“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“And, Mr. Longacre,” he said as the man gathered his belongings. “Thank you for your discretion and long-standing constancy. In the future, please direct any and all financial or fiduciary concerns to me.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Coloring at the unexpected praise, the solicitor paused at the door. “Do you intend to stay in London, then?”
Rhystan pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and nodded. “For now.”
At least until the state of the dukedom was sorted out.
And God knew how long that was going to take.
* * *
Sarani sighed with sublime delight as Asha brushed and dried her hair in front of the fire. She had just taken the longest, most decadent bath known to humankind. The bedroom she’d been shown to was tastefully opulent, but the sumptuous bathing room was what had knocked the wind from her lungs—all rich wooden paneling and hand-painted porcelain tiles, and almost as large as the connecting bedchamber.
It had lacked for nothing, including modern plumbing for not just cold but hot running water. The massive claw-foot tub had been designed with an ingenious gas heating device.
Sarani hadn’t been able to get out of her fine clothing fast enough, nearly ripping buttons in her haste. She’d languished in that gorgeous tub in the piping hot water until her skin had begun to protest and had only gotten out when Asha had murmured that His Grace would be expecting her shortly.
She hadn’t seen Rhystan since their arrival, and he had been mostly silent in the coach, a brooding expression on his handsome face. She suspected that being in England did not sit well with him, much as it didn’t for her, though for other reasons he had yet to share.
If he ever would.
In hindsight, she realized just how little she knew of the duke’s origins, other than that he was a well-born gentleman who’d been an officer in the Royal Navy once upon a time and was now a rich, powerful duke who captained a ship. Who clearly did not want to be in London.
His stilted behavior in the lavish coach on the way to his residence had indicated as much. Sarani had known Rhystan had deep pockets, given he owned his own ship, but the sight of the ducal crest emblazoned on the lacquered coach had been her first inkling that he didn’t exactly lack for fortune. Rather, if the luxurious coach and its liveried servants had been any signal, he was rather well-off.
“This is fancy,” she’d told him once they’d left the wharf to settle into the plush confines of the fine carriage.
A hint of color had brushed his cheekbones. “It was my father’s.”
“It’s very nice.” That had been an understatement. “Where are we going?”
“To my residence in Mayfair.”
She’d bitten her lip. “Is that…proper?”
“We are engaged,” he’d replied. “But if you are worried, Asha can assume the role of your companion and chaperone. Problem of respectability solved.”
“Even I know that a lady’s maid won’t pass muster as a companion, at least not according to the rules of etiquette here.”
Unreadable eyes had met hers across the carriage. “You are engaged to the Duke of Embry.”
“You say that as if anyone in the ton will refrain from gossiping like fishwives at market. If decorum is not observed, the shame will fall upon me, not you.”
To her surprise, he’d nodded after a beat of scrutiny. “Very well. I will retire elsewhere tonight. Once I meet with my mother and introduce you, perhaps you can stay at Huntley House. My sister should also be in town for the season. She’s a few years younger than you, just now eighteen.”
“What’s she like?”
A fond smile had curved his lips, making her heart hitch an unexpected beat. Seeing any kind of emotion on his face that wasn’t lust, loathing, or some combination thereof was a bit of a shock. “Demure, sweet, dutiful.”
The opposite of her, clearly.
He didn’t have to say it, but the implication had been more than obvious.
They’d passed the rest of the journey in silence. And then, as they’d driven through the bustling streets of Mayfair, not even Rhystan’s sourness could detract from her fascination with the clean lines of the architecture, carriages pulled by matching teams of plumed horses, and the neat groups of sedately dressed lords and ladies. It was the antithesis of Joor, lacking the joyful chaos, intricate architectural styles, and broad palette of bright color she was used to. It was all so very…structured.
She’d smoothed nervously at her skirts, drawing Rhystan’s stare as they’d pulled up in front of a gorgeous town house.
“What’s the matter?”
She’d swallowed, not sure why she suddenly felt panicked. “I didn’t expect it to be so pristine. Even the cobblestones are freshly scrubbed.”
“Don’t let the exterior fool you,” he’d murmured. “Beauty is only skin deep. After all, the loveliest of smiles can mask the cruelest of intentions, can’t it?”
Her eyes had flashed to his, drawn by the harsh, bitter note in his voice, but he’d already returned his attention to the signet ring on his finger.
Now, Sarani’s nerves returned in full force while Asha combed and styled her hair into a low chignon with looped ringlets over her ears. She gave herself a critical look in the mirror when Asha was finished. The remaining weeks of travel after St. Helena that she’d spent cooped-up belowdecks had been effective in making her look like an English corpse bride. She pinched the apples of her cheeks, making them flush with a dusky hue. There, that was marginally better.
Now she didn’t look quite so sallow. Sarani glanced at Asha in the mirror whose brown skin practically glowed next to hers. Unlike her, Asha had been parasol-free and soaking up the sun for days. Sarani swallowed her envy and grimaced at her reflection. She wished she could line her eyelids with liberal amounts of kohl—it always made her eyes pop like jewels—but that would set her apart even more, and the goal was to fit in…not stand out.
She was beginning to feel an acute sense of pressure.
“Do you require face powder, Princess?” Asha asked.
Sarani wrinkled her nose. She hated the stuff, though blending in was the point, wasn’t it? But when her gaze slid to the translucent dust in its decorative dish, everything inside of her suddenly choked. Did blending in mean becoming invisible? The parasol was one thing, but this was one more step of erasure.
“No, not tonight.” Not ever. She lowered her voice, glancing over to where the undermaids were bustling about the antechamber. “And it’s ‘my lady,’ don’t forget. And remember, you are to play the role of my companion as well, so you must act accordingly.”