“Isn’t that what—umph—you want?” Johanna fell against the window sash as they jockeyed for positions around the drawing room’s front windows the next day when the Duke of Ashbourne arrived quite unexpectedly.
Viv rested her chin on her folded hand, one arm braced against the other as she peered down into the street as the Duke of Ashbourne alighted from his sleek black curricle. “I wanted all of you safely and respectfully married. Not the subject of tattling tongues.”
“I’m not certain you can have one without the other,” Louisa pointed out.
Eliza was glad for their conversation for it distracted her sisters from seeing her obvious discomfort. If she weren’t careful, she was sure to rip her gown asunder from plying the folds of her skirt between both clenched fists. She willed herself to let go, forcing her mind to focus only on the things she knew.
Ashbourne was a skilled dancer. He was polite and respected. He had all his teeth.
If she caught a whiff of his scent just once more she would most definitely fall to her knees in surrender.
She had been so busy preparing herself for his physical nearness, she had not known to prepare herself for the alluring quality of his scent.
She glanced down at her rough collie, Henry, sitting lovingly at her feet, his head pressed to her thigh. He returned her gaze with his quiet, soulful dark eyes as if to say he understood the attractive quality of scent.
She scratched absently between his ears and felt his sigh against her leg.
Viv turned from the window.
“Come, girls. Let’s prepare to receive him.” She took a seat on the sofa, spreading her skirts appropriately.
Louisa followed obediently, perching on the end of a chair, her eyes glittering in the direction of the door. Johanna followed more sluggishly, choosing a chair just outside of the main seating area, keeping her back slightly to the door.
Eliza did not move at all. She stood where she’d been sorting her watercolors on top of the piano by the window where the light was good. She had hopes of completing her collection of rabbit illustrations soon and wanted to check once more that she’d captured all of the necessary scenes.
And sorting watercolors kept her mind busy enough to forget about the Duke of Ashbourne.
About the way her heart had leapt at the simple touch of his hand at her waist.
At the way his smile reached naturally across his face and how she yearned to absorb just a little of that happiness.
There was a cleft in his chin, and for whatever absurd reason, she wanted to place a single finger there as if to mark her spot. Heat burned across her cheeks instantly, and she willed herself to distraction.
Her brain skittered, recalling the events that had earned him the name of Jilted Duke.
Surely a man so scorned would not be smiling so if he had not recovered from the embarrassment.
She looked down at her rendition of a bunny hopping through ferns, pushing the thought aside.
It didn’t matter what Ashbourne felt. It had no bearing on her whatsoever.
“Eliza, do come sit. You should be ready to receive your guest when Mallard presents him.” Viv motioned for her to take the chair opposite and most advantageously positioned near the door.
She straightened her watercolors, reassuring herself once more that the Duke of Ashbourne was of no concern to her when the sound of a door closing down the hall shot through the stillness of the drawing room like an arrow piercing the center of its target.
Viv shot to her feet, her skirts falling about her in a rush of muslin. Louisa got to her feet with far more gentility, but Johanna not only surged to her feet but ran the few steps to stand between her sisters.
“He’s gone to see Andrew.”
Johanna needn’t have whispered it so scandalously. Eliza’s heart already threatened to pop directly out of her chest. Henry whimpered at her side, and she absently scratched his head again, her watercolors completely forgotten.
She left the sanctuary of the piano, moving toward the safety of her sisters, her eyes unable to leave the door, her ears straining to hear even the slightest noise.
“He wouldn’t—” The words stuck in her throat like a chimney sweep’s broom in a clogged flue. “He wouldn’t be asking for my hand already. Would he?” She asked the question of Viv, the most experienced of all the sisters, but her eyes refused to leave the door.
She felt Louisa’s hand touch her arm even as she couldn’t look to acknowledge the comfort.
Viv shook her head. “He can very well do what he wishes. He is a duke after all.” The cynicism in her voice was not missed by Eliza and likely not her sisters, but none of them commented.
Minutes passed, and none of the Darby sisters moved. The door was like a siren, and they were victims to its call.
Henry resumed his place next to Eliza, and she set a hand atop his hand, drawing comfort in the familiar roughness of his coat, the way his heat seemed to calm her nerves. Somewhere a clock ticked. Carriages rattled by on the street outside. Louisa swallowed. That’s how deathly still they were. She could hear her sister swallow beside her.
Finally, somewhere in the bowels of the house, footsteps. They were so faint and yet, so unmistakably clear.
Someone was coming.
“It’s Andrew.” Louisa gasped.
“Quick. We mustn’t act as though we’ve been waiting.” Viv waved her hands at the seats.
“I should hardly think that’s necessary.” Johanna remained where she was, moving only to put her hands on her hips.
Viv frowned. “Why ever not?”
As soon as the question was asked, the door opened. It was as if a locomotive had careened into the drawing room, leaving a trail of grease all across the Aubusson rugs.
But it was only Mallard.
“Because we didn’t hear Andrew’s door open,” Johanna said with a polite smile for the butler.
Viv slowly closed her eyes, never one to show her frustration with her younger sisters. Eliza scratched at Henry’s head furiously, and he pushed at her hand with his nose. She looked down at him apologetically.
“I thought you might want for some fresh tea, Your Grace,” he said with a bow to Viv.
She smiled, folding her hands in her lap. “That would be quite wonderful. Thank you, Mallard.” She said nothing more but tilted her head ever so much to the right.
Mallard gave a nod and without further prompting said, “His Grace has granted an audience to the Duke of Ashbourne. He asked specifically for the duke upon his arrival.”
Viv’s smile broadened. “Very good, Mallard. Thank you.”
The butler withdrew, and as if his existence pulled the oxygen from the room with him, Louisa let out a magnificent sigh.
“This is entirely too much.” She turned to Eliza, her gaze penetrating. “Whatever did you speak of with the duke to cause such a swift reaction?”
“Hounds.” The word propelled itself from her lips. The only thing she could really say.
For how was she to tell her sisters the simple touch of his hand at her waist had made her…whimper? The memory of his scent haunted her? The warm browns of his eyes reminded her of…Henry’s.
She gave herself a mental shake.
He hardly reminded her of a dog. That wasn’t the case. But his eyes.
God, his eyes went on forever.
She didn’t know that was possible in a creature other than a dog.