The Duke Is Mine

“I don’t think so,” Olivia said, bundling up her hair and then reaching over to pull the bell.

“You don’t think the duchess has chosen a daughter-in-law, or you don’t think the duke has settled on Althea?”

“I don’t think the duke has any idea whom to marry. He doesn’t have the right look about him,” Olivia said flatly. And—she added silently—presumably he wouldn’t be kissing strange women, no matter how revealing their clothing.

“What kind of look would he have if he had made such a decision?”

“Less dashing. At the moment he has a kind of highwayman appeal that suggests that he wants every woman in his vicinity to lust after him.”

Georgiana frowned.

Olivia spoke before her sister could disagree. “His hair, Georgie? Loose around the shoulders? And where was his coat last night? He couldn’t be more obvious if he were one of those men who drift around the Pump Room at Bath looking for plump-in-the-pocket widows.”

“How can you even say such a thing?” Georgiana cried. “The duke would consider such behavior far below him.”

“All right, he’s only midway to a highwayman,” Olivia allowed. “He has the hair and the glamour, without the steed or the pistol. Although if he shouted Stand and deliver, I expect half the debutantes at the Micklethwait ball would have happily tipped up their heels.”

“Tipped up what?”

“Fallen on their backs,” Olivia elaborated, poking her sister. “I love you, Georgie, but you are a bit of a goose when it comes to jokes.”

“I know,” Georgiana said, wrinkling her nose. “I never understand them. At least I never understand yours.”

“I expect that says more about my poor sense of humor than your comprehension,” Olivia allowed. “I think I’ll wear the violet gown to luncheon.”

“Do you think it’s perhaps a bit daring for the time of day? I thought of that gown as more an evening dress.”

“Actually, I had all my dresses cut to the same low measure. I decided that since my curves aren’t going to disappear due to gorging on lettuce, I might as well flaunt them. If men like the bovine appeal, as you said, they’re certainly going to get it from me.”

“I have no curves to flaunt,” Georgiana said, turning so that she could see herself in the glass. “Do you think that the duke is the sort who likes a more generous figure?”

Olivia was strongly of the opinion that the duke was, indeed, of that sort, given the way his eyes had darkened at the sight of her wet gown. But there was no point in saying so. “I doubt it,” she said diplomatically. “He was quite stiff, didn’t you think? I expect he would disapprove if you showed the slightest bit of cleavage. Conduct unbecoming to a future duchess.”

Georgiana brightened. “I’ll wear the pink pleated gown, then. I love the way the sleeves peak into little triangles.”

There was a scratch at the door, and Norah entered.

“Good morning,” Olivia said, smiling at her maid. “I’m hoping you could hand Lucy to a footman so she can visit a grass patch. But first you must tell us everything you can about Lady Althea Renwitt.” She ignored Georgiana’s scowl—The Mirror of Compliments was very censorious with regard to inappropriate informality with one’s staff—and added, “We’re all a-flutter to know whether she poses any true competition to Georgie in the ducal sweepstakes.”

There was nothing Norah liked better than relating conversations from below-stairs, which, generally speaking, tended to be far more lively than the conversations above-stairs. Her eyes sparkled as she closed the door. “Lady Althea and her mother only arrived yesterday evening, shortly before you, and the duke did not come down to greet them. So the first he’ll be meeting her is at luncheon. Miss Georgiana, I have to add that Florence is waiting for you in your chamber. She’s that anxious to start the dressing because Lady Althea’s maid is terribly proud of herself. Her name is Agnès, in the French way, because that’s where she’s from. She went on and on about politesse last night, and no one had the faintest idea what she was talking about. Florence is determined to knock her into the shade with Miss Georgiana’s appearance at the luncheon.” She stopped to take a breath.

“How nice to be a betrothed woman with no worries about my appearance,” Olivia said, standing up and stretching. “I did tell you that a curling iron is never coming near my head again, didn’t I, Norah?”

Norah bent over to tie a ribbon to Lucy’s collar. “As long as Mrs. Lytton doesn’t think that I had anything to do with that decision, miss, I’m just as happy not to be wielding those hot sticks. I’ve burned myself many a time.”

“I suppose I’ll be off,” Georgiana said. But she paused and shot Olivia a look.

Olivia obediently turned back to her maid. “Before you go, Norah, did you hear any gossip below-stairs about Althea? What’s she like?”

“Cleese isn’t one to allow prattle, as he calls it. But Lady Althea’s maid did say a bit about her mistress.” Norah paused. “Though of course I shouldn’t repeat tittle-tattle, given that Agnès seems a dreadfully critical woman.”

“Norah!” Olivia said. “Don’t be a noodle!”

Norah relented. “Agnès allowed as how her mistress was more giddy than a hen in the rain.”

“How on earth does rain affect chickens?” Georgiana asked, looking perplexed.

“They drown, Miss Georgiana,” Norah explained. “They turn their beaks up to see the sky, and then they drink too much water, and then they fall over. A whole flock of them can go that way, just like dominos going down in a row.”

“I think you can safely interpret that to mean that Althea Henwitty isn’t going to beat you in the category of raw intelligence,” Olivia said, with some satisfaction.

Norah gave a little snort of appreciation.

“I must not keep Florence waiting,” Georgiana said with a stiff little smile. “Thank you, Norah, for . . . for . . .”

“For snitching on the enemy,” Olivia put in.

Georgiana whisked out the door before having to agree to something so antithetical to her sense of propriety.

Norah looked after her. “Miss Georgiana is just perfect for the duke; that’s what everyone is saying below-stairs. He’s as smart as a whip, they say, but terribly lofty. Not as much as his mother, who takes the prize, but a gentleman who never forgets who he is, if you see what I mean.”

Sometimes he forgets, Olivia thought to herself. That was no duke who grabbed her in the silver room last night.

“His mother, the dowager, is even worse,” Norah continued. “They all warned me that if I see her in the corridor, I should drop a curtsy, then put my back to the wall and look at the floor. If she deigns to speak to me, I should drop another curtsy before I dare to look up.”

Olivia snorted, but thought it best not to comment. “Just look how excited Lucy is to see you.”

Norah reached down and pulled Lucy’s long ears. “She is ugly, but there’s something very taking about her all the same.”

“Do you think she’s trying to tell you something with all that hand licking?” Olivia asked.