“I have an excellent idea I shall not meet my future wife this evening because I am not looking for a wife this evening.” Speaking of wives, though, Taviston had completely lost track of Lady Tessa Colvin over the last ten days. S’pose it would be too much to hope the Northfields had invited her.
“That does not mean you will not meet her,” Dunne doggedly replied as he turned to fetch a waistcoat from the dressing room.
Taviston called after him. “Even if I were to meet her, she would never see the wrinkles. But if, by some strange chance, she did and was offended by them, why, I would never marry her anyway.”
“The wrinkles themselves would most likely not be offensive to a lady. However, the idea of a gentleman’s valet allowing him to leave the house in a wrinkled shirt would surely offend many a lady,” the older man informed him as he returned and helped Taviston slip into an emerald green waistcoat embroidered with an astonishingly bright yellow thread.
“Ah. So you are concerned for your own hide. Do not worry, Dunne, I shall never let my future wife decide the fate of my valet.”
“You, sir, have obviously never been in love.” Dunne disappeared again and returned with a white cravat.
“No, I haven’t. How does that bear on this absurd discussion?” Taviston took the cravat and tied it around his neck in the simplest knot known.
Dunne regarded his movements and heaved a huge sigh. “When you do fall in love, sir, you will realize you will do anything, and I do mean anything at all, for the one you love. In point of fact, you will probably find yourself doing things completely against your nature.” Dunne eyed the cravat with disdain and tried to slip in his usual request. “Might I refold it for you?”
Taviston glanced at him sideways. “No, you may not. You know full well I detest all of those fancy knots.” He looked back in the mirror. There was absolutely nothing wrong with a simply-tied cravat. He heard Dunne return once more to the dressing room and when he emerged this time, he held Taviston’s coat.
“I want you to know, that if I were to ever fall in love, it would not change me one bit. I am who I am, and I will not change for any woman.” Taviston slipped into the coat with help from Dunne.
“We shall see, sir. We shall see.” Dunne retrieved Taviston’s boots and waved him back into his chair. A minute later he was ready.
“Thank you, Dunne.”
“You are most welcome, Your Grace. Enjoy your evening and do give my regards to the future Duchess of Taviston.” Dunne had busied himself straightening toiletries and so evaded his employer’s searing look.
“Comedy is not your forte,
Dunne.”
“I am fortunate to be employed as a valet then, sir.”
Taviston left the room shaking his head. Perhaps there did come a time when a servant became overly familiar. But no, he wouldn’t trade Dunne for anyone else. As irritating as it was, the old man’s wisdom and advice usually turned out to hold true. The essential word there was “usually.” Taviston did not believe for a second anything the man had said about love tonight.
He gained the foyer, gave Halston a brief nod, and walked out the door. He was, as usual, walking to Northfield House. It wasn’t raining but the air was certainly heavy with moisture. It might very well be pouring by the time the dinner party came to an end. He wasn’t troubled by the thought of having to walk in the rain though. If it proved too wet, Northfield would be more than willing to provide him with transportation home.
As he strolled on, he had trouble keeping Miss Forster out of his mind. In truth the kiss she had stolen from him in the Burtons’ garden was never far from his thoughts. And the feel of her body in front of his in the saddle... Would he never be free of this unrelenting appetite for Miss Victoria Forster?
He was about to see her again. However, he was a man, not a boy and he would not be ruled by any one particular part of his anatomy, except his brain. With steely determination, he climbed the steps to Northfield House.
The butler, Jackson, showed him into the drawing room, where Northfield stood alone. After a quick greeting Northfield eyed the double doors and said, carefully avoiding Taviston’s gaze, “I should warn you.”
Silence followed.
Taviston looked at Northfield’s profile. “Please do. You sound entirely too dire.”
Still evading his gaze, Northfield replied, “Jane is intent on matchmaking this evening.”
Taviston laughed to himself. Nicely done of Northfield to put the blame on his wife. Taviston had known all along this party was about matchmaking, but he was surprised his friend had admitted it. It hardly mattered. He would make a match when he was good and ready—and he would choose the lady himself.
He nodded at his friend. “Duly noted.”
As they talked of Northfield’s infant son a breathless Jane entered.
“I am finally ready!” She bestowed a loving smile on her husband but eyed Taviston warily.
He couldn’t think why at first, but then realized he hadn’t seen Jane since the incident in the park. She was obviously unsure of how he would greet her.
All had turned out well in the end, so he smiled as charmingly as he could and reached for her hand. “Good evening, Jane. Thank you for inviting me to your party.” He kissed her hand lightly and then let it go.