morose demeanor his father sported so naturally. Or perhaps he did? With a start, Dorothea realized she had not been around him enough to know how much like his formidable father he truly could be.
Carter introduced her. For a long moment the duke did not acknowledge her, but instead glared sourly at his son. When he at last turned his attention in her direction, Dorothea’s heart lurched. The duke seemed to delight in looking down his aristocratic nose at her, his expression dark and foreboding.
“You’re late,” he said gruffly.
Were they? Dorothea’s mind went blank and her tongue went numb. Flustered, she swooped into a deep, elegant curtsy. The duke’s expression did not alter. As she rose, Dorothea felt a flush of embarrassment. Clearly, the duke was not impressed. This was even more ghastly than she had feared.
“We are not late, sir,” Carter replied. “Given the very short length at which the invitation was extended, I would venture to say we were right on time.”
“Actually, you are fortunate indeed that we are even here.”
The duke’s eyes flashed with anger. Most people would have been warned to tread carefully, but apparently Carter had a differing view when it came to his father.
“And if we are discontented at any time, we will have to depart early,” Carter added.
Dorothea blinked. Had he lost his mind? He was taunting his father, almost daring him to give them a reason to storm off.
They retired to a drawing room that featured two enormous marble fireplaces evenly spaced along one very long wall. Dorothea kept her eyes on the ornately carved mantel of the one nearest her as she tried to settle her nerves.
The duke engaged his son in conversation, yet while he spoke, he stared at Dorothea. Though it was difficult, Dorothea refused to squirm, vowing she would ignore his impolite glare. His manners were an abomination. Even her uncle Fletcher would not be so rude as to deliberately put a guest ill at ease.
She decided it must be some sort of test. And while she did not understand precisely what was required, she was determined to pass it.
After what felt like an eternity, they were called for dinner. They entered another cavernous room, which boasted a massive dining table that had been polished to a mirror finish. Dorothea counted no fewer than twenty- four chairs as she was escorted down the length of the table.
Her momentary relief at spying three elaborate place settings clustered at one end of the table was dashed when she realized they would now be close enough to converse through the
Once they were all settled, the first course was served. It was lobster bisque, her favorite. Yet Dorothea honestly feared if she tried to swallow a spoonful it would not rest quietly in her stomach.
Utilizing a trick Gwendolyn had taught her, she slowly glided her spoon through the hot liquid, then lifted a nearly empty spoon to her lips. The duke and his son appeared to be doing something similar, though they occasionally ate some of the delicate broth. But not much, from what Dorothea could tell.
The plates were cleared and the next course was served. The silence in the room became increasingly unbearable.
Dorothea wished she had the courage to introduce a topic upon which they could all pleasantly converse, but her mind blanked completely. It would be just her luck that she would innocently select something that would enrage the duke, which in turn would cause Carter to explode in a temper and stomp from the room.
She glanced beneath her lashes at Lord Atwood, hoping he would rescue them all by saying something appropriate, but all she received was a brief smile of reassurance before he returned his attention to his dinner plate.
Dorothea felt like screaming.
“I did not attend the Aldertons’ ball last week but I heard his corset snapped in the middle of the ballroom floor and he literally burst out of his clothes,” the duke said. “That must have been a sight to behold.”
“It happened on the receiving line,” Dorothea interjected softly.
“Hmm, what did you say? Speak up, girl.”
“I said it happened on the receiving line, Your Grace.”
“And how would you know that tidbit?”
“Because I was there, standing directly in front of him when the strings of his corset broke.”
“It certainly must have caused a racket.” The duke feigned a casual indifference to her remark, but Dorothea could see the true interest glistening in his eyes.
“Actually, the corset strings did not make a sound, but as I curtsied in greeting I could not help but notice Lord Alderton’s girth expanding before my very eyes. In mere seconds, the silver buttons on his waistcoat broke free and shot across the room as if they had been fired from a pistol. There were shrieks of horror from several directions.”
“Ha!” The duke grinned, then leaned forward in his chair. “Did the buttons strike anyone?”
“I don’t believe so, for they could have caused significant hurt, and I saw no blood.”
“Hornsby told me that one nearly shot out his eye,” Carter added, his face also sporting a grin.
“I’m not surprised,” Dorothea muttered.
“What did you do when Alderton started, hmm, expanding?” the duke asked.
“I pretended that nothing at all was amiss. I averted my eyes from the split seams of Lord Alderton’s jacket, commented on the lovely weather and my delight at attending his ball. I even promised him a dance before moving on to greet Lady Alderton, who was completely oblivious to the mishap.”
“She always was a simpleton,” the duke grumbled. “And he is a pompous ass. They are an ideal match in so many ways, each deserving such an irritating spouse.”
Dorothea glanced curiously at the duke. His remarks suggested there might be some sort of history between him and the Aldertons, but Dorothea was not about to ask any questions.
“I think Miss Ellingham should be commended for coping with the disaster in such a skillful, refined manner,” Carter remarked.
“And you think gracefully handling a single society mishap qualifies her to become a duchess?” the duke challenged.
“No, Your Grace,” Dorothea interrupted. “I think the incident demonstrates how very essential it is to not overestimate one’s own importance.” She took a small sip of water from the lovely crystal goblet to clear the dryness from her throat. “If Lord Alderton had not been so concerned about his appearance, he would have allowed his tailor to make a garment that fit him properly, rather than trying to stuff himself into an outfit two sizes too small.”
The duke stared at her so long Dorothea felt the hairs on the back of her neck starting to rise in alarm. Yet she refused to lower her gaze or defend her comments. Then, unexpectedly, miraculously, the older man offered her the barest hint of a smile.
“You have a great deal to learn about London society,” he said.
“I know. I’m sure I shall make many mistakes.” She lifted the white linen napkin from her lap and dabbed at the corner of her mouth. “Though I promise I shall never burst out of my clothing at a society affair.”
“Bravo,” Carter commented with a grin.
“And I know there would be far fewer blunders if I had someone to guide me, to assist me in the murky society waters,” she added pointedly, her eyes on the duke.
“That is women’s domain,” the duke declared dismissively.
“Not entirely.” Dorothea forced a smile. “You gravely underestimate the male influence, especially among the bullying society matrons. I know they would defer to the opinion of a man they respected.”
“You mean someone like me.” The duke flicked his gaze over her, his expression cagey. “I see what you are trying to do, Miss Ellingham. Buttering me up in order to gain my approval and support.”
“Is it working?”
Lord Atwood coughed. Dorothea turned her head, pleading with her eyes for him not to intervene. This was between her and the duke.
“I’ll have to let you know.”
“Fair enough, Your Grace.” Dorothea glanced down at her plate and realized she had eaten almost half her
