without a word of explanation for his hasty, hushed-up marriage.
“Delighted to see you again, madam, after all these years,” Rory said to Esme, and then nodded to Norwich, using his moniker, “Seventeen.”
The duchess curtsied while her gray eyes examined him in a way that made Rory feel as if she could read his every thought.
“Lady Fitzroy was just saying she is not impressed,” Norwich stated.
“Nor is she interested in anything the guests here are circulating,” Esme added, moving closer to Verity.
Rory bowed to the other two ladies. “Your servant, Lady Haverty, Lady Fitzroy.”
He grasped V’s hand before she could say a word and pressed his lips on the back of her gloved fingers. His nose touched her bare wrist and the unmistakable scent of violets flooded his senses. He immediately released her hand.
“Are you now,” Verity began, a bit out of breath. “Since when does a servant inform guests there will be mystery and romance in the still of the afternoon?”
“Since today,” he murmured. “You’ve forced me to up the ante, Lady Fitzroy.”
Mary Haverty laughed, a deep, throaty melodic sound to most gentlemen’s ears. To Rory, it was a sound reminiscent of disaster.
He offered his forearm to Verity. “I beg you to join me for a stroll to the water’s edge. I’ve been given to understand that it is superior to Boxwood’s. Less forbidding.”
“And romantic,” Mary inserted, still smiling.
“Romantically mysterious,” he replied, looking only at Verity.
The Duke of Norwich sighed heavily. “Frankly, I don’t care if it’s where the eternal Lady of the Lake lurks. Either way, we shall, all of us , play nursemaids to the both of you. Candover would demand it.”
“Candover would not, I assure you,” Rory retorted. “Mind your own debacle, Norwich. Pardon me, Lady Haverty, Esme—”
“No offense taken,” Esme replied quickly.
He pointedly regarded Norwich. “I trust you will manage here well enough without us”—he offered his arm to Verity—“and in case you haven’t noticed, there are fowl lurking in the shallows down there.”
The odd comment drew a black glare from Norwich. Everyone in England knew his family had been cursed by a witch two centuries ago to die by duck—yes, duck . It had proven to be a most effective curse for the sixteen Norwich dukes who preceded Seventeen. The latter was known to avoid all bodies of water larger than a copper bathing tub—for good reason.
Verity cleared her throat and cut in before the fur on Norwich’s back rose another inch. “Do remember our neighbors’ talents at lip-reading. And, while I appreciate your effort, Your Grace”—she looked toward Norwich—“I assure you spinsters are perfectly capable of strolling with gentlemen without raising any alarm.”
She refused to take Rory’s arm, but moved forward to stroll down the wide lawn to the lake in the distance. Already, a bevy of energetic young ladies and gentlemen were rowing several small rowboats or strolling beside the willow trees edging the water.
“Rory?”
“Yes?”
“You are going to have to try a new tactic.” She smiled up at him, to confuse anyone looking at them, he was certain.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I know your game, and it won’t work.”
“Game?”
“Yes. The one where you allow everyone in the neighborhood to think you have lost your mind and suddenly developed a tendre for me.” She held her hands behind her back, her aristocratic profile tilted proudly despite yet another confirmation of her atrocious taste regarding hats. “But, you see, it won’t play out that way, Rory. Instead, everyone will wonder why you are in such need of a dowry in excess of fifty thousand pounds since you were just lavished with a title and an extraordinary surplus of riches by the prince. Or it will positively confirm any possible future reports that you ruined me. This isn’t the solution and you know it.”
They came to a stop close
“Delighted to see you again, madam, after all these years,” Rory said to Esme, and then nodded to Norwich, using his moniker, “Seventeen.”
The duchess curtsied while her gray eyes examined him in a way that made Rory feel as if she could read his every thought.
“Lady Fitzroy was just saying she is not impressed,” Norwich stated.
“Nor is she interested in anything the guests here are circulating,” Esme added, moving closer to Verity.
Rory bowed to the other two ladies. “Your servant, Lady Haverty, Lady Fitzroy.”
He grasped V’s hand before she could say a word and pressed his lips on the back of her gloved fingers. His nose touched her bare wrist and the unmistakable scent of violets flooded his senses. He immediately released her hand.
“Are you now,” Verity began, a bit out of breath. “Since when does a servant inform guests there will be mystery and romance in the still of the afternoon?”
“Since today,” he murmured. “You’ve forced me to up the ante, Lady Fitzroy.”
Mary Haverty laughed, a deep, throaty melodic sound to most gentlemen’s ears. To Rory, it was a sound reminiscent of disaster.
He offered his forearm to Verity. “I beg you to join me for a stroll to the water’s edge. I’ve been given to understand that it is superior to Boxwood’s. Less forbidding.”
“And romantic,” Mary inserted, still smiling.
“Romantically mysterious,” he replied, looking only at Verity.
The Duke of Norwich sighed heavily. “Frankly, I don’t care if it’s where the eternal Lady of the Lake lurks. Either way, we shall, all of us , play nursemaids to the both of you. Candover would demand it.”
“Candover would not, I assure you,” Rory retorted. “Mind your own debacle, Norwich. Pardon me, Lady Haverty, Esme—”
“No offense taken,” Esme replied quickly.
He pointedly regarded Norwich. “I trust you will manage here well enough without us”—he offered his arm to Verity—“and in case you haven’t noticed, there are fowl lurking in the shallows down there.”
The odd comment drew a black glare from Norwich. Everyone in England knew his family had been cursed by a witch two centuries ago to die by duck—yes, duck . It had proven to be a most effective curse for the sixteen Norwich dukes who preceded Seventeen. The latter was known to avoid all bodies of water larger than a copper bathing tub—for good reason.
Verity cleared her throat and cut in before the fur on Norwich’s back rose another inch. “Do remember our neighbors’ talents at lip-reading. And, while I appreciate your effort, Your Grace”—she looked toward Norwich—“I assure you spinsters are perfectly capable of strolling with gentlemen without raising any alarm.”
She refused to take Rory’s arm, but moved forward to stroll down the wide lawn to the lake in the distance. Already, a bevy of energetic young ladies and gentlemen were rowing several small rowboats or strolling beside the willow trees edging the water.
“Rory?”
“Yes?”
“You are going to have to try a new tactic.” She smiled up at him, to confuse anyone looking at them, he was certain.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I know your game, and it won’t work.”
“Game?”
“Yes. The one where you allow everyone in the neighborhood to think you have lost your mind and suddenly developed a tendre for me.” She held her hands behind her back, her aristocratic profile tilted proudly despite yet another confirmation of her atrocious taste regarding hats. “But, you see, it won’t play out that way, Rory. Instead, everyone will wonder why you are in such need of a dowry in excess of fifty thousand pounds since you were just lavished with a title and an extraordinary surplus of riches by the prince. Or it will positively confirm any possible future reports that you ruined me. This isn’t the solution and you know it.”
They came to a stop close
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