Page 14 of To Steal a Duchess

“And you are one of those ladies,” Lord Langford mused, “that pretend flattery does nothing, but deep down they are secretly pleased.”

“Heavens,” Dorian muttered. “Do end this, Langford, or you will make a fool of yourself.”

“I shall make a fool of myself if Lady Nancy agrees to let me fetch her a drink so I may get to know her.”

Lady Nancy sighed, casting a glance at Eloise, the two of them laughing quietly. “I do believe you must say that to every lady that takes your fancy for an evening. I am honored, my lord, but today I am focusing on my friend’s wedding. I am not on the hunt for a flirtatious conversation that ends in… well, nothing.”

Gideon’s eyes lit up the moment Lady Nancy called her search for men a hunt, and Dorian knew that, rather than be deterred, his friend would only perk up more at the opportunity to chase her. He rarely had to chase, and he would enjoy the change of pace.

“Well.” Dorian cleared his throat to interrupt the back and forth before Gideon could say anything else that would get him into trouble. “If you do not mind, I shall take my duchess aside so we may discuss our departure. We have a relatively long journey ahead of us, and I do not want to delay a single second.”

“For one night, Oldcliff, you can let that control go,” Gideon snorted. “It is your wedding day! Stay, linger, drink a little.”

“I am certain the duchess is eager to get settled in her new home,” Dorian countered. “If you will excuse us⁠—”

But before he could pull his wife more than ten steps away from their friends, Lord and Lady Wittby appeared. Lord Wittby’s attire showed the long day already, and his cheeks were flushed with the wine Dorian had imported for the occasion. His top button was unfastened, his cravat loose, and hair falling, limp with sweat, over his forehead.

In comparison, at his side, Lady Wittby looked as put-together as she had when arriving at the church, but her face was set into a scowl, as though she was aware enough of her husband’s ruffled appearance.

Her face lit up at the sight of Dorian and Eloise, and she floated toward them on elegant feet. “My darling! Oh, how stunning you look.” She clasped her daughter’s face.

Once again, Dorian noticed how Eloise stiffened. She did not look her mother’s touch; she did not seem to like a great deal about her mother in general regarding the way she acted toward her.

“I would have chosen a different coiffure for you, had you let me be involved, but never mind,” the woman sighed. “This has done fine enough, I suppose.”

“I think her hair looks beautiful.” Dorian froze at his own comment, not knowing why he had let such a vulnerable compliment slip out, but it did.

Like the kiss at the altar, it made him feel as though he was losing his grip on his control and composure.

Even Eloise spared him a questioning glance as though it confused her to hear that he thought of her being beautiful.

She quickly turned back to her mother. “Well, the day has finished now,” Eloise said. “I am to depart with His Grace for Oldcliff Hall shortly.”

“I cannot wait for my invitation, dear,” Lady Wittby giggled. “Oh, I shall invite so many friends! They will be so jealous of me—of us, of course.”

“It is His Grace’s decision regarding guests, Mama. I will not have anybody there that is unwelcome.”

Lady Wittby looked at Dorian hopefully, but he pretended to check his pocket watch as though eager to leave. He was, in truth, but he also didn’t want to outright disrespect the countess by refusing guests.

Nobody attended Oldcliff Hall. Even the thought of letting Eloise into his home did not sit entirely comfortably with him.

It was not a matter of trust; it was a matter of how many secrets lived within the halls, of Dorian being known so personally, of sharing his space and home and not being able to direct what happened within the walls of the manor.

What would he do when Lady Eloise lived with him?

His stomach sank.

Guests, his wife, her friend, her family—what could he do? How could he control who entered his estate?

Still, Dorian kept a straight face as his stomach spun.

“Very well,” Lady Wittby sniffed, her eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction, but her smile remained firmly in place. It was ingenuine, tightly held together for the sake of being seen. “Then let me leave you with a last reminder that you must be the wife we have raised you to be. Remember your tutelage, Eloise, for it will serve you, especially as a duchess. Do not be foolish and think that just because you are now married, that you can slacken your propriety. You must be good, and you must be obedient.”

Before either Eloise or Dorian could answer, Lord Wittby cut in.

“His Grace has generously given us a great honor, and has sacrificed his wealth, the chance at your dowry, and his home, to take you as his duchess. The least he can ask of you is that you be the perfect wife he deserves, and the daughter we can be proud of. Do not let us down, Eloise, for if you do, I am certain we will hear of it.”

Eloise’s shoulders pushed back even further. It was like their scolding was only reminding her to stand straighter, to push her into composure she, by the sounds of it, had been trained for.