Villiers waved his hand again. “Too late. I think the man has never polished his nails. He probably only owns one pair of stockings—”
“Not true,” Dautry said. “I have several.”
“Undoubtedly all worsted,” Villiers said with a sigh. “And his coat…just look at his coat, Miss Tatlock. I may be sick unto death, but even I noticed when that coat entered the room. My only pleasure is that I get to flee this cruel world before a man wearing that coat becomes duke.”
Charlotte looked. Dautry was singularly broad in the shoulders, wearing a black coat that had nothing to distinguish it but the fact it was made of linsey-woolsey. And it was rumpled.
“I rode all night after I got the message,” he said.
“I see just what you mean, Your Grace,” Charlotte said. “It’s a disgrace. A disgrace to the name.”
Dautry’s eyes narrowed. “What about you, Miss Tatlock? After all, you are surely here hoping to become a duchess?”
She blinked at him.
“I know your type,” he said. “You’re hanging out for a title and merely pretending to do a bit of good works. I expect you hoped Villiers would rally.”
“No,” Charlotte said. “I was planning to snare the heir. That means you…if I hadn’t had a look at you first! Now I shall have to reformulate all my plans.”
Villiers started laughing weakly. “Help me up, Dautry. She’s got you there. No decent woman will marry you when you look more like a dock-worker than a duke. And then what will happen to my poor estate? Handed from man to man without a woman’s intervention?”
Dautry looked around the bedroom and curled his lip. He still hadn’t unfolded his arms. “I don’t want to insult you, but the house shows signs of a woman’s hand, though you never bothered to marry one.”
“There’s nothing manly about being a sartorial disgrace,” Villiers said, looking truly awake now. “Dautry, you’ll have to submit to my tailor. Dying man’s last wish.”
Charlotte couldn’t grinning. “Don’t forget the barber,” she said, her voice as sweet as syrup. “No woman would marry a man who looked like a shag-bag.”
“I think you should do the same for Miss Tatlock,” the future duke said, his eyes narrowed. “Look at her gown. I’m surprised that you can tolerate being in the same room with it. Plain serge and tucked in the style of two years ago.”
“I almost forgot,” Villiers said. “I’m planning to find her a husband. What Miss Tatlock needs is a philosopher. I don’t suppose you know any?”
“What a lucky little hymn-singer,” Dautry said, his eyes flicking over her plain gown. “I’m afraid that philosophers rarely venture to sea. We prefer men who do rather than just think about it.”
“She must wear colors,” Villiers said dreamily. “Brilliant colors, jewel colors.” He seemed to be turning a little pink and the words tumbled out in a manner that Charlotte recognized.
She bit her lip and looked to Dautry. He came over to put a hand on Villiers’s forehead. “A cool cloth, if you please,” he called to the footman outside the door.
Villiers’s eyes closed again.
“Miss Tatlock,” Dautry said.
It was time for her to leave.
“Strawberries…embroidered taffeta,” Villiers murmured.
She could feel Dautry’s eyes on her as she picked up her knotting bag. Then, just as she was leaving, he said: “I trust that you were not indeed hoping to make yourself a duchess, Miss Tatlock?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. She didn’t want to turn around, because her eyes were shining with tears, but she did. “I don’t even know him, sir. He gave my name to the valet by accident whilst in a fever, I believe. So, no. But I wished that reading the Bible would keep him alive.”
“I would agree with you there,” he said with a rueful twist of his lips.