’t help looking at Errol. He frowned down at the glass he was clutching.
What did Errol know? Why was he upset? And why would Mr. Henderson travel all the way to Kinmarty? He must be coming on Mrs. MacDonal’s behalf, surely not Errol’s.
“Henderson is not here for the hunting, Warton. You will only have to compete with Hatherot and Cottingwith for the best stags.”
Next to her, Warton laughed, as did Lovelace, but Errol’s unsmiling gaze settled on her. She lifted the corners of her lips in a frozen smile and stared back.
She had no reason to be intimidated. She had helped him prodigiously, to the tune of three hundred pounds a year. She’d sacrificed, well, nothing now since Father returned from India. No, nothing now, but should she ever wish her freedom from her father, six hundred pounds would have been a great boon.
But it hadn’t been wasted. It would buy help for the people here, and maybe, maybe, Errol wouldwantto stay.
“To our dear friend, Lovelace.” The duchess lifted her glass and then set it down. “Ladies, my husband is correct. If it’s not too indelicate to say, I’ve been kicked and punched prodigiously through every course tonight, and I believe I shall retire.”
“I’ll see to our guests, Minny,” Penelope said.
Errol tore his gaze away and went to help his hostess. The duke appeared and nudged him out of the way.
“I’m fine, Andrew,” she said. “A good night’s rest is what I need.”
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “He’s fighting to get out, I suppose.”
She grimaced. “Or she.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling down at her. “Or she. Dr. Robillard?”
“I’ll see to the duchess, your grace.” He glanced back at Ann and their eyes met. ’Twas no more than a moment, and yet his questioning look had her wondering what he wanted, wondering if what he wanted was her.
And then he turned, bending with natural grace to tuck the duchess’s hand over his arm. Ann roused herself and joined Edme, and they followed Penelope to the drawing room, the only sound the swishing of their skirts.
