Page 7 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
“He just has a scar,” she said slowly.
Camilla raised a brow. “But what if it’s a dueling scar?” she demanded. “How many times do you reckon he’s dueled to get so many of them?”
“Indeed, it could be said that such an occurrence took place but once. Should that indeed be the case, I should imagine he would have little inclination to engage in further hostilities.”
Camilla stared at Anastasia and then burst out laughing.
“Indeed, you speak with complete accuracy!”
***
Anastasia felt her own lips lift. She was glad she had managed to change the subject and to lighten the atmosphere a little. It was so unlike Camilla to be hurtful or judgmental that she was pleased the mood had lightened somewhat.
“Will you have time to practice tomorrow?” she asked, referring to a song they were preparing for the season’s many soirees. Young ladies were often called upon to play the piano or sing, and she and Camilla always performed together.
Camilla sipped her tea and looked up at Anastasia wide-eyed. “An hour in the morning, at least. I have to go to the modiste’s, in the afternoon.”
“Oh?” Anastasia grinned. “A new gown?”
“Two new gowns,” Camilla answered, making a wry face.
Anastasia chuckled. “A ball gown?” she pressed. The light, happy conversations she had with Camilla always lifted her spirits.
“A ball gown,” Camilla confirmed. “White, as befits a young lady, with plenty of lacy embellishments.”
Anastasia grinned. “I’m sure it will become you very well.” Camilla’s mama had a tendency to design Camilla’s gowns—at least her ball-gowns—without much input from her daughter. Since Camilla’s parents were, in every other respect, some of the most relaxed parents in theton, neither Camilla nor Anastasia minded that one foible. And Camilla insisted on being the sole designer of her day-dresses.
Camilla made the same sour face. “I’m not so sure. But the other gown is promising. Dark green and long-sleeved. I think it suits me well.”
“I’m sure it does,” Anastasia answered, sipping her tea. Camilla was beautiful, with her long, fine-chiseled features and darker coloring. Anastasia felt quite sure Camilla was more of a society beauty than she herself was, with her pale hair, blue eyes and slightly sharper features. But Camilla always assured her that the opposite was true until Anastasia had to beg her to stop saying it. As always, they ended up laughing a great deal.
“I ought to return to the residence," Camilla said, casting her gaze up at the timepiece. "I must attend to some matterswithin the ledgers.” Camilla was very quick with numbers and her father often asked her if she could cast her gaze over the household accounts with him. Anastasia nodded.
“I should return too,” she agreed a little sadly. She would have to pretend to be excited about the upcoming ball when she went home, and she felt no true excitement. Her father focused on it, and she felt afraid he had some or other expectation of her, since he often commented that she needed to uphold the family honor; something he had never said before.
“I will see you tomorrow, though?” Camilla asked, lifting her cup to sip at her tea.
“Of course. In the morning,” Anastasia agreed.
They went into the street where the coach was waiting, and they all alighted into it. As the coach moved down through London, Anastasia stared out of the window, watching the buildings and houses move past under the gray sky. Her thoughts returned to the art gallery, and she found herself thinking, once again, of the man she had met. Her lips lifted at the edges as she recalled how he had talked to her so naturally. Not many people were so ready to discuss art, and he seemed knowledgeable.
You’ll not see him again; her mind reminded her. He doesn’t seem the sort for balls and parties, or you would already have spotted him somewhere.
She gazed out of the window, watching the buildings rattle past and trying not to think of the Duke of Willowick, nor of the upcoming ball, which she had to endure in a few hours’ time.
Chapter 3
“It’s no trouble if it won’t curl properly, Rachel,” Anastasia assured her maid as Rachel tucked one of Anastasia’s pale ringlets behind her one ear while she sat at the dressing-table. Anastasia gazed at her own face, surrounded by her fine, pale hair that often was hard to curl, since the strands were thin enough that it singed easily at the proper heat.
“It’s curled well, my lady,” Rachel assured her swiftly, and went to the fire to place the metal curling-rods on the hearth. “I just need to place some pearl pins now. Here, do you reckon?” She held up a pearl-ended pin and slid it into the side of Anastasia’s hair, near her ear where the ringlets hung.
“If you think so,” Anastasia said mildly. She gazed at her own reflection nervously. Her own wide blue eyes stared back, troubled and fearful.
She studied her appearance. Her face was long and slim, her features neat, and her skin pale. Her long blond hair was arranged in ringlets about her face and drawn back into a chignon that was decorated with white ribbon. Her gown was white, the tight bodice covered with white gauze, and the sleeves delicate puffs. The skirt hung from the fashionably high waistline and down to her ankles. The dress was beautiful, made of white silk, and Anastasia wished she could have felt excited about the ball. Instead, she just felt nervous.
Her father had said he had high expectations of her at the ball. It was her second Season, and he expected her to make connections.
“There you are, milady,” her maid said softly.
