"No apology needed," she replied tightly, attempting to break the intense, heated spell between them, "Now—where has my father got to?"
Gently, she tugged her hand away from his and turned to follow the shifting crowd. That she would have liked to stay, holding Kilbride's hand was undeniable—but neither was the fact that the duke's sincere apology had been directed toward Lady Emily, and not a poor commoner like she.
Sensing, rather than seeing, that Kilbride was behind her, Ava tripped down the stairs in her satin slippers, to the thronged foyer. When people smiled, or waved at her, she acknowledged them with a smile of her own, but did not stop to talk. Her head was far too fuddled by the duke to even attempt to play the part of her charming, gregarious sister.
"It's McCasey himself," Kilbride whispered, as he spotted the dark-haired thespian holding court near the doors.
Despite her reservations, Ava found herself following the duke, as he elbowed his way through the crowd, toward the actor.
"Paris was a delight," Ava heard McCasey say in a booming, theatrical voice, "But nothing compares to a London audience."
The crowd gathered around him simpered with delight; McCasey certainly knew how to please, Ava thought wryly. The thespian looked up as the duke approached, his face wreathed in a smile, but then he caught sight of Ava behind him, and his face turned pale.
"Good show McCasey," Kilbride called, "London is glad to have you back."
"My thanks, Your Grace," McCasey replied, his voice less confident and booming than before. McCasey hesitated a moment, before stealing a glance at Ava.
"My bride to be," Kilbride said, cheerfully introducing the pair, "Lady Emily Fairfax."
"Enchanted," McCasey gave an elaborate bow, "Forgive me for staring, but you reminded me of a girl I once knew..."
"Well, you won't get to know this one, McCasey," a rather drunk man said with a roar of laughter, "Lest you want His Grace to run you through with a sword."
The crowd giggled and tittered with amusement, and McCasey seemed to remember himself, theatrically pretending that he had been stabbed in the stomach, much to his audience's delight.
"Forgive me, I should not have brought you over," Kilbride murmured, as he took in the raucous scene before them. With a stiff nod to the actor, Kilbride placed his hand on the small of Ava's back and steered her in the direction of Lord Fairfax, who stood waiting with the others on the far side of the room. Though, before she turned, Ava once again caught McCasey staring at her queerly, and as his green eyes met hers, she too felt a jolt of familiarity.
Stop that, she admonished herself as her mind began to wander, not everyone you meet is a long lost relative. And with that thought, she bade the duke, the dowager duchess and Lady Georgiana goodnight, before following Lord Fairfax to their carriage.
Chapter Five
One touch. One casual touch, far more innocent and chaste than those he had received from other women--but with just a small, tender squeeze of his arm, Lady Emily had completely captured Raff's heart.
It was not just her touch, of course, but her sweet, comforting words.
"You have every right to grieve."
Her words were the very anathema to his own beliefs. He was a duke, he had responsibilities, he could not afford to lose control, nor give over to the aching loss which filled his soul. And yet, the deep sincerity in Lady Emily's voice, and the understanding look in her eyes, had touched at the part of Raff that longed to curl up into a ball and sob at the loss of David and Reese.
Sobbing like a child will be sure to woo her, Raff thought to himself with a derisive snort, as he climbed the steps of Lord Fairfax's townhouse, two days after their trip to Drury Lane. Mind you, wooing Lady Emily was proving far more difficult than he had anticipated, given that she had not been "at home" both times that he had called.
"Is she actually not at home?" Raff queried the officious butler, Graves, who, after opening the door, had once again lamented that Lady Emily was not in. "Or is she just not at home to me?"
"Oh, no, Your Grace," Graves replied, visibly horrified by the idea that anyone would snub the duke, "My Lady is out with her maid, making calls of her own."
"Ruddy wonderful," Raff sighed, donning the beaverskin hat he had just removed, and turning on his heel.
"But," the butler called quickly, "I did hear her mention that she would be visiting the plumassier, once she was finished. Mr Bobitol, just off Cavendish Square, is whom she usually goes to for trimmings."
Raff, too proud to admit to a servant that the only way he could see his betrothed was if he accosted her unaware, gave a stiff nod.
"Tell her I called," he said imperiously, as though he was not headed straight to Cavendish Square, where he could tell her himself.
"Yes, Your Grace," Graves said quickly, "Of course, Your Grace. Wonderful to see you again, Your Grace."
"And you," Raff replied automatically, then frowned. Lud, his relationship with Lady Emily's butler was progressing faster than with the lady herself.
Taking the steps two at a time, Raff made for his carriage, eager to be on his way.
"Mr Bobitol's, just off Cavendish Square," he said curtly to his driver, wondering if the man had noted that once again Raff had been sent away by Lady Emily. With a flick of the driver's wrist, the four bay geldings took off at a light trot into the busy, London traffic.
When they reached Argyle Road, just off Cavendish Square, Raff realised there was a slight hiccup in his plan to accost Lady Emily—he had no idea what time she would actually arrive at Mr Bobitol's, if at all.
He could enter the plumassier's, and waste the poor man's time pretending he was searching for a ribbon, or a bauble, for his niece, but he had no idea how long he would be waiting for Lady Emily to appear. She could be hours, he thought with a frown. Added to this conundrum, was the fact that shopping for trimmings for bonnets was not a very ducal pastime, and if Raff were to while away hours inside the shop, tongues would surely wag.
He could instruct his driver to circle the Square, but the thought of revealing that he was here merely to wait until he sighted Lady Emily, was rather alarming. His servants, though loyal, were as prone to gossip as any other servants were. His whole staff would soon hear that the duke had been skulking about London like a rejected, lovestruck fool, waiting for his bride to be to make an appearance.
Luckily, as the carriage turned onto Argyle Road, Raff spotted two familiar figures bustling through the door of Mr Bobital's—Lady Emily and her maid.
Upon sighting them, Raff rapped on the roof of the carriage with his cane, indicating that he wished the driver to stop. The carriage drew to a halt and, without waiting for his footman, Raff hurried out onto the busy street.
The window of Mr Bobitol's was filled with a dozen bonnets, adorned and bedecked with the latest trimmings; flowers made from silk, ostrich feathers, and ribbons of every imaginable colour. Raff paused for a moment to survey the display, hoping that, to an outsider, it would look like something had caught his eye as he passed by.
What do you care what an outsider thinks, a voice in his head growled, you're a ruddy duke. Still, despite this affirmation of his status, Raff's heart hammered nervously in his chest as he pushed the door of Mr Bobitol's open. Inside the shop was cramped, and Raff's eyes were immediately assaulted by an explosion of colour, lace and ribbons.
He halted, allowing his eyes to adjust to the kaleidoscope of colour, and as he paused, he caught a snippet of the conversation between the proprietor and his betrothed.
"Really, my Lady," Mr Bobitol was saying in a manner more imperious than Raff liked, "This year's fashions lean toward subtle adornments; I am not sure that I can, in good conscience, sell you so many silk flowers for just one bonnet."
"Oh," came the disappointed, apologetic response.
Upon hearing Lady Emily's defeated reply, Raff clenched his jaw in anger; how dare this puffed-up plumassier speak down to his intended? Drawing himself up to his full six foot
two inches, Raff stomped across the shop floor toward the counter.
Mr Bobitol was showing Emily a rather insipid looking daisy garland, when he caught sight of Raff. The shop owner's pudgy face paled at the sight of the towering duke, and whatever he had been saying died in his throat.
"Your Grace," Mr Bobitol stuttered, "I did not see you come in."
"I know you did not," Raff replied evenly, "If you had, you would not have spoken to my betrothed in such a condescending manner."
"I-I-I-" Mr Bobitol stuttered.
"Now," Raff continued, glancing down at Lady Emily who was staring at him in surprise, "I heard you tell Lady Emily, that she would be better off buying less trimmings for her bonnet—is that correct?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Mr Bobitol replied, swallowing nervously.
"Big mistake," Raff growled, grabbing Emily's hand in his, "Huge. This lady is to be the next Duchess of Kilbride, and once we marry she will dictate fashion—not the other way around. Now, if you'll excuse me, we're going to find another shop in which to buy my intended silk flowers, and it will be that shop which profits from the association with the Kilbride name."
With one cool glare at Mr Bobitol, Raff spun on his heel and made for the doorway, near dragging Lady Emily along with him. Once outside on the busy street, he looked down at his bride to be, expecting fully to see her gazing up at him in gratitude. Instead, Raff found his betrothed stood before him, gloved hands on hips, glaring daggers at him.
"That was most unnecessary, Your Grace," she said with a sniff.
"I rather think it was most necessary, my dear," Raff replied mildly, "You are to be the next Duchess of Kilbride—you need to start demanding that people treat you accordingly."
"Mr Bobitol was merely trying to be helpful," Lady Emily argued, her green eyes flashing with annoyance.
"He was not helping you by speaking down to you so," Raff countered, "Nor was he helping himself, by refusing to sell you what you wanted. Now, come with me, and we shall find a shop that will happily provide you with all the ruddy accoutrements you need for your bonnet."
Once again, and with no thought to propriety, Raff grabbed Lady Emily's hand, and marched her down Argyle Road, until they found another plumassier. Its interior was, blessedly, less of an assault on the senses than Mr Bobitol's, and Raff stood patiently by as an excited Lady Emily chose a dozen silk roses, in shades of pastel, and delicate sprigs of gypsophillia cleverly fashioned from wire and Buratto lace.
"Please send Lady Emily's bill to my address," Raff called, once Emily's purchases had been carefully wrapped up.
"Oh, Your Grace, I cannot—"
"Yes, you can," Raff cut Emily off before she had a chance to finish her sentence, "I have never seen anyone more excited by the idea of trimmings for a bonnet. It's utterly enchanting."
"Well, I have never bought trimmings before," Lady Emily replied, a blush staining her cheeks.
"I find it hard to believe that a lady of your standing has never bought trimmings," Raff replied with surprise, "It seems to me that bonnets are all young ladies speak about."
"What Lady Emily means," Mary, the maid, interjected quickly, "Is that she has never gone to a shop to buy them herself—usually she sends me."
Was it Raff's imagination, or did a queer look pass between mistress and maid? It was gone in an instant, but he could have sworn that Mary had cast her mistress a chastising glare. Heavens, he thought, he would truly have to have a talk with Lady Emily about assuming an air of confidence, once she became his duchess.
Once they were ready, Raff took Emily's purchases, which were wrapped in paper and tied with string, and guided the two women toward the door. Mary fell into step behind Raff and Emily, as they walked up the street in the direction of Emily's waiting carriage.
"How did you know I was in Mr Bobitol's?" Emily queried curiously.
"I didn't," Raff lied, crossing his finger's behind his back, "I spotted something in the window for Georgiana and when I stepped inside, there you were."
"What a coincidence," Emily said faintly, reaching a gloved hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
The alabaster patch of skin, just behind her ear, caught Raff's eye; so much so, that he had to force himself to tear his eyes away from it. It was just a small, seemingly innocuous patch of skin, but Raff found it so tantalising that he had to bite his lip in an attempt to quash the urge to kiss it.
Unexpected urges were not something Raff often experienced; he prided himself on being cool, level headed, and in control. Even in the few love affairs he had entered into, he had always chosen uncomplicated paramours—beautiful, but easily discarded. The idea that he could let Lady Emily go as easily as his previous mistresses was laughable. He felt fiercely possessive of her—even though she quite evidently did not wish to be possessed by him.
"Here we are," Lady Emily chirped, as they reached her waiting Landau, "Thank you ever so much for your gift, Your Grace. Toodles, for now."
Toodles? Raff snorted, not bothering to check his annoyance at her evident desire to be gone. With cat like reflexes, he reached out and grabbed Emily's hand, before she had a chance to alight the carriage.
"I very much look forward to showing you, and your newly trimmed bonnet, off," Raff said, in a voice that was low and deep with meaning, "When can you expect it to be ready?"
"I couldn't possibly say, Your Grace," Lady Emily retorted, glancing down with disdain at his hand, which encircled her wrist. "A bonnet is not a thing that should be carelessly decorated, simply to appease the whims of another. It takes time, patience and skill, to trim a bonnet—it should not be rushed."
Raff frowned in confusion; was she speaking of bonnets or herself? From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a small crowd watching the altercation between the pair, and luckily Mary did too.
"When did you wish Lady Emily to show off her new bonnet, Your Grace?" she asked brusquely, subtly inserting herself between the pair.
"Tomorrow afternoon, for a ride in the park," Raff answered, grateful to the maid for her intervention.
"It shall be ready by then," Mary replied, with a quick bob to the duke and a definite glare of admonishment to Lady Emily. At the maid's words, Lady Emily sighed, like a chastised school boy, and nodded her head in defeat.
"Until tomorrow, Your Grace," she said in the same tone that a man might use to confirm he was headed for the gallows. Without a second glance at him, Lady Emily allowed her waiting footman to assist her inside the carriage, followed by Mary, who had the good grace to bid goodbye to the duke.
What on earth just happened, Raff thought, as he watched the Landau make its way slowly down the busy street. From riddles about bonnets, to the daughter of a marquess humbly following the orders of her lady's maid, it had been rather a confusing day. Still, he thought cheerfully, as he made his way to his own waiting carriage, at least he had managed to arrange a get together with Lady Emily. That the get together had only come about because of duplicitous actions and strong-arming tactics was a point that Raff tried to ignore.
Nobody knew how Rotten Row in Hyde Park had got its name. Many believed that it was a corruption of the original name La Route du Roi—the King's Road—and that this corruption was probably borne from that uniquely English ability to butcher the French language.
Despite its less than appealing name, the Row was always filled with the most glamorous of sorts; gentlemen riding the finest horseflesh, young bucks showing off shiny new Phaetons, and ladies, dressed in the highest fashion waving out from gleaming carriages. Between the hours of three o'clock and five, the Row was the place where the beau monde went to see and be seen.
The next afternoon, Raff and Lady Emily, accompanied by a rather disinterested Laura, were the couple who were drawing every eye, as they paraded along the Row in Raff's open-carriage.
Raff was uncertain if it was Emily's bonnet that was attracting all attention, or if it was as a result of the gossip piece that had appeared in one of
the morning's papers. The short, but rather precise column, had gleefully detailed that the "D of K" was spotted on Argyle Road arguing with his bride to be "Lady E".
Though neither of their names had been explicitly mentioned, it did not take a genius to work out who the author was speaking of.
And so, during a ride that Raff had hoped would allow him some much needed quiet time to charm Lady Emily, they instead found themselves the object of overt stares and glances.
It could just be the bonnet, Raff thought with a wry smile, as from the corner of his eye, he glanced the coronation of flowers that adorned Emily's headpiece.
It was a wonder she could hold her head up under all the trimmings; a dozen large, silk roses, of varying shades of pastel had been sewn above the brim of her bonnet, and around these, a hazy, giddy froth of Baby's Breath had been artfully entwined. The adornments were rather large, and very eye catching, but even Raff—who knew little of ladies' fashions—had to admit that it was most becoming.
"You're staring at my hat again," Lady Emily accused him, as she caught his eye.
"It is rather eye catching," Raff replied defensively, "Though very becoming, I might add."
A carriage full of young ladies and their mother passed them just then, and at the sight of the other ladies' bonnets, which were modestly trimmed, Emily gave a forlorn sigh.
"I rather think Mr Bobitol was right," she said, raising an absent hand to her hat, "And that less is more this season."
"Balderdash," Raff said, decidedly more vehement than he would usually be when discussing millinery matters, "As I said before, you are to be a duchess—you will be setting the fashions, not following them."
"Imagine me, a duchess," Lady Emily said, in a rather awed manner that left Raff feeling rather confused.
"It's not such a great leap," he said with a cajoling smile, "You are the daughter of a marquess."
The Duke's Bride in Disguise (Fairfax Twins Book 1) Page 6
