Turning the fragile glass balloon he held so that the candlelight caught and reflected from the golden liquid within, Dominic found himself staring at the glowing colour, the same colour as her eyes. With an effort, he withdrew his gaze and found his head butler engaged in the demeaning task of making up the fire.
“Duckett, I have a problem.”
“My lord?”
“A problem with a lady, you understand.”
“I understand perfectly, my lord.”
“I sincerely doubt it,” replied Dominic. He eyed his henchman appraisingly. It wasn’t the first time he had unburdened himself to Duckett, and doubtless wouldn’t be the last. Duckett had started service as a stableboy with his grandfather. He had rapidly progressed through the ranks, reaching his present position shortly after Dominic had attained his majority. They’d been firm friends forever, it seemed, despite a good twenty years’ difference in age.
“I’d value your opinion, Duckett.”
“Very good, m’lord.” With the fire blazing, Duckett rose and unobtrusively busied himself, straightening books and stacking magazines.
“The situation,” said Dominic, “can only be described as delicate. The lady in question is both young and innocent. The crux of the problem is that she has great difficulty in believing herself to be loved.”
Dominic waited for some response, but none came. He turned and saw Duckett flicking the dust from a book before replacing it on the shelf.
“Are you listening, Duckett?”
“Naturally, m’lord.”
Dominic let his head fall back against the chair. “Very good.” Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he went on, “This being so, the said lady invents the most tortuous reasons to account for my wanting to marry her, and for refusing my suit. The first was that I was in love with a courtesan and intended marrying her. Having convinced her this was untrue, I then found she believed that I wished to marry her in order to gain title to the Place, which she owns. Owned, I should say, because today I bought it from her. The t
itle-deed now resides in my strong-box and has lost all relevance to the proceedings. The last twist in the tale is that she now perceives that I feel I must marry her because, due to the public nature of my pursuit of her, not to do so would leave her open to the usual opprobrium.” Dominic paused to take a swig of the fiery liquid in his glass. “You now have the facts, Duckett. I am presently searching for ways and means of removing her to a suitably isolated locale, sufficiently private to allow me to convince her that I do in fact love her while at the same time rendering her opinion on the subject irrelevant.”
A slight frown marred Duckett’s majestic countenance. “I take it the young lady returns your affections, my lord?”
“The young lady is head over heels in love with me, if you must know.”
“Ah,” said Duckett, nodding sagely. “Just so.”
Dominic eyed his impeccable retainer through narrowed eyes. Duckett’s gaze was fixed in the far distance. Then, quite suddenly, a smile quirked at the corners of his mouth.
“What are you thinking of, Duckett?”
The soft question brought Duckett to himself with a start. Then he smiled at his master. “It just occurred to me, m’lord, that now that you own the Place you’d want Jennings and me to put our people through it—to tidy it up, as it were.”
Puzzled, Dominic nodded. “Yes, but—”
Duckett held up a restraining hand. “That being so, m’lord, I dare say there’ll be personal belongings—things to do with the Hartleys—that we’d need to know what to do with. And, I should warn you, old Ben says the snows are no more than a few days away.”
Dominic’s eyes, vacant, remained trained on his butler’s face as the grandfather clock in the corner ticked on. Then, to Duckett’s relief, the blue gaze focused. Dominic smiled wickedly. “Duckett, prince of butlers, you’re a rascal. I’d be shocked, if I weren’t so grateful. No wonder I pay you so well.” Struggling upright, Dominic drained his glass and handed it to the waiting Duckett. “We’ll set out at first light.”
“Very good, m’lord,” replied Duckett.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BEING TRULY ALONE again was worse than Georgiana had expected. Bella’s brother had come to fill a void in her heart she hadn’t even known existed. Until he was gone.
Idly plying her needle over the slippers she intended leaving as a parting gift to Arthur, Georgiana stifled a despondent sigh. The day outside was dull and grey, but no more dismal than the state of her heart. Bella, reclining on the chaise in the middle of the room, flicking through the latest Ladies’ Journal, seemed almost as subdued as she. But, in her friend’s case, there was a peacefulness in her quiet which Georgiana, in her tortured state, could only envy.
The Season had come to an end two days before. During the last ball, at Lady Matcham’s, there had been much talk of country visits and plans for the annual festivities. Georgiana had listened and tried to summon an enthusiasm she could not feel. To her, the future looked cold and bleak. She waited for Arthur’s decision on when they would leave Green Street, Bella and he bound for Candlewick, she for the Continent. He had asked her if she would stay until his business in London was completed, to keep Bella company. Naturally, she could not possibly refuse such a request. Particularly now that Lord Alton had left London.
He had sent a short note to Bella, simply informing her he had business in the country and would welcome her to Candlewick whenever she chose to quit town.
There had been no word to Bella’s protégée.