Tonight, she wore her hair in a sleek chignon at the back of her neck, and her gown, although unadorned and simple in comparison to many of the other young women, fell like shimmering water, the gray silk caressing her curves in an understated manner.
Ah, no. Quite noticeable. Something about her glowed.
Sebastian leaned against the mantle and forced his gaze to study the others in the room. A heated argument between Lady Sheffield and Lady Riverton; a flirtation between Lockley and Miss Couch; and a lively political discussion, from what he could guess, amongst the older gents.
But he could not help himself, and his eyes landed on his uncle’s fiancée once more. She sat leaning forward, hands primly in her lap, listening to the Duchess of Monfort with far too earnest and serious expression for typical drawing room conversation.
He’d never wished to overhear a lady’s conversation before but his curiosity was oddly piqued tonight. Although his primary interest in her was physical—sexual—he felt a peculiar stirring to know more of her history, her thoughts and opinions.
“I would play.” A sweet floral scent assaulted his nostrils as Miss Drake sidled up beside him. “But I have no one to turn the pages for me.” And then she let out a heavy sigh. Her skirts swished against his trousers as she tilted her head and swayed side to side. At the same time, one of her blond curls brushed against his jacket.
Sebastian chuckled. “Oh, but we must remedy such a catastrophe. Will you favor me with such an honor?” He bowed in her direction.
“Would you, My Lord?” She smiled. She really was a lovely girl—a lovely American girl—who was actively pursuing a title for herself. He would flirt and compliment her, but all of his defenses remained on high alert. He had grand plans for his future, and he’d be damned if he’d allow them to be derailed by a husband-hunting miss.
“It would be my pleasure.” He offered his arm and led her across the room toward where a pianoforte sat prominently adjacent to the windows.
“My mother assured me that all the ladies in England would be accomplished in all of the arts, so I’ve done nothing but practice since we arrived. And paint and learn archery and all the latest dances.”
“Do you miss your home?” Sebastian couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. She emphasized the consonants in her words and softened her vowels, a distinct reminder that she’d grown up and traveled from somewhere that he longed to visit. He would travel to New York someday in the near future. He was the heir, yes. But Sebastian’s father was vigorous, even at the age of five and fifty. Furthermore, Andrew, Sebastian’s younger brother, already took a good deal of interest in managing the family estates.
“Not at all.” Miss Drake laughed. “I refuse to bore you with the details but suffice it to say that everything in America is vulgar compared to London. Society back home, in comparison to Mayfair, is… gauche.” She wrinkled her pretty little nose. “I far prefer the sophisticated persons I have met here to the ladies and gentlemen who make up New York society. I don’t know how Mama has endured it as long as she has.” She draped her skirts around herself on the bench as she took her seat. “I have no intention of returning.”
Sebastian noticed that as she spoke to him, she tried quite deliberately to elongate her vowels. She was so very determined to shed her American roots.
“Surely, there must be something you miss.”
“Papa misses it,” she conceded and then, having flipped through the pages of music, placed them on the stand so that she could read them. “But let’s not talk about the Colonies. Do you spend most of your time in London? I imagine the grandeur of your estate far exceeds that of a mere viscount. Not that there is anything wrong with Land’s End, mind you, but you are to become a duke, and by all rights, a duke’s estate would be considerably more… majestic.”
“Only slightly less so than the king’s.” His father’s country ducal estate, Fey Abbey, was not quite as large as Land’s End, although it was considerably closer to London. He would allow the girl her fantasy. He glanced around the room, wondering how long he would be subjected to her conversation before he could endure her playing.
He turned back and stared meaningfully at the gleaming keys before her. “Are you going to tease me all night, Miss Drake? I wait with bated breath to hear you play.”
She studied him suspiciously and then, apparently believing his sincerity, blushed and hovered her hands over the instrument. “I do not tease people, Your Grace.”
“My Lord.”
“Excuse me?”
“Unless some catastrophe has befallen my father, I am, as yet, only a lord.”
She blushed again. “I knew that. Of course.” And apparently unwilling to continue this conversation, the young woman tentatively plucked out a most unextraordinary rendition of what Sebastian believed was something written by Bach.
When Lockley arrived to stand behind them, Sebastian happily relinquished his position at the conclusion of the performance.
He strolled toward the mantel, away from any other guests, removed his journal from his pocket, and jotted down a few notes. If Miss Drake’s father had been a guest, he would have had several questions for the gentleman.
The urgency to commence his own journey across the Atlantic grew every day.
“I saw your hat flying in the wind, like an exotic bird. It’s a shame you lost it, but what a spectacular exit it made!” The Duchess of Monfort lowered herself to sit beside Margaret, warmth and goodness arriving alongside her.
“It rather was, Your Grace.” She hadn’t thought of it in such a way. “What would it be like, do you think, to fly?”
“It is terrifying but also spectacular. Monfort has taken me on a few occasions, and I can only admit that I love it and I hate it at the same time. And I insist you call me Abigail.”
“Either you are speaking in metaphors or you have a great sense of humor.”
“Oh, but no, we went up in a basket that was attached to a hot air balloon before we married, and twice since.”
“Didn’t you find it frightening?”
The duchess’ entire face lit up. “Terrified the first time. I couldn’t imagine being contained in a basket but Monfort assured me it was quite safe. It’s the hydrogen balloons that are the most dangerous.”
Margaret stared at the lady sitting beside her and shook her head in wonder. If one did not know the duchess, they would assume her to be a spinster, one who spent her days attending to the needs of an ailing mother or aunt. But a secret smile lit her eyes and it reminded Margaret of Hugh when he spoke of Penelope and the twins.
“Monfort has changed a great deal since your marriage.” No one called him the Duke of Ice any longer. Such a comment was a bold one for Margaret to make, but Abigail’s very presence invited meaningful conversation.
“I am happy that I am not the only one to notice this.” Abigail’s smile fell for just a moment. “It is difficult for one to lose a spouse. And he lost his children as well.” She tilted her head. “But you would know this, more than most.”
She did. “Lawrence and then my mother a few years later.”
“You and Lord Asherton were childless?”