Page 89 of An Unwanted Bride for the Duke
It was such a small gesture, and yet it somehow felt far more personal than the enormous draft he had sent for the dresses. She lifted the scarf carefully and draped it across her shoulders before turning towards the mirror.
The silk rested softly against her skin. Almost as though it had been placed there by his own hands.
Her fingers lingered against the delicate fabric as a thousand unanswered questions filled her mind once again.
If this marriage truly was only duty...
...why did every gesture from Damien feel so heartbreakingly tender?
The polished brass plaque outside Boodle's gleamed beneath the afternoon sun as Damien climbed the familiar stone steps. Ordinarily, entering the gentlemen's club settled his mind. The quiet murmur of noblemen discussing Parliament, investments and horseflesh had always felt comfortably predictable. Today itonly irritated him. His thoughts remained hopelessly fixed upon a lady who would soon become his wife.
A liveried servant bowed respectfully before leading him through richly furnished rooms lined with dark oak paneling and portraits of long-forgotten aristocrats. Gentlemen occupied leather chairs with newspapers spread before them while others lingered over cigars and brandy. At the rear of the dining room, one man immediately caught Damien's attention. Benedict lounged in his chair with all the elegance of a man who had never hurried anywhere in his life.
Benedict, Duke of Northwick, rose theatrically the moment Damien approached, spreading his arms as though greeting a victorious general returning from war. His unique eyes, one green, one blue sharp, his handsome face wore its usual irrepressible grin, and several ladies across London had undoubtedly wept over that smile.
"Damien!" Benedict exclaimed, clasping his friend's forearm before dropping back into his chair. "At last. Sit down before I begin believing Amberhall has kidnapped you. How was it?"
Damien lowered himself opposite him with a weary sigh and loosened his gloves. "Do not ask me about the house party."
Benedict blinked before slowly leaning backwards in exaggerated alarm. "Good Lord," he declared. He glanced towards the nearby attendant and raised two fingers. "My good fellow, I believe this conversation requires an entire bottle of your finest brandy."
The servant inclined his head politely. "At once, Your Grace."
As the attendant departed, Benedict folded his hands beneath his chin and regarded Damien with unconcealed amusement. The silence lasted scarcely three seconds before Damien decided to redirect the conversation.
"How was your visit to Northwick?" Damien asked, reaching for the bread already resting upon the table.
Benedict groaned so loudly that two gentlemen glanced in their direction before politely pretending they had heard nothing. "Utterly dreadful," he complained, buttering a slice of bread with unnecessary force. "I would have preferred accompanying you to the house party, but duty called. Estate ledgers, tenant disputes, roof repairs, and sheep. An entire week discussing sheep."
Damien raised one brow.
"I assure you," Benedict continued mournfully, "there are only so many intelligent observations a man can make regarding sheep before questioning every decision that led him to adulthood."
Despite everything weighing upon him, Damien found the corner of his mouth twitching.
Benedict pointed triumphantly with his butter knife. "There! I almost made you smile. Amberhall has not completely destroyed your soul after all." He leaned forward eagerly. "Now tell mewhy that house party appears to have ruffled your feathers so thoroughly."
Before Damien could answer, the servant returned balancing a silver tray. He carefully arranged a crystal bottle of aged brandy between them alongside two heavy glasses and another basket of steaming bread wrapped neatly in linen.
Benedict watched impatiently until the glasses had been filled.
The attendant remained standing. "Will Your Graces require anything further this evening?"
"Yes. We shall dine here. Bring whatever is being served," Damien said.
"Roast beef with buttered vegetables and potatoes this evening, Your Grace."
"Very good."
The servant bowed once more before disappearing towards the kitchens.
The moment he vanished, Benedict reached immediately for the decanter and refreshed both glasses though neither required refreshing.
"Now," Benedict said, lifting his drink expectantly. "Out with it."
Damien stared into the amber liquid swirling inside his glass. It suddenly seemed considerably easier to face Parliament than this conversation. Finally he drew a measured breath.
"I'm engaged."
