At once, a footman filled it with fresh, hot coffee.
Distressed, Caroline put her planning journal beside the place setting. She ignored the plates of kippers, eggs, and fruit, and stared at the still-glaring duke. He must be angry that she hadn’t yet thanked him for allowing her to stay there. He must consider her ungracious to the extreme. Faltering, she said, “Your Grace, I’d like to express my gratitude for your hospitality—”
The duchess touched Caroline’s arm and shook her head.
But it was too late.
“Are you going to be joining us every morning?” Nevett demanded. Before she could answer, he spoke over the top of her. “Because if you are, you’re going to have to learn not to chatter every damned moment of the day.”
Tears sprang to Caroline’s eyes.
“And crying won’t get you sympathy.” Picking up his newspaper again, he flapped it in front of his face. To the newsprint, he asked, “Don’t people have a palace they can go to anymore?”
Nicolette pushed his coffee cup toward him.
His hand came out, groped for the handle, and pulled the steaming brew beneath the page.
Then the duchess patted Caroline’s hand, but Caroline could see the twinkle in her eyes. Her husband amused her. Rich, powerful, he held her life in his hands, yet his wife laughed at his foibles. Perhaps he was not as fearsome as Caroline feared. Perhaps he was not cold and exacting like her father.
Once again silence reigned, broken only by the click of porcelain against porcelain as Nevett drank his coffee.
Without making a sound, Nicolette filled Caroline’s plate and, with a smile, encouraged her to eat.
Caroline found her distress wasn’t the equal of her hunger. She reasoned if she didn’t eat, her stomach would growl again, and Nevett would be furious. She took her first bite of an egg poached in chicken broth and laid on a slice of ham, and she could scarcely stifle her exclamation of delight. She hadn’t put such an exquisite flavor in her mouth for far too long.
Nevett put down his paper, and, as if that were a signal, the footmen moved more briskly, their shoes made noise on the floor, the dishes clattered in their hands.
From the entry, a door slammed and voices murmured.
“Dear,” Nicolette said, “Jude says you hired Miss Ritter to teach him how to flirt.”
“That’s right,” Nevett said in a tone so reasonable he might never have snapped in his life.
“I wish you had consulted with me first. The plan is fraught with peril.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He dismissed her trepidation as easily as any husband ever dismissed his wife’s concerns. “I’ve thought it through.”
“Have you thought that when Jude goes to the opera with Miss Ritter, the ton will gossip?”
He smiled at his duchess with such charm, Caroline was startled. “Not if you go with them, Nicolette.”
The duchess’s eyes grew round, and her complexion heated. “I hate the opera!”
“You’re a female,” he said. “All females like opera.”
“I don’t,” she retorted. “A flock of squawking men and wailing women carrying on and on until they collapse on stage and die.”
Caroline listened and ate. She liked the opera—the costumes, the music, the stories about honor and infidelity moved her to tears. And it seemed that she was to have the chance to go once more, and sit in the ducal box.
Nevett pulled a coin out of his pocket. “We’ll toss for it. I’ll take heads.” Before Nicolette could object, he tossed the coin. “Heads,” he said with satisfaction. “You have to go. It’s better that way. Your presence will be unremarkable at the opera.”
The duchess blew a stray strand of hair off her face. “The gossips will natter more, believing that we’re giving sanction to a match between Miss Ritter and Jude.”
“I’ll tell them it’s not true” he said, complacently. “I’ll explain that Miss Ritter is a friend of the family.”
“I believe that will only fuel the rumors.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the duke of Nevitt. They will gossip as I command.” Finishing his breakfast, he touched his lips with his napkin, folded it neatly, and placed it on the table. As if noticing Caroline for the first time, he said, “Good of you to arrive early, Miss Ritter. Good job. As soon as my son gets here, you can go to work.” Dropping a kiss on the top of his wife’s head, he left the room.
He was so calm, almost pleasant, that Caroline stared after him in amazement.
“It will last until three, when he takes tea, or until someone irritates him. He is the quintessential duke, who wants nothing more than to live his life exactly as he wishes.” Lady Nevett turned toward the other door as Jude strolled in. “Dear, your father and I tossed a coin to see which of us had to escort you to the opera, and he won. He always wins. Is he using a two-headed coin?”
Jude looked amused, and bowed to his stepmother and to Caroline. “Are you calling my father a cheater?”
Jude looked different in the morning light. The hint of aristocratic dominance had disappeared beneath his overly stylish green-and-white-striped trousers, green waistcoat, and cravat embroidered with fleur-de-lis. A purple splash of a scarf rested across one shoulder and a large brooch shaped like a lavender flower pinned it in place. His smile could only be described as amiable, and his eyes were wide and indolent.
Nicolette turned to Caroline. “That means he’s not going to tell me. It’s difficult being the only female in a household of males.”
Seating himself beside his stepmother, Jude lifted her fingers and kissed them. “It guarantees you’re always our favorite lady.”
“Such a compliment!” She touched Caroline’s arm, and for a moment, Jude and Caroline were joined by the hands of the duchess. “I’m glad to have Caroline share the privilege of being the favorite and having the gentlemen tease.”
He watched Caroline eat so intently she became self-conscious and put down her silverware.
“How good to see you here,” he said. “You look as lovely as a flower this morning.” He examined the new day gown she wore. “A very badly dressed flower.”
Smoothing the skirt, Caroline said, “I rather like it.”
“Yes, on a petite debutante. But you should never wear vertical stripes; it creates the illusion you’re as tall as a giant. You should never wear a plain style; it, too, contributes to the impression of overwhelming height. And never should you wear pink”—he sighed and flapped a hand—“because you shouldn’t.”
Now Caroline felt as if she were an awesome Goliath.
The duchess studied Caroline. “You’re right, Jude, this is an unfortunate choice. I shall take over the ordering at once.”
“I shan’t need many more,” Caroline objected.
Nicolette pulled a long face. “Sh. You’ll take my fun away from me. I always wanted a daughter to dress. Now I have you.” She studied Caroline. “What do you suggest, Jude?”
“Some lace, a few furbelows that would take down her height so she doesn’t intimidate lesser men.” His gaze mocked Caroline, and she knew very well he wasn’t intimidated, nor did he consider himself one of the lesser men. “I want to approve the choices before they’re made up.”
“And create more rumors, and those of a less-respectable nature?” Nicolette answered crisply. “I think not.”
Jude looked offended. “But I have impeccable taste!”
Tired of being discussed as if she didn’t exist, Caroline said, “No, you don’t.”
His eyebrows shot up. His fingers went to his brooch. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean you can have the right to approve my clothing,” Caroline said crisply, “when I have the right to approve yours.”
“But you like that pink gown!” His eyes grew round and horrified. “You obviously have no taste.”
“Then we’re at an impasse, are we not?” Caroline retorted.
Nicolette laughed, a brief chuckle, and when both sets of eyes
turned to her, she rubbed her hands together. “So, Caroline, what do you have planned first for Jude?”
“Breakfast?” Jude suggested.
“If you’d arrived earlier, you could eat. As it is, you’ll have to wait until your governess takes pity on you,” Nicolette said decisively.
“And I’m pitiless.” A silly statement, of course. Caroline was no such thing, but she liked saying it, as if the words would make it come true.
She flipped open her planning journal as Jude sneaked a scone off her plate and consumed it. Although she knew exactly what lesson came first, she made a show of reading what she had written while Jude picked up several pieces of bacon and wrapped them in a slice of toast, and ate those, too, and swallowed a steaming cup of coffee as quickly as he could. Jude wolfed his food like the kind of man who relished horseflesh, boxing, and fast women, and nothing at all for fashion, and she wondered at the dichotomy between appearance and reality. Or perhaps all men, no matter how fussy, were the type to drink straight from the brandy decanter when given a chance. “I thought first I would see what he knows and what I can build on.” She asked the duchess, “Do you have a piano and a place we can dance?”
“The ballroom! It hasn’t been opened since last season. How lovely to have a chance to air it.” Nicolette rose to her feet and hurried out of the room.
Caroline lingered behind and observed as an elderly footman slipped Jude a sausage and another scone. “You could have eaten before you came,” she said.
With a toothy smile, Jude said, “I did.”
As Caroline hurried after the duchess into the ballroom, she considered that he had none of the puffiness of a glutton. Jude was, in fact, lean and muscled, with the kind of healthy appearance a sportsman might exhibit. He truly was a mystery, flippant and serious, kind and mocking, intelligent…and the worst sort of fool.
He followed on Caroline’s heels, so when she stopped short at the door of the ballroom, he trod on her skirt. She didn’t care. She could only gape as the footmen threw the draperies wide. The sunshine lit the giant chamber, sparkled through the crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling and the crystal candelabras that sat on the tables. Rainbows danced on the gleaming golden oak floor and up the warm, cream-colored walls, and the gilt-trimmed cove moldings that decorated the ceilings. The windows looked out over the small garden, where spring roses climbed the wall, and the first yellow buds opened to the sun.
“This is magnificent,” she breathed, then realized how much like a waif she must sound. She supposed she’d seen rooms as lovely as this in other homes during her Season, but the years between had been filled with paltry, dingy flats overlooking open sewers and rotting refuse. She’d forgotten what it was like to stand in the middle of the floor and smell the clean odor of beeswax, and see nothing but glossy wood and unmarked walls, or how her heart lifted at the sound of dance chords on a grand piano.
“It is beautiful,” Jude agreed. “Mum decorated all the rooms in the town house, and she is universally acknowledged as a leader of style in London.”
The duchess sat at the piano, running through the keys, limbering her fingers. “I doubt if Lady Reederman would agree.”
“Of course not. Everyone knows she’s deathly jealous of you,” Jude answered.
“There is an advantage of being the only female in the house, Caroline.” A smile quivered on Nicolette’s lips. “The men flatter you at every turn. Are you two ready to dance?”
“I’d hoped to play for you,” Caroline said. “I need to observe Lord Huntington and his skills.”
“You’re young.” Nicolette waved an impatient hand. “You should dance. Are you ready?”
Ready? Caroline supposed she was. For four years she hadn’t skipped in happiness, hadn’t heard music even when it played, and didn’t know if she remembered the steps. She should have worn gloves, but the only decent pair she owned were for riding. Jude had already expressed his dismay for her gown.
So was she ready? She had to be. She was the governess.
She placed her journal on the piano. She nodded to Nicolette, and to Huntington. “I beg Your Grace, let us proceed.”
She thought Jude would be like most men, impatient with the necessity of learning what he thought he already knew and anxious to get it over with. Instead he bowed as elegantly as a beau to his love, and begged, “Miss Ritter, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
Caroline curtsied. “My lord, I would be delighted.”
“We’re the best amusement Mum has had for months,” he added, sotto voce.
That explained his curious tolerance with their pretense, and she liked him for his open affection for his stepmother. “I trust we shan’t amuse Her Grace too much, or I’ll find myself covered with chagrin.” She put her hand in his.
He slid his arm around her waist.
And the duchess played the first chords of a lively waltz.
As Jude and Caroline swung onto the floor, she was pleasantly surprised to find that Jude danced very well indeed. He led firmly, but without bullying, he kept time with the rhythm, and he displayed his partner at an advantage. Every eligible young man should be so adept.
Which made her task so much easier. She had set aside several days to teach him to dance, if necessary, but his skill put her far ahead in her schedule. If she were lucky enough that he could converse at the same time, she’d be that much closer to having him ready to become the most sought after beau of the Season. After that it was an easy leap to his betrothal, his marriage, and her independence from poverty and despair. She’d be able to take her sister—
“I have never before danced with a woman who was not truly there,” he observed.
“What?” She glanced up from her calculations to see him smiling at her quizzically. “My lord, what do you mean?”
“We’ve circled the room twice, and you’ve frowned and concentrated on some private agenda the whole time. I can’t imagine where you got the reputation as being a flirt. You’ve ignored me every step of the way.”
She snapped to attention. They were circling the ballroom in great, sweeping spirals. The walls, the tables, the piano all blurred on the wings of the music. Her petticoats rustled, and her skirts flew. She hadn’t danced for so long, and the practicalities of her situation had stripped away her enjoyment. She hadn’t allowed herself a moment to revel in the movement—and if she didn’t pay mind, he wouldn’t learn his lessons, and she wouldn’t get her reward.
“Sir, forgive me.” With deliberate charm, she smiled back at him. “I have a checklist in my mind of things to teach you, and your excellent dancing has moved our schedule forward by days and days.”
“Ah, praise! But pray, don’t tell me we’re done with the dancing! Because with such an excellent partner, I hate to ever stop.”
At his words, a small thrill climbed up her spine. “No, we are not done. Dancing is merely the framework for flirting—but I think you know that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your flattery was duly noted.”
“It isn’t flattery when it’s true,” he said, in a deep, warm voice.
Another thrill shook her, and for the first time since the dance started, she noted other details about Huntington: the arm around her waist was strong and fit, he smelled of clean linens and spice, he moved with the lithe grace of a cat, only he was bigger. Much, much bigger. Better…or worse, depending on how she looked at it, he watched her as if she were the most interesting, exciting woman in the world.
For she was not immune. She, who had spent the last years fending off unwelcome male attentions, now basked in the heat of one gentleman’s admiration. It was a heady feeling, one she had almost forgotten. Yet she wasn’t there to enjoy herself. No one knew that more than she. So with a merry smile, she tempted him with the chance to make an exhibition of himself. “Think how wonderful it will be to attend the grandest ball of the Season. Think how London will gossip when they see how handsome you are, dressed in you
r wonderful clothing and clasping a classic beauty in your arms!”
His arm tightened, and he swung her in a series of turns that made her head whirl. “I already know the pleasure of dancing with a classic beauty.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Why was she teaching him to flirt? He seemed only too skilled—and she was only too susceptible. “However, no one but Her Grace can see us. When you’re with the right lady, you’ll cause a sensation. Your name will be on every pair of lips!”
“In the dance, the man is not important. His only desire should be to display the woman like a flower for all to admire. As long as I hold you in my arms, I am invisible.” He leaned close to her ear. “And in all of England, I could never find a woman more beautiful than you.”
She surrendered. Only for the moment, but she did surrender. She gave herself up to the sensation of flying across the floor, to the one perfect moment of happiness that recalled youth and foolishness and passion, to the idea that this man thought her flawless and beautiful. It was as if they were making love to music.
Until the door to the ballroom slammed against the wall.
Chapter 10
Nicolette’s fingers smashed the chords to bits.
Huntington and Caroline whirled to a stop and broke apart.
In the doorway, a scarlet-faced Nevett shouted, “What are you blasted fools doing?”
“Father.” Huntington used his scarf to fan his face and became, before Caroline’s eyes, a fop once more. “We’re dancing.”
Nevett’s gaze drilled into Caroline. “Why?”
Going to the piano, she picked up her journal, turned to the first page, and offered it to Nevett. “It’s part of my plan.”
He ignored the proffered book. “Why would he need help with dancing? I spent thousands on dancing tutors for him!”
“Thousands?” Huntington murmured.
Nevett scowled at him. “Hundreds!”