Page 96 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“No.” The first voice. “Something odd is afoot with this Miss Trewlove. No other woman garnered his attention upon her arrival. But for Miss Trewlove, he walked right up to the stairs and waited for her to descend. Kissed her hand. Mark my words, ladies. The Duke of Thornley will not be taking a wife anytime soon.”
Not wishing to be spotted eavesdropping, Gillie turned on her heel and began walking away. She couldn’t identify who those voices belonged to, but also had no desire to know. Aslyn had warned her gossip abounded, and she’d come here knowing full well a good bit of it might revolve around her, but she hadn’t much liked hearing what they’d said about Thorne. None of them were deserving of him.
In need of more fresh air to clear her thoughts, she stepped out onto the terrace with its bricked wall and steps—with lounging stone lions on either side of them—that led down into the gardens. Walking along the lighted path through the rhododendrons and roses was probably not the thing for a woman alone to do, so she meandered over to a corner of the terrace, leaned against the waist-high wall, and sipped the excellent champagne, wishing she could take a peek at the cask in order to determine its origin and vintage. Perhaps Thorne would give her a tour of his wine cellar before she left. She imagined he had an excellent array of the finest vintages that would put her own small stores to shame.
“A lady risks her reputation by slipping out of the ballroom alone.”
Gillie twirled around to face the duchess. “I was growing quite warm.”
“I daresay wearing a gentleman’s jacket will do that to a woman.”
She wasn’t going to point out she no longer wore the jacket, because the duchess wasn’t blind. She lifted her glass. “You wouldn’t happen to know the origin of this fine champagne, would you?”
“Most certainly not. That is the butler’s job.”
The litany “Remain pleasant” raced through her head. “You must give him my compliments then as he did an outstanding job selecting this evening’s offerings.”
“He will not marry you, you know.”
“The butler? Oh, what a pity as he has such excellent taste in champagne.”
“My son,” the prow-shaped woman said so tartly Gillie was surprised lemons didn’t fall from her mouth.
“I’m well aware of that, Duchess.”
“He will tire of you in short order. He is like his father in that regard, with an insatiable appetite to bed all manner of women, which is the reason my husband took the pox so young. When our two children died, he was already infested—I had barred him from my bed, so we couldn’t replace what we had lost.”
“Even if you had other children, they’d not have replaced what you lost. People cannot be replaced.”
“You dare to correct me?”
“You are in need of correcting.”
“You impertinent—”
“Yes, I am quite impertinent. I don’t consider it a fault.”
“Those with whom my son associates will. He is going to marry one of these girls.”
Although she was well aware of that, the blow of the words spoken aloud was effectively delivered to her gut, her heart, her head, but she refused to show any reaction. In addition to being quite impertinent, she knew a thing or two about being stoic.
“That is the reason they are here,” the duchess carried on. “So he may choose one to wed before the year is out. His tendency to bed any lady who spreads her legs will see him following the path of his father into lunacy. He needs to provide an heir before the pox befalls him.”
“I suspect he is more discerning than you might think.”
“Oh, I very much doubt it. I smell the stink of you on him when he returns home in the mornings.” She took a step forward. “You will never be more to him than a mistress. You are a commoner. He is a duke. Your place will always be in the shadows, not at his side.”
“Yet, I have been at his side several times this evening.”
“Because you are a curiosity.”
“If you’ll be so kind as to excuse me...” She edged past her.
“I am not yet done with you.”
Gillie turned back. “But I am done with you. I have a knack for judging people right off. A fellow can come into my tavern without a penny to his name and ask for a pint. I look him over and if I determine when he has the means he’ll pay me for that pint, I pour him one. If I determine he won’t, I show him the door. Unfortunately, Your Grace, I’d be forever showing you the door.”
“You impudent—”
