Duke
81
“But what is it that a woman wants?” Iveston asked. “Very
often I am not convinced they know themselves.”
“Do you think we all want the same thing?” Penelope asked
sharply.
She looked at him directly and he returned her look, suddenly
aware that very few women of marriageable age ever looked at
him directly and certainly not with the sort of impassioned, de
termined, studious look that Penelope Prestwick was in the habit
of displaying over the most inconsequential of topics. Yet this was
not one of those, was it? This was a topic near to her heart and
he found he could not much blame her.
“No, Miss Prestwick, not precisely the same thing,” he an
swered, looking into her dark eyes. “But close enough, yes? Do
you know what you want?”
“Of course I do,” she answered instantly, her eyes fl aring.
“And you can explain it? Put it into a single sentence?” he
prodded, wondering what her eyes would do next.
“Naturally. I have given it a great deal of thought, as you can
well imagine,” she said. Her eyes did the oddest thing then, they
got very wide and soft, like a cloudless summer night.
“And?” he prompted, his voice gone quite soft, to match her
eyes, actually.
“I want to get married, Lord Iveston,” she said, her own voice
as soft as his.
The moment stretched out between them like a silken cord,
until Sophia said, “Of course she wants to get married, Iveston,
but why shouldn’t she? Yet best not to ask whom she wants to
marry as that would be in extremely poor taste.”
Iveston did not ask. But Penelope, who did have the worst
aptitude for this sort of thing, looked instantly at Edenham. And
then she fl ushed.
And that was answer enough.
Seven
AS a matter of courtesy, the party, while not departing Dalby
House, did split into various groups. It was an awkward time of
day for callers as it was well past time for the preparations to
begin for their various evenings out. Still, they did not leave, not
a one of them, and Sophia was hardly in the habit of throwing
people out onto the street. Or that was the rumor. Even Sophia
might be pushed to throwing if the circumstances required it.
“We should leave,” George Prestwick whispered to Penelope,
after he had dragged her to one of the front windows of the white
salon.
“I’m not leaving!” she whispered in response. What could
George be thinking? Edenham was here, now, and not another
woman in sight, if one discounted Sophia, which she would and
did. When would a chance like this ever come again?
“It would look better if you did, Pen,” George said with a bit
more force than was usual for him. What on earth had gotten
into him? Was it possible that he was distressed at the thought of
her imminent marriage? It had better be imminent. “We have
quite outstayed our welcome, I am certain. Lady Dalby can’t
How to Daz zle a Duke
83
have expected half of London to pop into her salon, particularly
at this time of day.”
It was late. It was past seven and everyone was at home pre
paring for their evenings out. Everyone who wasn’t in Dalby
House, that is. If Edenham wasn’t leaving now, then she wasn’t
leaving now. It was as simple as that. What was wrong with
George that he couldn’t see the obvious?
“Why should we be the first to leave?” she snapped under her
breath, eyeing Edenham from across the room. He was talking
to Sophia’s brother, Mr. John Grey, about what she couldn’t
imagine. “No one else is leaving.”
“True,” George conceded, turning away from her to look
across the room. “Do you think this happens often to her? That
people come and refuse to leave her?”
“Her? You mean Lady Dalby?” Penelope said on a huff of
disbelief. “I shouldn’t think so. Why ever would you suppose
that, George?”
“They’re staying for some reason, Pen, and I don’t think it’s
because of us, do you?”
Well. Actually, she had hoped
81
“But what is it that a woman wants?” Iveston asked. “Very
often I am not convinced they know themselves.”
“Do you think we all want the same thing?” Penelope asked
sharply.
She looked at him directly and he returned her look, suddenly
aware that very few women of marriageable age ever looked at
him directly and certainly not with the sort of impassioned, de
termined, studious look that Penelope Prestwick was in the habit
of displaying over the most inconsequential of topics. Yet this was
not one of those, was it? This was a topic near to her heart and
he found he could not much blame her.
“No, Miss Prestwick, not precisely the same thing,” he an
swered, looking into her dark eyes. “But close enough, yes? Do
you know what you want?”
“Of course I do,” she answered instantly, her eyes fl aring.
“And you can explain it? Put it into a single sentence?” he
prodded, wondering what her eyes would do next.
“Naturally. I have given it a great deal of thought, as you can
well imagine,” she said. Her eyes did the oddest thing then, they
got very wide and soft, like a cloudless summer night.
“And?” he prompted, his voice gone quite soft, to match her
eyes, actually.
“I want to get married, Lord Iveston,” she said, her own voice
as soft as his.
The moment stretched out between them like a silken cord,
until Sophia said, “Of course she wants to get married, Iveston,
but why shouldn’t she? Yet best not to ask whom she wants to
marry as that would be in extremely poor taste.”
Iveston did not ask. But Penelope, who did have the worst
aptitude for this sort of thing, looked instantly at Edenham. And
then she fl ushed.
And that was answer enough.
Seven
AS a matter of courtesy, the party, while not departing Dalby
House, did split into various groups. It was an awkward time of
day for callers as it was well past time for the preparations to
begin for their various evenings out. Still, they did not leave, not
a one of them, and Sophia was hardly in the habit of throwing
people out onto the street. Or that was the rumor. Even Sophia
might be pushed to throwing if the circumstances required it.
“We should leave,” George Prestwick whispered to Penelope,
after he had dragged her to one of the front windows of the white
salon.
“I’m not leaving!” she whispered in response. What could
George be thinking? Edenham was here, now, and not another
woman in sight, if one discounted Sophia, which she would and
did. When would a chance like this ever come again?
“It would look better if you did, Pen,” George said with a bit
more force than was usual for him. What on earth had gotten
into him? Was it possible that he was distressed at the thought of
her imminent marriage? It had better be imminent. “We have
quite outstayed our welcome, I am certain. Lady Dalby can’t
How to Daz zle a Duke
83
have expected half of London to pop into her salon, particularly
at this time of day.”
It was late. It was past seven and everyone was at home pre
paring for their evenings out. Everyone who wasn’t in Dalby
House, that is. If Edenham wasn’t leaving now, then she wasn’t
leaving now. It was as simple as that. What was wrong with
George that he couldn’t see the obvious?
“Why should we be the first to leave?” she snapped under her
breath, eyeing Edenham from across the room. He was talking
to Sophia’s brother, Mr. John Grey, about what she couldn’t
imagine. “No one else is leaving.”
“True,” George conceded, turning away from her to look
across the room. “Do you think this happens often to her? That
people come and refuse to leave her?”
“Her? You mean Lady Dalby?” Penelope said on a huff of
disbelief. “I shouldn’t think so. Why ever would you suppose
that, George?”
“They’re staying for some reason, Pen, and I don’t think it’s
because of us, do you?”
Well. Actually, she had hoped
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