Page 79 of In Service to the Duke

Margaret and Elizabeth lean over, their impressionable eyes wide with curiosity. “Yes! Please! Regale us,” Margaret cries out. “I must know how you ensnared one so recalcitrant as my oaf of a brother.”

“You mustn't speak of him that way,” she murmurs, ducking her head. “It isn’t polite.”

“Come now,” my sister continues to tease. “You are to be my sister. You no longer have need to correct me. That will be someone else’s job. Rather, for Elizabeth, seeing as I have all the knowledge I need.”

For a moment, Miss Gillet stares at my sister, her eyes widening. It’s as if it’s finally occurring to her that she will no longer be their finishing governess. Did she not think of this when she planned to trap me?

“Miss Gillet?” Her Grace of Foxford prods, resting her hand against her arm. “Are you well? We heard you had taken ill a bit back. Are you still not recovered?”

Miss Gillet clears her throat and shakes her head. “Forgive me. I must still be a bit piqued. I’m not used to having so many guests under one roof. Thank you for your inquiry. I am quite well.”

Seems as if my mother’s lessons have been paying off. Though Miss Gillet was soft-spoken when she first arrived here, she is now far more refined. However, all it does is make me want to take her back to my study and pull the pins from her hair, letting her luscious locks caress my skin.

I want to see her wild again, impassioned. Not this shell of a woman sipping her tea as if in front of the Queen. Granted, she is not familiar with my friends and the informality between us. No doubt she still feels far from her element.

“I would say it started when I nearly ran her over with my horse.” All eyes turn to me, including Miss Gillet’s. “I gave her quite the tongue-lashing, and yet, she did not wilt from my bluster.”

Both Foxford’s and my brother’s wife blush as they cast secretive glances over at their husbands. It’s not hard to tell what they’ll be talking about this evening. It was imprudent of me to bring it up, knowing my friends are familiar with my penchant for discipline.

“In truth,” Miss Gillet chimes in, a soft smile lifting her lips. “I have made it a habit to be a bit more aware of where I’m going.”

“I should say that’s wise,” Portswell calls out, walking into the breakfast room. “I know Blackport here is quite the stickler for rules. You’d do well to remember that when you make your vows to him.”

“Portswell,” I growl, noting the growing unease drifting off of Miss Gillet. “Would you do us the honor of actually sitting at the table like a gentleman? Or are you to be a specter drifting through?”

“I’m merely here to grab a biscuit then join the others in the parlor room. We are having a grand time depriving Redleigh of his coin.” The others snicker as he bounces away.

“Poor Redleigh,” Foxford cries out. “Will no one see to him?” Motioning to William, they give a brief nod to the ladies and depart.

“I suppose I should make sure they don’t fleece the poor man,” I grumble, taking one last sip of coffee.

Besides, the women would probably be more comfortable with just themselves. With my sisters there as chaperones, the conversations shouldn’t take too scandalous a turn. As if the heaven’s smile down on me, my mother shuffles in, her shaky gait, turning my mood sour.

She should be resting. All these preparations are sure to wear her out all the quicker. However, knowing she’ll be here to keep the conversation chaste allows me to join the others with little regret.

By the time I arrive, all my friends look up at me expectantly. There are no games afoot, no ribald conversations, only a singularly ugly vase and my supposed friends gathered around it.

“It’s your turn now, Brother,” William jokes, holding it out to me. “Though, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to be putting your lot in the pot so soon.”

With a sigh, I sit down and wave the damned thing away. “I’ll get the thousand pounds soon. You know I will not shirk my duties.”

“It’s not a duty, friend,” Whiteport hedges. “Just a friendly wager amongst allies.”

“Oh?” Raising an eyebrow, I pin him with a stare. “Is that to say you do not require it of me? Seems rather unfair to William and Foxford.”

“Robert. Is something the matter?” he questions, his eyes narrowing as he studies every reaction. “You seem more willing to go to an execution than to this wedding.”

With a sigh, I drop my head in my hands, unsure of where to begin. Though I wish to confide in them, to get their input on the matter, I fear the repercussions. Nothing said in this room will go beyond the walls. I know this, and yet…

The Dowding name has never known scandal. Even when Father took Mother as his wife, it was completely proper. Odd, but proper. To have his only son marry a governess as well… That might cause some speculation to whisper through the ton.

“Seriously,” Whiteport grinds out, his dark blue eyes turning a deeper cobalt. “You can confide in us.”

“I wish I could. But I’m still unsure of the events myself.”

Leaning forward, I let them in on everything, putting forth all the details I know. Unfortunately, the bunch is no help at all. They seem split between whether or not she meant to trap me or if she’s innocent.

The few who wish me to hear her out are ones already saddled with women they would walk to the ends of the earth for. Their thoughts are so consumed with their mates that they cannot see anything else. Shaking my head, I hold out a finger, motioning for them to stay put.