Page 56 of My Deal with the Wrong Duke

“Excellent. There is a rather fine collection. I should like to show them to you one day.”

“I would like that very much,” she said, and smiled. Frederick refilled her glass.

“There is also a lake,” he said. “Smaller than Lord Ashton’s, but the fishing is superior. My father stocked it with trout in seventy-eight, and they have thrived.”

“How lovely.”

“I thought so. I shall have to take you.”

After dinner, the ladies withdrew. Louisa had barely settled into a chair near the window before Lady Caldwell crossed the drawing room and sat beside her.

“Mr. Langley is entirely devoted, my dear.”

“He has been very attentive.”

“Attentive.” Lady Caldwell repeated the word as though testing its temperature. “He chose the seat beside you at dinner. He walked with you on the terrace. He placed a flower in your bonnet.” She lowered her voice. “Mrs. Fenton and I agree that an engagement is all but certain. Perhaps even before the week is out.”

Louisa’s stomach turned over. She pressed her hands together in her lap.

“It is early days, Lady Caldwell.”

“Nonsense. You would be wise to encourage him.” She patted Louisa’s knee with maternal authority. “Your mother must be beside herself with joy.”

Louisa could only smile, speechless. All was happening too fast, and she couldn’t help the feelings of overwhelm rise in her. And yet… There was a large part of her that was overjoyed at the thought. She had loved Frederick from a distance for so long; she could hardly believe that any of this was true.

She was still caught up in her thoughts when the gentlemen entered the room, and it was Frederick who crossed the room to claim the chair beside Louisa. Oliver did not. He settled near the fireplace with Sebastian, accepted a glass of port, and fell into easy conversation with Lord Ashton about horses.

Yet throughout the evening, Louisa found her gaze drifting toward the fireplace where Oliver sat with his port in his hand, his face lit by the fire. She watched him laugh at a remark from Sebastian.

And then, suddenly, he looked up. Their eyes met across the crowded drawing room, across the heads of Lady Caldwell and Mrs. Fenton and Lord Dalton and the dozen other guests who filled the space between them. He held her gaze for a few seconds, then Frederick leaned toward her to point out a passage in his book, and when she looked up again, Oliver had turned back to Sebastian, and the cord went slack.

Frederick touched her arm. “You seem distracted.”

“Forgive me. I am merely tired from the journey.”

“Of course.” He was gracious about it, instantly solicitous. “You must rest. We have a long week ahead, and I have plans.” He smiled. “Many plans.”

She nodded slowly, and he leaned closer than propriety would allow, seemed to rethink it, and leaned back again.

“I am glad that I am finally fortunate enough to get to know the real you, Miss Fairchild,” he said and flashed her that smile that made her go weak at the knees.

“Thank you, my lord,” she muttered and rose to her feet. “If you will excuse me…”

She practically ran out of the room, made her way to her allocated chamber, closed the door and leaned against it, her back pressed to the painted wood.

Frederick had been everything she had once wanted him to be. Attentive, warm, deliberate. He had spent the entire evening at her side. He had tucked jasmine in her bonnet. He had described his home in Kent as though she already belonged in it.

She had wanted this for years, and his smile still made her knees weak. This did not explain why catching Oliver’s eye meant anything to her at all, especially when he’d been nothing but sullen—keeping his distance from her pointedly all night.

She crossed to the vanity. The jasmine sprig lay where she had left it, its petals curled and browning at the edges. She picked it up and held it for a long moment before she set it down.

Below, she could hear the murmur of guests retiring, doors opening and closing along the corridor. Frederick’s voice drifted up from the hall, warm and easy, bidding someone goodnight. Threaded beneath it, lower, closer, Oliver’s voice answering, the two of them passing on the staircase, the sounds so near she could almost distinguish the words.

She closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to arrive. But all that came was incessant questions.

CHAPTER 17

“You take sugar, I recall.”