Page 18 of My Deal with the Wrong Duke

“How can you be certain?”

“Because I know what I want. I have known since the first time Frederick spoke to me at Lady Booth’s musicale. He asked me about the music, Eleanor. He noticed that I was listening. He saw me when no one else did.”

“He saw that you were standing near the pianoforte. That is proximity, not perception.”

The observation stung because it contained a grain of truth Louisa had spent two years carefully not examining. She picked up her own teacup. The tea had gone lukewarm. She drank it anyway.

“He is not what I expected,” Louisa said, steering the conversation toward safer ground. “For a duke, I mean. He does not behave the way I imagined dukes behave.”

“How does he behave?”

“He teases. He argues. He brought a written list of rules to Hyde Park this morning and then had the nerve to squint at his own handwriting as though someone else had written it.” Her mouth curved briefly at the memory, then settled. “But he listens, Eleanor. When I told him my conditions, he did not dismiss them. He agreed to let Frederick’s interest develop naturally. He agreed we would part at the end of the Season without obligation. He even insisted on a rule about honesty between us.”

“Honesty.” Eleanor’s brow lifted. “Between two people engaged in a deception.”

“Honesty with each other. Performance for everyone else.”

“How very tidy.”

“It is tidy. That is the point.” Louisa set her cup on the saucer. “Eleanor, this is the first time in two years that Frederick has looked at me with genuine curiosity. At Lady Hartley’s, he kept glancing toward us. He has never done that. Not once.”

“And that pleases you?”

“Of course it pleases me. It is the entire reason I agreed.” Louisa leaned forward, her hands clasped in her lap. “You have spent two Seasons telling me to walk across a room toward what I want. That is precisely what I am doing. The duke is simply helping me get there.”

Eleanor picked at her biscuit distractedly. “I only ask that you be careful. Arrangements between unequal parties have a way of shifting beneath your feet. You may believe the terms are clear, but you are spending the Season in close company with a man who has navigated London society for a decade. He understands this world far better than you do. That is not an insult.”

“I know it is not. It is why the arrangement works.”

“It is also why it concerns me.” Eleanor’s voice dropped, not for effect, but because the words required it. “You have a generous heart, Louisa. You always have. And generous hearts are not well suited to arrangements that require pretending.”

Louisa’s fingers stilled in her lap. “I am not going to do anything foolish, I promise.”

“I am not suggesting you will. I am merely saying that you should guard yourself. Against the arrangement. Against the attention. Against the flattery of being seen by a man the whole of England is watching.”

“The whole of England is watching him. Not me.”

“They will be watching you now. That is rather my point.”

“And among them is Frederick. Frederick will be watching me. For the first time, I feel as though he might actually see me.” The feeling behind the words was genuine, rooted deep, nourished by two years of quiet hoping. “I have spent so long watching him from across rooms. This arrangement gives me the chance to stand where he can find me.”

“Then I hope he finds you,” Eleanor said. “I hope he sees exactly who you are. And I hope he is worth what you are risking to reach him.”

“He is.”

“Then I shall stop lecturing.” Eleanor picked up the teapot. “More tea?”

“Please.”

Eleanor poured. Louisa accepted the fresh cup, let the heat press through the porcelain into her palms. The ritual steadied her.

“Has Charlotte written from Bath?” Louisa asked.

“Twice. Both letters were devoted entirely to complaining about the waters. She says the Pump Room smells of eggs, and that the young men are either gouty or dull.” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “I wrote back and told her to lower her standards or raise her tolerance for sulphur.”

“You did not.”

“I absolutely did. She will thank me when she is forty, and I am the only honest person she has ever known.” Eleanor tucked her feet beneath her on the chair, abandoning posture in the way she only did when company was trusted. “Lady Tyndale has sent invitations for her annual ball. I assume you received one.”