An Ideal Duchess by Evangeline Holland Page A

kind?”
                  “Don’t you?” His expression darkened, eyes cooling to harsh silver as they glanced around the Club House, whose inhabitants mirrored the society one could easily find in smart hotels in London, Biarritz, or Vienna.
                  “Isn’t that why you’re here?” She asked coolly.
                  His gaze snapped to hers and then slowly, deliberately moved down and over the visible portion of her body—which happened to be her bosom beneath the sheer voile of her shirtwaist.
                  “Amanda!” Her mother looked shocked by the tenor of their conversation.
                  Amanda realized she had leaned towards the duke, her skin feeling warm and tight beneath her clothes, and she shrank back into her seat, taking refuge in her tea. The duke looked uncomfortable, a dull red flush creeping up his collar and across his cheeks. She blinked in surprise: was he blushing? The novelty of watching his skin redden with embarrassment distracted her from her unusual reaction to the duke’s perusal of her body, and she smiled over the rim of her cup, suddenly wondering what else would make His Grace blush. Then suddenly, the thought of following that blush across his body entered her brain and she felt her own cheeks heat.
                  “Is Papa to come down this weekend?” She blurted, startling her mother.
                  “He sent a wire earlier today to express his regrets, but he said to expect Lulu and Quin from Groton.”
                  “Their boarding school,” Amanda answered the duke’s questioning look. “You remember my brothers, don’t you—Lulu, or rather Lucretius, after my mother, and Quintus.”
                  “And you are Amanda Cornelia, after your father,” He tilted his head with a smile of bemusement. “It is typically the other way around, isn’t it?”
                  “My father was determined to christen his firstborn child after himself, and I happened to be a girl. Mother won out with my first forename—I am Amanda, after her mother.”
                  “And your given name, Your Grace…” Her mother looked expectant.
                  “Auberon,” He replied readily enough, though Amanda noticed a slight tightening of his lips. “And no, I was not named for my father.”
                  “Your mother?” Amanda asked, drawn by his odd reaction.
                  “Not for her either,” He said cagily.
                  “How is Her Grace—I shall never forget her hospitality at Bledington Park,” Her mother plowed on, eyes bright with curiosity. “Before that, I once managed to catch a glimpse of her in the Royal Enclosure. She is a great friend of His Majesty?”
                  “My mother was a lady of the bedchamber to the late Queen for a brief period in the ‘nineties, so she is well acquainted with many members of the Royal Family.”
                  “How thrilling!” Her mother clasped her hands.
                  “I would think it a great responsibility, looking after the old Queen and her court,” Amanda said, holding the duke’s gaze when he turned to her. 
                  He frowned slightly, as though assessing her tone. She allowed herself to smile and he sat back, visibly relaxing. This also surprised her, and disarmed her, for she would have never assumed the duke would be nervous with her.
                  “When we were at Eton, and my mother was called up for service, the Queen used to have us for tea. I remember how frightened I was, fearing she would disapprove of my manners and have one of the guards lop off my head,” The duke smiled shyly at the memory. “But she was really a small, doughy woman with a sly sense of humor, as I quickly discovered when she asked one of