Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

“The willow offers the most shade from the sunlight, he told me. It is all an affectation, Sophie. He likes to shock people, to make them shiver, I daresay, with his white face and all his little vampire remarks. Did he eye your neck?”

“Oh, goodness, I wonder if I should wear a high collar when I am with him?” And Sophie laughed.

Roxanne said, “Speaking of Devlin, after I danced with him he introduced me to another couple before bringing me back to Corinne. His name is James Sherbrooke, Lord Hammersmith, and I’ll tell you, Sophie, he is the most beautiful man I have seen in my life. His new wife was stylish and pleasant, pretty, certainly, but nothing like her husband. I could have been content to stare at him the rest of the night. Then Lady Hammersmith smacked Devlin’s shoulder. He gave her the sweetest smile and asked her if she still preferred that paltry viscount she’d married, who, he felt honor bound to point out, would never be a duke. I wondered if there had once been something between them.

“Then, while Devlin and Lord Hammersmith were conversing, Corrie—she insisted I call her by her first name, since Lady Hammersmith quite battered her down and made her nauseous, since she was breeding—well, she pulled me aside. She leaned close and asked me if I had yet offered Devlin my neck at midnight. I wanted to laugh, but I managed to hold my countenance and tell her I was already too pale and could not afford to lose any more color.” Roxanne paused, pleased with herself. “She was the one who laughed. As I said, her name is Corrie Sherbrooke, and I fancy we will see her again. I would like you to meet her. You will like her. Even if you don’t, you can kindly ask her to bring her husband when she visits, then you and I can stare at him. Do you know, I have a feeling she is well used to this.”

“I saw him,” Sophie said. “I didn’t know who he was, but looking back on it, I realize now it must have been him. I saw four young ladies were forming a circle around him, making it smaller and smaller, but he saved himself with no muss or fuss, merely nodded to a gentleman and eased past them.”

Mint appeared in the doorway. In his arms, he held a huge vase brimming with red roses. “Excuse me, Miss Roxanne, but I must tell you the drawing room is stuffed with flowers, and we must now consider other localities. Do you have a preference?”

“Since the bouquets were sent to Miss Sophie, Mint, then she must be the one to decide.”

“I should say the male offerings balance between the two of you, Miss Roxanne. These lovely blooms are for you.”

Roxanne raised a brow. “Who sent these?”

“Ah, let me see. How odd, the bouquet is not from a gentleman. The card is signed Corrie Sherbrooke.”

Roxanne threw back her head and laughed. “She is an original, Sophie. Mint, let’s place those lovely roses right here on the dining table, that’s right, in the very middle. Sophie, I’ve a fancy to visit her soon, all right?”

She paused, drummed her fingertips on the table. “Do you think it impertinent were we to ask to have her husband present?”

9

The only reason some people get lost in thought is because it’s unfamiliar territory.

—PAUL FIX

Lemington Square

THE FOLLOWING MORNING

The Duchess of Brabante demands to see you, Miss Sophie.” “How odd,” Roxanne said, and chewed her final bite of toast. “I was expecting the duchess later. She demands, Mint? What do you mean she demands to see Miss Sophie?”

“You are thinking of her very charming grace, the dowager Duchess of Brabante, Miss Roxanne. This is a duchess I have never seen before. She is a very forceful female, I might add. I have placed this duchess in the drawing room.”

“Oh, dear, is she wearing purple, Mint?”

“A cartload, Miss Roxanne.”

“So it is the current one—Lorelei, isn’t that her name, Sophie?”

“Oh, yes. I thought it a lovely name until I realized a battle-ax was wearing it. What can she want with me, Roxanne?”

“We will soon see.” Roxanne folded her napkin carefully and laid it gently beside her plate. She opened the door to the kitchen and called, “Mrs. Eldridge, the breakfast was lovely, thank you.” She heard a deep booming voice say she was pleased. Roxanne still couldn’t get over that voice coming out of the tiny Mrs. Eldridge.

Roxanne hummed as she straightened the lace at her throat, tweaked one of her braids back into place. Sophie was looking at her, a dark eyebrow raised. “Oh, I see, you want to make her pay.”

Roxanne turned to smile at her. “Let her cool her heels for a bit, whip her up into a purple froth. Hold still, Sophie, you have some toast crumbs on your sleeve.”

By the time the ladies walked into the drawing room, Mint behind them, Sophie realized she was no longer so terrified.

Roxanne said quietly, “This is our house, Sophie. Contrive not to forget that, all right?”

The Duchess of Brabante was standing by the lovely white Carrera marble fireplace, tapping the toe of one purple slipper, an exact match of the deep purple of her morning gown. She occupied about twelve feet of space, Roxanne thought, so many petticoats was she wearing to hold out that purple tent.

Both Roxanne and Sophie smiled and each gave her a lovely curtsy.