Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

Julian nodded to his sister-in-law. “You are looking well, Lorelei,” he said. “A lovely gown you’re wearing. The purple satin is regal. I saw Devlin. He should be coming over when the waltz ends.”

Her grace, Lorelei Monroe, looked him up and down. “Why are you not out sailing on one of your merchant ships, Julian, or perhaps stacking up coins in your countinghouse?”

An immediate attack, no shallying about for Lorelei. Julian gave her a lazy smile. She was older than his own mother, and she looked it, knew it, and it galled her to her toes or her purple slippers.

He said, the smile still on his mouth, “A man can never have too many coins to stack, I always say. You are a shining light tonight, ma’am, the purple suits you admirably. All other ladies dim in your presence, with the exception, of course, of my mother.”

“Young man, my shine comes from within, all remark upon it. Your compliments began splendidly, but they died quickly. And coming from you—her spawn—I know they must be lies, no matter how you slither around with very nice-sounding words. What are you doing here? As to that, what are you doing here, Corinne?”

The ladies landed.

Corinne ignored her daughter-in-law and stepped forward, immediately enfolding Sophie in her arms. “Ah, dear Sophie, how very beautiful you look. Your lovely gown—when I looked at your gown this morning, I knew it would suit you to perfection. You look so like your dear mama. She would be so very proud of you.” And her grace, the dowager Duchess of Brabante, gulped down tears.

Sophie found herself patting the dowager Duchess’s back and staring helplessly at Roxanne.

Roxanne said matter-of-factly, “Sophie is indeed a vision, your grace.”

“Which grace?” Lorelei Monroe turned her dark eyes on the lady with her common red hair.

“Are you a grace as well?” Roxanne asked, her voice guileless.

Not for an instant did Julian believe her ignorant, not with the deviltry in those green eyes of hers.

Lorelei drew herself up. She was impressive; all remarked on it. Many feared her, as was proper. She would depress this redheaded baggage. “I am the Duchess of Brabante, young lady. This one here”—she gave a curt nod toward Corinne—“isn’t. She is naught but a dowager Duchess, and she never would have been even that, had my dear father-in-law not lost his wits in his dotage and married her, and would you look at the result of that?” Her eyes flicked toward Julian.

Corinne was so used to this litany of insults, they bounced off her lovely yellow sleeves. She said, “Actually, Miss Radcliffe, the both of us are graces, and his grace never lost his wits. He was thrilled when Julian was born. Now, let me make you known to everyone.”

Corinne made the introductions, gave Lorelei a look to dare her to be nasty, and was promptly taken up on her dare.

7

Lorelei said, “I do not know either of you, but I must question your affiliations, seeing that you are here with this one. You are both too tall to be pleasing. As for your hair, Miss Radcliffe, the less said the better. You,” she continued to Sophie, “are passable, I suppose. I very much like your hairstyle, though it renders you even taller.

“Ah, here comes my dear son, the Earl of Convers, you know. He will become the Duke of Brabante when his father sheds this mortal coil.”

“Which I hope will not be for a very long time,” Devlin said, laughing, and kissed his mother’s white cheek—not as white as his, even powdered—and turned to the young ladies. “Ah, so you’re Sophie Wilkie. Julian has told me all about you.”

“Your mama told me all about you, sir,” Sophie said, but it took a moment for Devlin to turn his attention to her, since he was looking at Roxanne. He’d never before in his life seen such glorious hair. Well, he’d seen red hair, actually. Alexandra Sherbrooke, the Countess of Northcliffe, had beautiful red hair, but the red of Roxanne’s hair was different.

Corinne was frowning a bit when she said, “Sophie, my dear, this is his lordship, Devlin Monroe.”

Devlin kissed her wrist as he bowed. “I’m Julian’s nephew.”

Julian said, “More accurate, he is the madman who tried to kill us both on my yacht some years back.”

“I have constantly advised you to keep your distance from this person, my son,” Lorelei said. “He may be your step-uncle, but he is much too dangerous for you, too wild and unpredictable. I do not wish for such a connection for you. And he simply fell off the face of the earth for three years.”

Julian laughed. “It really was your son, madam, who nearly rammed us into another sailboat, this one filled with drunk young gentlemen. We all survived the encounter; Devlin survived it very well, he has told me.”

“Unfair, Julian,” Devlin said. “They nearly rammed us; I was trying to steer clear of them. You are purposefully disremembering. Miss Wilkie, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He looked at Roxanne, straight in her green eyes. “Ah, and you are the elderly spinster companion Julian told me about. Perhaps I may fetch you a warm shawl? Or perhaps I may bring you a chair so you may rest? A cane?”

Roxanne looked into that far-too-handsome pale face and grinned like a bandit. “I very much like to sail. Unfortunately, all my life I have been landlocked, well west of York, you know, and my father is afraid of the water, having nearly drowned when he was a boy. I thank the good Lord for delivering up a very cordial gentleman with a lovely sailboat in Brighton.” And she eyed Julian as she shuddered with pleasure at the memory.

Julian stared at her, fascinated. “You said all that without a single pause. I am impressed, ma’am.”

Roxanne gave him a regal nod that still held wickedness. Sophie determined to practice it in front of her mirror. “You are too facile with your praise, sir, but it is true, we all have our little talents. At least some of us do.” Roxanne studied the man Corinne wished Sophie to marry. He looked like a pirate, dark, too dark, at least in comparison to Devlin Monroe, his half-nephew. He did have wit, though, and wealth. Still, Roxanne could not like it. He was too old for Sophie, it was as simple as that. An even greater age difference was more common than not, but still, this man knew things, he’d experienced things no young lady should know about—maybe even things at her advanced age she shouldn’t know about—and that made her shiver. He was far too handsome for his own good, and probably a conceited buffoon.

Devlin remarked, “Does that ability to speak without breath develop with age, ma’am?”