“She will be my wife and as such deserves every courtesy.”
Gradually the duke’s hard expression faded. “I can see I am wasting my breath arguing the point with you.”
“You are, indeed.”
“All right, then. I will withhold my final judgment until I meet the girl.” The duke took on a serious expression. “You will bring her to dinner this evening.”
“I have plans.”
“Break them.”
Carter gulped, his sense of victory short-lived. He had confidence that his future bride could cope with his father, but she would need time to prepare herself. “I am certain Miss Ellingham is also engaged for the evening.”
The duke waved his hand dismissively. “’Tis far more important for her to meet me and gain my approval of this match. She can be late to whatever event she had planned to attend.”
Carter turned his head and cursed under his breath.
“I heard that,” the duke muttered.
“You were meant to,” Carter countered. He took a deep breath, allowing his anger to cool. Eyeing his father thoughtfully, Carter realized he might as well get the meeting between the duke and Miss Ellingham over with. A day or two would not make that much difference. Either she had the backbone to stomach the duke or else she would have to try to avoid him for a good part of their marriage. “We will be here at eight.”
“Sharp,” the duke commanded, his brows tightly pinched.
Carter flinched, but did not answer. He would need to send an urgent note to his fiancee and beg her indulgence to change her plans. And to sweeten the last-minute request, he would wisely add an expensive bauble as further enticement.
The tersely worded note from Lord Atwood arrived when Dorothea rose from an afternoon nap. She had not been sleeping well at night, making the occasional afternoon rest a necessity if she was to keep her eyes open and her conversation coherent during these late-night social events. Her initial delight at hearing from her fiance was quickly dispelled when she learned the reason for the message was a request to dine with his father. That very evening.
She had heard the gossip about her future father-in-law and none of it had instilled a great desire to meet him. He was said to be a harsh man, a stickler for propriety, a man much enamored of his own rank and position. Even Lord Dardington had once referred to him as a horror, and he feared no one.
Dorothea highly doubted the meeting was intended to welcome her into the family. Oh, no, she felt certain the duke desired just the opposite.
“Please, Lady Meredith, help me decide what I should wear,” Dorothea pleaded as the two women stood together in front of her open wardrobe. “I do not want to give the duke any reason to find fault with me.”
“If he judges you solely on your appearance, he is even more of a fool than I thought,” Lady Meredith quipped.
Dorothea blanched. “Maybe I should decline the invitation. I could beg off, telling Lord Atwood I was feeling ill.” She cast a hopeful look at Lady Meredith, then belatedly realized there was far too much truth in the statement. She had been feeling decidedly queasy ever since the note arrived.
“You shall never best the duke if you avoid him.” Lady Meredith’s grim expression softened. “You need to let him know that you are serious about your marriage and your new position in society.”
Dorothea nodded and stared at the floor as she considered her options. She needed to be reasonable, even if the duke was not, given the very late hour the invitation was issued. She needed also to remember that she was doing this to accommodate her future husband. It was important that Carter realize she was willing to make sacrifices when necessary. Of course, it was equally important that he understand there were limits to her patience and affability.
“White can give my complexion a dull, washed-out look at times,” Dorothea remarked, questioning the choice of the gown Lady Meredith had selected from the bulging wardrobe. “I think the red silk gown would be better.”
“There are many shades of white,” Lady Meredith protested, holding the gown against Dorothea’s chest. “This one in particular sets off your hair and eyes. The satin sheen is delicate and flattering. Plus, white should effectively complement whatever Lord Atwood has sent you.”
Lady Meredith motioned to the maid, who held out a small black velvet pouch. Hastily untying the gold cord, Dorothea pulled out a pair of teardrop-shaped earrings and a matching emerald pendant. She gasped. The brilliant green of the many-faceted stones shimmered in the fading daylight, dazzling in their sparkle.
“They are magnificent,” Dorothea exclaimed.
“What does the note say?” Lady Meredith asked.
“It’s settled. You will wear them tonight with your white gown,” Lady Meredith insisted. “They will give you a regal air and display most effectively to the duke that you are a worthy bride for his son.”
Dubiously, Dorothea accepted the magnificent jewelry, concerned that Lady Meredith had hit upon the most unsettling reason the jewels might have been gifted to her. Yet later that evening, as Dorothea surveyed herself in the cheval glass, her reflection gave her pause. Lady Meredith was right. The gown and jewels gave her a noble, mature look, boosting her flagging confidence. Perhaps the exact reason for the gift was not as important as the result.
Carter’s approving smile when she entered the front hall also gave her a lift. She thanked him prettily for the jewelry and would have even ventured a kiss, had not Lord and Lady Dardington, along with half a dozen servants, been watching.
Carter distracted her with amusing small talk on the carriage ride and she felt herself start to relax. The even mood stayed with her until they divested themselves of their outer garments and passed them to two silent, formally attired footmen.
With Carter by her side, Dorothea followed the butler across the cold marble foyer and willed herself not to shudder. The interior furnishings were even more impressive than the massive, stately exterior of the duke’s mansion, but the overall effect left her feeling cold. They conveyed an impersonal grandeur that money and good taste could not eliminate, a gloominess that made all the inherent beauty of these priceless furnishings seem forbidding.
Her steps faltered and then she felt Carter’s strong hand at her elbow. “Try not to worry. You’ll do fine.”
Dorothea glanced frantically over her shoulder, worried one of the servants who stood like sentry guards every few feet could hear her. “What if the duke doesn’t like me?” she asked, rising high on her toes to whisper in Carter’s ear.
“Then he is an ass.”
The glib statement did not ease her nerves. As if she would ever dare to dismiss a man of rank and privilege so boldly, a man who could create such an opulent environment and live comfortably within it. “I suppose I should have inquired before now, but do you have any sage advice to impart on how best to handle things this evening?”
“You must be yourself, my dear. No need to posture and put on airs. And no false flattery. The duke abhors it.”
The sound of approaching footsteps brought her thoughts abruptly to the present. With chilled fingers, Dorothea smoothed the white satin of her gown and prepared herself to meet the duke.
He was clad entirely in black, the only exception his white shirt and cravat. The formality of such attire was common among gentlemen, but the duke wore his elegant clothing in a manner that was more somber than most. She could see very little resemblance between father and son and decided Carter must have taken after his mother.
In looks and apparently temperament, thank heavens, for Lord Atwood did not have the brooding, almost
