Two Turtledoves (7 page)

"Munro…" Baldwyn muttered as he wiped at the water
streaming down his face.

Munro immediately covered his mouth with his hand,
hiding the evidence of his amusement. "The dowager requests your
presence, your grace," he managed to choke out, and handed Baldwyn
a dry cloth.

"Munro, if I live through this day, you and I shall
have a lengthy discussion about your continued employment upon my
return." Baldwyn knew it was his own fault for scaring him, but it
seemed rather obvious that one way or another he was going to be on
the receiving end of that icy shower.

"Forgive me, your grace," he muttered. "But the
dowager has given you a mere fifteen minutes. You're down to ten."
Were Baldwyn's eyes playing tricks on him, or did he see a shiver
of fear in his valet's shoulders as the man worked to lay out
Baldwyn's clothes?

The Dowager Duchess of Durbin could strike fear in
the stoutest of hearts. One could hardly blame the young valet.

"Very well, Munro," he conceded. "I shall make haste
for your sake. And when I return, I will share my brandy with you.
I'm certain after a day in this house, you will have earned
it."

"Not to worry, your grace. The house staff keeps a
fine liquor cabinet well-stocked in the servants' wing."

Naturally,
Baldwyn thought.
And who could
blame them?
He rushed to ready himself for the visit to
Benedict. Lord Marks would have to wait his turn.

****

Sunlight streamed through the windows, nagging at
Anastasia's closed eyes. Her lady's maid pushed the curtains back
with surprisingly little care for how much noise she was
making.

Anastasia flinched in complaint at the brightness of
the daylight infringing on her rest. She felt as though she hadn't
had a wink of sleep all night. Her eyelids were swollen and heavy
from the tears she had indulged in throughout the restless hours,
replaying the events of the evening over and over in her mind.

"Trudy," she whined pitifully.

The girl turned to her with an apology in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, milady. The earl asked me to wake you. The duke will be
comin' this mornin'. Yer father wants you to receive him and keep
him busy until he can finish his mornin' business."

Keep him busy?
How was she to accomplish that?
She could see it now, the whole conversation…

You look well, your grace.

I hope you've learned your lesson, child. Proper
girls do not go into dark gardens with Spaniards.

Yes, your grace. I'm sorry.

Yes. Yes, you are. Very sorry indeed. Perhaps your
nanny should accompany you to your next event. To wipe your nose
and keep your gloves clean.

My father has said as much, your grace.

Excellent. Now where is he? I grow tired of this
childish conversation.

"I've laid out your blue afternoon dress, milady.
Cook is already setting out the morning meal."

Anastasia groaned and rolled out of bed. The day
ahead would be long and trying. She steeled her nerves and reached
for her slippers.

****

His grandmother's rush had deprived him of his
morning meal, but fortunately, Benedict's kitchen staff had already
laid a suitable spread.

The dowager had been in such a fit this morning, she
hadn't uttered a word the entire way to the Banbury house. She
simply stared straight forward, clenched her hands tightly in her
lap, and periodically heaved an exasperated huff.

At one point Baldwyn opened his mouth to ask her if
she was well but thought better of it when he noticed the vein
straining in her temple. A sign he had long ago learned meant his
grandmother was not to be trifled with.

Now as he sat in Benedict's place at the table, he
couldn't keep the smile of relief from playing at his lips at the
fact that his cousin was the object of her wrath rather than
himself. He lifted a hot scone to his mouth and took a large
bite.

Benedict wouldn't mind. In fact, it would come as
quite a surprise to Baldwyn if the man had any appetite left after
dealing with the dowager this morning.

A maid poured him a cup of tea, but when he reached
for it, he heard a throat clearing beside him. Baldwyn glanced up
to the man standing at his elbow with a bottle on a silver
tray.

"For your tea, your grace."

"My tea?" Benedict certainly had strange habits.
Whiskey in his morning tea? He regarded the footman with suspicion
for a moment.

"You are staying with the dowager, are you not?"

Baldwyn stared at him. His cousin was a genius.

"Indeed," Baldwyn said as he chuckled, reached for
the bottle, then changed his mind. Liquor on his breath when he met
with the dowager would not be the most brilliant of strategies.
Above him the crystal chandelier trembled with the vibrations of
his grandmother's raised voice. The same shiver seemed to course
around the room, leaping from one servant to the next.

He hesitated for an instant, eyeing the bottle once
more. Then he shook his head adamantly and waved the footman
off.

A few minutes later, Benedict burst into the
room.

"She's fainted again!" he bellowed to his servants.
"Where are the smelling salts?" One of the maids leapt into action,
exiting immediately to retrieve the smelling salts.

"Again?" Baldwyn asked, wiping the last few crumbs
from his lips. "How often does this occur?" He stood to join
Benedict near the door.

"Occasionally," Benedict replied.

"Perhaps it is a ruse?" Baldwyn suggested. He hadn't
known her to garner attention through a farce in the past, but in a
situation such as this, where she might feel her stratagems falling
flat, there was no telling to what depths she would stoop.

"Perhaps. I had just told her I had plans to ruin
Lady Katherine," he said with a calculated wink. "Then again, the
shock of my exploits being plastered in all the gossip papers could
easily be the culprit."

"The dowager is never shocked, Benedict. She knows of
every scandal before it even happens."

Benedict shook his head mournfully. "The truth of
that statement pains me."

"It pains us all." Baldwyn rested a hand on his
cousin's shoulder. An abrupt change of subject was in order. He
cleared his throat. "I have an appointment this morning with Lord
Marks. Will you see the dowager home?"

The Marks' butler met Baldwyn at the door the moment
he raised the brass knocker. He was promptly ushered through the
foyer to the salon.

"Lord Marks is occupied, your grace. The lady of the
house will receive you. If you will please be seated, Lady
Anastasia will be with you in a moment."

Baldwyn's nerves protested, but he waited in the
salon as instructed. After the night before, he wasn't certain what
he would say to her. He had behaved horribly.

Not that any man would have handled the situation
better than he had. It was only the previous day he had arrived
from Scotland, been informed of the betrothal, announced his
engagement to a girl he hadn't seen in years, rescued her from a
fate worse than death, kissed her senseless, and scolded her
ruthlessly. All in all, he had made a thorough fool of himself.

He stood rather than sat, since he hardly felt at
ease.

The doors opened, and Lady Anastasia entered,
followed by her lady's maid, a proper escort.

It was impossible not to notice that her hair was
down, draped carelessly over her shoulders. Did she not expect his
visit? Why would a proper young lady receive a gentleman caller
without her hair properly arranged?

He was staring. He knew he was, but he could no more
pry his gaze from her soft wavy chestnut locks and the way they
framed her ivory face than he could will his heart to stop
beating.

"Good morning, your grace," she said, interrupting
his silent appreciation of the vision before him. She tilted her
head to the side and regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "Are you
well?"

"Yes." He shook he head slightly to clear it. "Yes.
Pardon me, my lady. I was just—" He stared at her and gestured with
a sweep of his hand. "I — your hair."

"My hair?" A look of confused horror blazed in her
dark eyes, and she lifted a hand to examine what was amiss. From
the expression on her face, it seemed she had no idea of her lack
of preparedness for this meeting. "Oh dear!" She covered her mouth
with her other hand and glanced to her maid.

"Trudy—" Her voice seemed to freeze in the air, and
the maid's gasp mirrored the lady's mortification.

"I imagine the damage is already done." In more ways
than one. Did she know what her appearance brought to mind?

Brown hair spilled nearly to her waist, and he was
having a devil of a time keeping his eyes from following the silky
tendrils as they danced along her body and rose and fell with her
breath. And Baldwyn realized anew that Lady Anastasia was indeed no
longer a child.

"Forgive me, your grace, I was a bit rushed this
morning." Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. Baldwyn couldn't
tear his eyes from her, and she cringed under the weight of his
steady gaze. Her eyes darted to her maid once more as she gathered
her hair and twisted it behind her head. Perhaps silently pleading
for the girl to do something about her current state.

The girl disappeared through the door without another
word, leaving them quite alone.

He had told himself the night before that his
interest in the lady was a fluke. That he wasn't truly attracted to
her, but had been swept up in the passion of the moment. Now he
wasn't so sure.

But there was one way to prove it to himself.

She was his betrothed, after all.

And the maid had left them alone.

****

After the previous night, the only thing Anastasia
could think of was being kissed by the duke. Her mind had been a
thousand miles away. Little wonder how she had gotten all the way
to the salon without realizing her hair was still down. But as he
said, the damage was already done.

Baldwyn was staring at her with the most frightening
look in his eyes. As if he couldn't believe her wantonness. She sat
down on the settee to prepare herself for another scolding. Surely
he must believe her to be the worst kind of misbehaving child. She
glanced at her hands, awaiting his lecture.

When it didn't come, she looked up to find him
standing in front of her.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the seat beside
her.

"Yes, of course." Anastasia scooted further to her
side, leaving him plenty of room. Her heart skipped a beat at his
nearness.

"I would like to offer an apology, my lady, for last
night. My behavior was inexcusable." His words caught her
completely off-guard. He was apologizing? A duke? "My grandmother's
dictum came as a… surprise. I—" Out of the corner of her eye, she
noticed him fidgeting with his gloves. "I thought perhaps I might
have a few years more before being forced to marry."

Ah. So there it was.
She was his burden to
bear. Hardly the romantic love affair she had imagined all these
years. Her long sigh gave away her disappointment.

"I mean to say, as a matter of course, I fully intend
to do my duty, my lady. You have nothing to fear from me. From here
on out I will behave as the perfect gentleman where you are
concerned."

Her heart sank to her slippers. That was a shame.

The maid swept back into the room with a handful of
pins and made short work of securing Anastasia's wayward tresses on
the back of her head.

"Thank you, Trudy."

****

He simply couldn't go through with it. No matter how
much he desired to test his theories.

The girl was young, unspoiled, and it hardly seemed
fair to ravage her here in her father's house when they scarcely
knew each other. They would be married soon enough, and then he
would claim his rights.

Baldwyn had withstood temptation once or twice
before, though he didn't make a common practice of it.

However, if she ever wore her hair down in his
presence again, he couldn't say for certain that would remain the
case.

In the meantime, it would be best to keep their
social visits as public as possible. For though he had resolved to
treat her as a sister, he knew he couldn't trust his carnal nature
if it was given half a chance. As evidence he could still feel her
soft lips against his from the night before at Montmouth's ball,
and they had been alone for mere minutes.

The butler entered as if on cue. "The earl will see
you now, your grace. If you will please follow me."

Baldwyn rose from his place next to Lady Anastasia
and bowed slightly in her direction. "It has indeed been a
pleasure. If you will please excuse me." He followed the butler
toward the door, but stopped just short of leaving with one last
thought. "May I ask your father's permission to invite you to this
evening's opera, my lady?"

"That would be lovely." She didn't smile at him but
seemed to be scrutinizing his intentions through narrowed eyes.

"Until this evening then."

****

"Your grace," Lord Marks greeted him as he entered
the older man's study. "A pleasure to see you again."

"The pleasure is mine, sir," Baldwyn replied. He had
always admired the earl and enjoyed his company. One more reason to
treat the girl with the utmost respect. Baldwyn had no desire to
break trust with Lord Marks.

For all her tiresome meddling, his grandmother could
not have chosen a more amiable family with whom to align.

"Your grandmother is a fearsome adversary, is she
not?" Lord Marks had always been direct. A trait Baldwyn
appreciated.

"More so than Napoleon, sir."