She eased one of Alice’s thick braids over her shoulder. Her pretty sister’s hair was a paler blonde than her own, and her features were more delicate. “Your first Season will be here before you know it. And you will be such a success.”
“I do hope so. I can’t wait for the parties and the balls.” With a dreamy expression in her eyes, Alice danced across the schoolroom rug.
“Lady Alice, we have a French lesson from four to five o’clock.” Miss Dale made a point of looking at the watch on her bodice. “If you will excuse us, Lady Cornelia?”
Nellie left the schoolroom and made her way down to her bedchamber. Miss Dale, who was now in her sixtieth year, had been the family governess for Marian and herself. She’d accepted no nonsense from them, either. When she was a duchess, Nellie was sure Miss Dale would address her in the same manner.
Peter ran to her when she opened the door. Nellie picked him up and hugged him. A duchess! It brought with it such responsibilities. There would be little time for herself. Everything she did or said would be written and talked about, she supposed.
Some years ago, the Duchess of Devonshire held a fashionable literary salon, but Nellie did not wish for that amount of notoriety. She hoped for something more discreet, a gathering of a few devotees of prose and poetry. To be at the heart of intellectual discussion. Poets and writers would be invited to read their latest works. But would it even be possible now? Although Charles seemed not quite as arrogant as she had feared, something about him warned her that he would resist too many changes to his life.
The relief on her father’s face when he’d learned the news gave her great pleasure. Her father appeared to like Charles. But was he a good judge of the man? He could be the worst rake in society for all they knew. And a bully to boot. But to be honest, although she couldn’t discount their differences, there was that heady pull of attraction. Whether it was enough for a satisfactory life together, time would tell.
Dinner was held in the claret-papered, gilded dining room for the family and house guests. On the vicar’s arm, Nellie trailed after her parents into the room. Charles sent her an intimate smile. As if they had a secret. That he was a passionate man sent a shiver down her spine. It distracted her from the man seated next to her, who described in detail his last trip to London and the play he’d seen.
The footmen served fragrant pea soup followed by turbot with oyster sauce, while Nellie discreetly continued to watch her fiancé. Seated on his left, Marian engaged him in conversation. Her sister could bring out the best in any man. At twenty-six, she was pretty, favoring their father with her brown curls and green eyes, while Nellie and Alice were like their mother.
Their brother, Nathaniel, who at twenty-five was between Nellie and Marian in age, flirted with Lady Hattersley. As he leaned his blond head toward her, the lady simpered, while opposite them, Lord Hattersley appeared bored.
Nellie glanced at Nat’s wife, Eliza. She was talking earnestly to the vicar. Did she accept her husband’s flirtatious ways? Or was it something that tore them apart? It was disturbing how a man like Nat, who loved his family, went from flirting to affairs. If the tales which reached them were true. She glanced back at Charles seated beside her father. Could she uphold the pretense if he were unfaithful? Her throat tightened, and she reached for her wine. She must never fall in love with him, for how vulnerable she would then be to hurt.
Whist and faro followed dinner, but the evening ended early, as the shooters were to be up with the dawn.
Nellie mounted the stairs with Marian. “Well, what did you make of him?” Nellie asked. “You seemed to get on well.”
“He has a good sense of humor,” Marian said as if that was of great importance.
“He can be a bit pompous,” Nellie said a trifle unfairly. “One expects that of a duke.” She was still smarting from her thoughts during dinner.
“I didn’t find him so. Is it true of all dukes?” Marian laughed. “The Duke of Wellington might well be arrogant in men’s company, but when asked if he had affairs, he said ‘A lot of that.’” She laughed. “I found him vastly entertaining and an accomplished flirt.”
“We were talking about pomposity, not rakishness,” Nellie said with a frown. “And he is a rather poor example. He is Irish.”
Marian peered at her in the flickering light from the wall sconce. “What bee has got into your bonnet?”
“I don’t think I could bear it if Charles took a mistress. He might still have the French one.”
“It looked very much as if the affair was at an end to me. He might have no intention of taking another mistress.”
“Many men do. Our own brother, for instance.”
Marian’s eyes narrowed. “I wonder if Eliza knows. It’s surprising if she doesn’t. There was gossip last Season about him and someone. Well, whether Eliza does or not, Nat needs Papa to give him a good talking to.”
“Papa doesn’t seem to want to. And anyway, I doubt that would help. Nat has always been so inclined.”
“But it’s time he grew up and realized his actions hurt those he loves,” Marian said. “Not all men are like that, dearest. I am quite sure that Gerald is not. He is too lazy to pursue other women. And too exhausted.”
Nellie giggled.
“You must stop concerning yourself with something which may never happen. At least give Charles the benefit of the doubt.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course.” Her throat tightened. “I don’t know why I fear it so much. I suppose I am of a suspicious nature.”
“No, dearest, you’re not. You’re just nervous, as most brides are.” Worry darkening her
