Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Mrs. Burns.
He cleared his throat. “What’s going on in here?”
The housekeeper wheeled to face him. “Mr. Duke.” She tried to school her expression, but not fast enough. Laughter had transformed the housekeeper’s appearance. Her countenance was not dour and pale, but lively. Warm.
Human.
“I could have sworn I heard laughter.”
“Did you, sir?”
“Yes. Perhaps it was a ghost? Or maybe a raving madwoman chained in the attic.”
“It’s my fault.” Penny moved into view, carrying George in her arms. “I came to ask if there was anything I could do to help with the preparations.”
“To begin, you could take the goat back to the mews. This carpet was rescued from a French chateau. Its owner went to the guillotine. That kind of provenance comes dear.”
“I know, but look.” She set the kid on the floor, and George gamboled about the room, making high-pitched, chirping bleats. “He prances. Sideways. It’s adorable.”
The kid attempted a leap and stumbled drunkenly to the side, landing on the carpet before picking himself up and shaking his head.
Even Gabe had to admit it was rather adorable. Especially the way the newborn goat made its way to him from across the room, stopping at his boots to issue an entitled bleat. He was a demanding little thing already.
Gabe bent to give the kid a scratch between the ears.
“I’ll take him back to his mother.” Mrs. Burns gathered the baby goat in her arms.
As she was leaving, the housekeeper paused. She addressed Gabe directly. “Mr. Duke, you may trust that I—and all the house staff—are committed to making the ball a success. The heart of the matter is, this house does have a grand legacy. A legacy that I regard as my own. You are part of it now.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I trust this means you take pride in your service. Not that you intend to trap my soul in a painting and hang it above the drawing room fireplace.”
The housekeeper gave him a conspiratorial look. “Please don’t tell Mr. Hammond. It’s been too amusing, winding him up. I couldn’t help it. But I’ll put an end to it now.”
“Oh, please. Feel free to continue. He deserves it.”
“As you wish, sir.” The housekeeper squared her shoulders, banished the smile from her face, and summoned her usual solemn tone of voice. “Far be it from me to disobey my employer’s wishes.”
The woman never failed to surprise.
Once the housekeeper had left them alone, Penny crossed the room to give him a sweet kiss. “I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon. I was told you had urgent business matters.”
“I had a great many calls to make. While you’re here, I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the stiffened bit of pasteboard scrawled with names in looping, elegant script.
She took the paper and turned it over to examine both sides. “What is it?”
“It’s your dance card.”
“My dance card?”
Gabe watched her closely as she scanned the card. He’d arranged dances—every set of the evening—to an assortment of highly placed, well-to-do, unmarried men. Peers, lords, gentlemen of note. All of them from families that stretched back generations, if not centuries.
“I don’t understand. Why would you do this?”
“I’ll be occupied with hosting, so I arranged suitable partners in advance.”
She scanned the card. “Lord Brooking for the gavotte. A set of country dances promised to Sir Neville Chartwell. A midnight waltz with a royal duke?” Her eyebrows soared. “An ordinary duke wasn’t good enough?”
“No man is good enough, where you’re concerned. But these are the best ones available at the moment.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide with whom I dance? Or if I wish to dance at all?”
“That’s just it, Penny. Left to your own devices, you won’t dance at all. You’ll stand at the edge of the room. A wallflower.”
She pushed the card back at him. “I don’t want to dance with these men. I don’t care about them. I care about you.”
“Then do this for me,” he said, unable to hide his mounting frustration. “I planned this entire occasion with you in mind, starting right after that asinine masquerade. The right guests, the best orchestra, the finest foods and wine. This ball was never about selling the house. It was meant to be your second chance at a proper debut.”
“Why?”
“Because you deserve it. Because you’ve spent too many years hiding in the corners or among the shrubbery, when you ought to be the light of any party.”
“That’s lovely and thoughtful. But I’m going to marry you. It’s not important anymore.”
“It’s more important than ever. Do you think I want to watch you dance with other men? Hell, no. I want the guests to see you dance. Before we announce our engagement, I want everyone to know you could have had your choice of any gentleman. Everyone, including your family. Your aunt, your brother.”