Page 61 of How to Tempt a Duke

No doubt it was meant to entice her. Yet the delivery served quite the opposite. The bright blooms inspired no affection in her. They didn’t even hold a modicum of cheer. Rather they were a symbol of an ominousness that was far too imminent: her engagement.

It was through will alone that she did not give way to the threat of tears. After all, she’d yielded to the luxury of such emotion once she’d gone to bed the prior evening. Her eyes were still gritty with the aftereffects and slightly swollen.

The door to her bedchamber swung open abruptly and startled her into surprise. Amelia quickly closed the door and ran—truly ran—to Eleanor.

Amelia’s hands fluttered anxiously in front of her. “My lady, he’s here. I think to ask for Her Ladyship’s blessing.”

Eleanor’s stomach dropped like a heavy stone. “But I thought I had at least until tonight?”

Amelia shook her head and her mobcap flapped around her narrow face. “Not the Earl of Devonington, my lady. The Duke of Somersville.”

Eleanor stared at her maid, sure she’d heard incorrectly. “I beg your pardon?”

“The Duke of Somersville.” Amelia bounced up and down in a bundle of excitement. “I think he’s here to seek your hand in marriage.”

Eleanor’s pulse tripped and then wildly scrambled on at an erratic pace. Elation and excitement, pure and undeniable, thrilled through her. But surely he wouldn’t truly offer. He had never expressed interest in marriage. As it was, he had needed time to consider her request even when he was not likely to have to honor it.

She shook her head, determined to tamp down the flame of insipid hope. “How do you know that’s why he’s here?”

Amelia grinned. “Because he’s telling the Countess not to allow you to marry Devonington.”

Eleanor leapt to her feet, unable to stop the foolish jolt to her heart. If there was a possibility of being with Charles she would not lose it—especially not for the likes of the Earl of Devonington.

“My lady, stop.”

Eleanor stopped and turned back to Amelia. “Yes?”

“You shouldn’t go.”

Eleanor gawked at her maid. “You told me he was here to put an end to this dreadful engagement with Devonington. Why would you stop me?”

“This way if anyone asks you can tell them I told you not to go and not be lying about it.” Amelia winked and shooed at Eleanor. “Go on, now.”

Eleanor flew from her room and went as quickly as she dared down to the first floor, where she leaned her ear toward the crack between the double doors of the drawing room and strained to listen.

Charles’s voice was the first she heard. “Your Ladyship, if you would only give me a chance.”

Eleanor’s heart soared with recognition. It truly was Charles. He had actually come here to seek her mother’s permission to marry her. Just as Amelia had said.

“Your Grace, you demand my daughter not marry another, and yet you have no one else to recommend.” The Countess’s tone was on the verge of exasperation.

“I do have someone to suggest.”

Charles’s deep voice rumbled through the doors. Eleanor could scarcely breathe. Would he suggest himself?

The clink of a glass sounded. “By all means,” said the Countess with some amusement.

Eleanor held her breath to ensure she would not miss a single word.

“Viscount Rawley.”

Had Eleanor not been pressed to the door, she might have toppled over. Viscount Rawley?

“Viscount Rawley?” Her mother’s incredulity matched Eleanor’s own.

“He is responsible, mild-mannered, considerate.” Charles rattled off the attributes like one might a list of items to obtain from the market. “He would be a loyal husband, and one with whom I believe Lady Eleanor might find happiness.”

“Viscount Rawley has not asked for her hand but the Earl of Devonington has.” The pause suggested the Countess was delivering one of her powerful pointed stares. “Will that be all?”