Page 54 of My Deal with the Wrong Duke

“There she is. The future Mrs. Langley.”

Eleanor said it quietly enough that only Louisa could hear.

“Do not call me that,” Louisa said with a scoff.

“I am not calling you that. Lady Caldwell called you that. Twice. Once in the carriage and once to Mrs. Fenton while you were pretending to adjust your bonnet.”

“I was adjusting my bonnet.”

“You were hiding.”

Louisa opened her mouth to argue and found she could not, because Eleanor was correct. She had been hiding. Lady Caldwell had leaned across the carriage seat somewhere past Basingstoke and declared, with the satisfied authority she had earned through thirty years of marriage, that Frederick Langley’s attentions were unmistakable and that a proposal before the end of the Season was virtually assured. Louisa had smiled politely and turned to face the window and spent the remaining hour watching the Wiltshire countryside roll past with her pulse beating too fast in her throat.

“Miss Fairchild.”

Frederick appeared at the foot of the staircase, his smile wide, his waistcoat immaculate, his hand already extended. She took it and curtsied.

“Mr. Langley. You arrived early.”

“I arrived yesterday. Lord Ashton wished to discuss improvements to the south meadow, and I was eager to see the grounds.” He kept her hand a beat longer than necessary. “I trust your journey was comfortable?”

“Very. The roads were excellent.”

“They are, are they not? Lord Ashton resurfaced the approach last spring. You must allow me to show you the grounds tomorrow morning, before the others are awake. I have already spoken to Lady Ashton about it.” His hand moved to the small of her back, steering her toward the drawing room. “I also took the liberty of requesting seats together at dinner. I hope you do not mind.”

“Oh…”

“I wanted to be sure we had time to talk properly. There is a great deal I wish to discuss with you this week.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder, his smile broadening. “A great deal.”

Eleanor fell into step behind them. Her eyes found Louisa’s over Frederick’s shoulder. One brow rose, fractionally.

The drawing room was already full. Lady Ashton stood beside the fireplace, greeting guests with the calm efficiency of a general receiving troops. Lord Caldwell occupied a wing chair near the window, asleep before tea had been poured. His wife was deep in conversation with Mrs. Fenton, their heads bent together with the conspiratorial closeness of two women exchanging information they considered vital.

Frederick guided Louisa to a settee near the tea table. He sat beside her. The cushion shifted under his weight, drawing them closer together.

“Lady Ashton has planned a musical evening on Thursday,” he said. “Several of the ladies have agreed to perform. I told her you played beautifully.”

“I play adequately.”

“I am certain it is far more than adequate.” Frederick smiled brightly, and Louisa found herself smiling in return. He reached for her teacup and filled it without asking whether she wanted more, adding sugar and milk.

She sipped the tea. He had remembered the sugar correctly. He did not know that she preferred her tea without milk.

“I should tell you,” Frederick said, lowering his voice, “that Lady Caldwell has been speaking rather freely about us.”

“I am aware.”

“Does it trouble you?”

“I have never been bothered by people’s gossip.”

Before Frederick could reply, a ripple of movement passed through the drawing room. Voices shifted register. Lady Caldwell looked up from her conversation. Mrs. Fenton turned toward the door. Even Lord Caldwell stirred in his wing chair, roused by the subtle alteration in the atmosphere that accompanied a title entering a room.

Oliver stood in the doorway.

He wore a dark blue coat and his hair was slightly disordered from the ride, curling against his collar in a manner his valet would have corrected had he been given the opportunity. Sebastian stood behind him, surveying the drawing room with the amused resignation of someone who had learned long ago that his friend’s arrivals rearranged every room they entered.

“Your Grace.” Lady Ashton crossed to greet him with the warmth of an old acquaintance. “How delightful. Lord Ashton wagered you would not arrive until Thursday.”