The Duke of Her Desire: Diamonds in the Rough Page 3

  “Indeed, you must not feel guilty,” the dowager duchess said. “An outing such as this is meant to be relished and enjoyed.”

  Feeling as though every argument she might have presented had just been dismantled, Amelia found herself at a loss for words as the dressmaker waved them toward a seating arrangement surrounding a table on which a large pile of designs and swatches had been put on display. “These arrived from Paris last week,” the woman explained. “Please, take your time to go through them while I select some suggestions for trim.”

  Hesitating, Amelia watched as the other ladies reached for some of the sketches and began leafing through them. Torn between the instinct she had to save money rather than throw it away on unnecessary fripperies, and the tempting extravagance of wrapping herself in exquisite luxury, Amelia carefully picked up a handful of fashion plates and allowed herself to study them closely. Each design seemed to outshine the other, overwhelming Amelia with an indecisiveness she’d never thought to experience before. Lord help her, how was she to choose between all of these glorious dresses? She couldn’t imagine.

  But as the minutes ticked by and she made her way through the remaining possibilities, a few of the gowns began to stand out. “I really like these,” she said as she held up five designs for the rest to see.

  “Ah oui,” the dressmaker said, materializing next to Amelia’s shoulder. “And viz your generous bosom, ze drape vill be merveilleux.”

  Heat rose to Amelia’s cheeks as she lowered the sketches and turned them over in her lap, as if doing so would discourage the scrutiny with which she was now being regarded by Lady Everly and the dowager duchess. Juliette, thank God, was too distracted by her own perusal of various designs to have paid much attention to the dressmaker’s comment.

  “Allow me to take a look,” Lady Everly said. She held her hand toward Amelia and waited.

  Wishing she could escape somehow, Amelia cast a longing glance at the door before reluctantly handing over the fashion plates to the dowager countess. The lady considered them each in turn. Pointing to one, she spoke to the dressmaker. “Perhaps we can lower this neckline a little and trim it with lace?”

  “An excellent recommendation,” the dressmaker said. She quickly produced a length of pretty trim. “And if ve bead it viz crystals, ze gentlemen vill find it impossible not to admire ze young lady’s charms.”

  Oh, if only a hole would open up in the floor and swallow her whole, Amelia thought while another blush swept up the back of her neck.

  “Perfect,” the dowager duchess declared. “Just as long as she does not look vulgar.”

  “I assure you zat everyzing vill be in good taste, though I vould like to suggest a bold contrast for ze trim—especially where Lady Amelia is concerned, since I feel her complexion will allow for it vizout issue.”

  By the time they returned home after further visits to a cobbler and milliner, Amelia was on the edge of exhaustion. The idea of taking a lengthy nap and resting her feet was an impossible one to realize, however, since Lady Everly invited the dowager duchess to come inside for refreshments.

  “Pierson, can you please ask a maid to bring up some lemonade and sandwiches?” the dowager countess asked while parcels containing their shopping were handed over to a couple of footmen. “We will take it in the ballroom.”

  Alerted by the unusual request, Amelia couldn’t help but dread what would happen next as she followed the older women through to the grandest room of the house. “They don’t look the least bit tired,” Juliette whispered. “Why don’t they look tired?”

  “I suspect they’ve been raised to withstand the most trying endeavors without any hint of fatigue.”

  Juliette sighed. “I was really looking forward to settling down with a book in the library after our busy morning.”

  “Chin up, Julie,” Amelia muttered. “At least you were allowed to select modest gowns while I am destined to make my next public appearance breasts first.”

  Her sister’s chuckle was cut short when they stepped into the ballroom where a couple of maids were already preparing a table while a footman set up some chairs. Amelia stared. The fact that Pierson had managed to convey orders to these servants so swiftly was truly remarkable.

  “We will take half an hour’s rest,” the dowager duchess announced. She gave Amelia and Juliette a once-over. “And then the two of you are going to practice your dance steps so we can be sure they are up to par for the Elmwood ball on Friday.”

  Having risen early, Thomas had gone over his accounts with his secretary that morning before discussing the raises he had in mind for a couple of particularly diligent servants. He’d then considered the expenses required to fix the roofs for some of his tenants in Cornwall. With autumn looming around the corner, it would be best to take care of it now while the weather remained agreeable, so he’d penned a letter to his caretaker approving the work.

  Once this had been accomplished, he’d taken his carriage from his residence on Weymouth and Wimpole streets directly to White Hall. There he spent the better part of three hours hoping the bill he’d suggested might be brought to attention by the current prime minister, the Earl of Liverpool. When it became clear it would not, he made a mental note to address the man personally at his first available opportunity.

  For now, however, he had to collect his mother from Huntley House, a task he rather looked forward to since seeing Lady Amelia and Lady Juliette would undoubtedly offer a welcome distraction from his other affairs.

  It wasn’t until he arrived at Huntley House and followed Pierson into the ballroom that he realized just how much of a distraction they would actually prove to be. Because there they were, moving about as if trying to dance a minuet while his mother clapped a beat that echoed through the silence. She looked his way the moment he entered, and the clapping immediately ceased.

  “Oh good,” she said, coming toward him. “You are finally here.”

  His arm was suddenly linked with hers as she drew him toward Huntley’s sisters. Both looked apprehensive. To one side, he registered a hint of amusement about Lady Everly’s face while she watched whatever this was that was happening.

  “Perhaps you can help?” his mother added. “It appears the dance instructor Lady Amelia and Lady Juliette have been using has focused most of his energy on teaching their brother. There are steps that must be mastered before the ball on Friday. If you can lead, it will be easier for the young ladies to learn.”

  Thomas noted Lady Juliette’s shy appreciation but not without spotting the dread that widened Lady Amelia’s eyes. For a fleeting second, she looked terrified, which was slightly odd since he wouldn’t have thought her to be so self-conscious that letting him witness any possible missteps would cause her concern. They were friends after all and had danced together before without incident. But perhaps she was still embarrassed about her faux pas in the garden and worried about him witnessing another. Sympathizing, he held his hand toward Lady Juliette, allowing Lady Amelia a little more time to adjust to the idea of dancing together.

  “I would be delighted,” he said with a smile.

  “Excellent.” His mother turned toward Lady Amelia. “Perhaps you would like to rest your feet for a while?”

  Lady Amelia dipped her head. “Of course.”

  Thomas watched her join Lady Everly in a corner of the room, his eyes lingering on the back of her exposed neck for a second before focusing his attention on his dance partner. “Shall we?”

  Lady Juliette proved to be surprisingly light on her feet, only faltering twice during the course of five dances.

  “You see,” his mother said as she applauded Lady Juliette’s efforts. “I knew you would do better with a partner.” She turned toward Lady Amelia and gestured with her hand. “Come, my dear. It is your turn now.”

  Thomas didn’t miss the sharp look in Lady Amelia’s eyes as she rose from the chair on which she’d been sitting. There was a definite alertness to her that set her apart from anyone else he�
��d ever known, and when she made her approach, she did not move with the fluidity inherent to Society ladies, but with a crispness uniquely her own. Perhaps it came from her fifteen years in St. Giles amid cutthroats and thieves, her instinct to stay on guard so innate she could not shed it, not even for a dance.

  Not that he minded.

  On the contrary, he found her to be extremely refreshing—a view that reflected his opinion of Huntley and Lady Juliette, as well.

  But with Lady Amelia, there was something else. If he thought about it, he supposed it boiled down to a massive amount of respect. Because knowing her past, the struggle she’d been through and how she’d embraced the role fate had forced her way at the young age of seven, was something he had to admire. According to Huntley, she’d scavenged for food, kept their home neat and clean, cooked to the best of her ability and nursed her siblings through various ailments. She’d stepped into a role their mother had abandoned, an endeavor that must have taken tremendous resourcefulness and courage. Which was probably why it bothered him to see the uncertainty with which she now stood before him, no doubt worrying over her dance moves.

  Because if everything Huntley had told him about her was true, Thomas imagined Lady Amelia to have not only nerves of steel, but a spine built on years of defiance, even if he had yet to catch a glimpse of either.

  “My lady,” he said, offering her his hand. She glanced down, took a deep breath as if in need of fortification before placing her palm in his. “You need not be nervous. Nobody here is going to judge you. We are your friends, and as such, it is our duty to help you succeed. I hope you realize that.”

  Her face turned more fully toward him, allowing him to see the firm set of her jaw. She pressed her lips together, but her eyes betrayed whatever determinedness she was trying so hard to convey. The varying shades of green and brown swirled together in a hazel mixture of distress so acute he felt his heart squeeze with compassion.

  But rather than dwell on her riotous emotions, she jerked her chin with a definitive nod. “Thank you.”

  Confounded by her staunch ability to overcome whatever obstacle lay in her path for the sake of doing what had to be done, Thomas led her in a cotillion while his mother clapped the beat once again. The reel followed, then a country dance and the minuet, which had to be repeated three times since Lady Amelia continued to falter. But rather than show any sign of defeat, her posture grew increasingly rigid until making further mistakes became almost inevitable.

  “You must try to relax,” he told her gently while he guided her forward.

  She was silent for a moment as they made a few complicated steps, before quietly saying, “It is difficult to do so when I have to concentrate on my every move.” As if to accentuate the point, she made a mistake, prompting her to mutter something Thomas chose to pretend he hadn’t heard.

  “What you need is—”

  “Shh!”

  He blinked. “Did you just shush me?”

  “I need to focus,” she said without any effort to hide her irritation.

  Choosing to accommodate her wishes, Thomas kept quiet for the remainder of the dance, which he had to concede was concluded without further issue.

  “And now for the waltz,” his mother said from her position next to the dance floor.

  Attempting it with Lady Juliette had been a delight since she’d practically floated across the floor with effortless grace. Studying Lady Amelia, who appeared to have grown increasingly stiff during the last five minutes, he wondered how they would even manage to make a full turn without him looking as though he was dragging her across the floor. Somehow, she would have to loosen her posture a little.

  Bracing himself, he chose to do something impulsive—something that would hopefully serve to distract her from what she was doing. Without warning, he grabbed her hand and spun her swiftly toward him, not pausing for a second as he swept her away in his arms, leaving her feet with little choice but to follow.

  There was no denying the stunned look in her eyes. Her lips parted on a squeal of surprise. Thomas almost laughed with the pleasure of seeing her so bewildered, the rigid composure with which she held herself utterly dismantled in a heartbeat.

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he spun her around to ensure that she wouldn’t predict his next move.

  “Teaching you that dancing can be fun and that you have to stop overthinking it. You already know the steps. What you need to do now is let them come naturally.”

  “You make it sound so simple.” Her face began to tighten with that familiar look of concentration, so he quickly managed a lift, catching her off guard once more.

  This time, her squeal was followed by a laugh and a distinct sparkle to her eyes. Gone was the earlier resolve, replaced instead by amusement. It made him feel curiously lighter, as though his happiness in that moment depended on hers. Fanciful thought.

  “Besides,” he added when they were once again gliding in a wide arc, “your gowns are long enough to conceal your feet, so even if you were to misstep at the ball, I honestly doubt anyone will notice.”

  “Truly?”

  The hopefulness with which she spoke made him want to reassure her, so he gave her a nod while he squeezed her hand, not missing the blush that rose to her cheeks. It was probably caused by exertion. And yet, it did something to him—made him long for her laughter once more—so he lifted her again while spinning her about, not caring how inappropriate he was being. He was simply glad to watch her take pleasure in something for once. The fact that he’d been the cause of her joy filled him with no small amount of pride, even if it did result in a stern look from his mother.

  “That will be all for today,” she said once the dance had ended. “It is getting late, Coventry, and there are matters at home for us to attend to.”

  The comment served as a sobering reminder of his duties—duties he’d somehow managed to forget while he’d waltzed with Lady Amelia. “Of course.”

  The guilt that assailed him was acute. How could he have forgotten about Jeremy? The answer came to him swiftly when he recalled the abandon with which Lady Amelia had laughed—how brilliantly her eyes had sparkled while he’d held her in his arms. She’d looked . . . shockingly beautiful in that moment, he decided, which was something of an odd acknowledgment since he’d never really considered her looks before.

  “It is settled then,” Lady Everly was saying.

  Thomas started. “I beg your pardon? What is settled?”

  “The tea party tomorrow at Dorset House.” His mother stared at him for a few seconds before producing a sigh. “It is scheduled for three in the afternoon. I have just assured Lady Everly that you and I will join her and Lady Amelia and Lady Juliette. Unless of course you have other plans?”

  He shook his head, astonished he’d missed so much of the conversation, but he’d been dwelling on . . . “Right.” He would not allow Lady Amelia to distract him again. The fact that she’d managed to do so once was something of a conundrum. “We will come to collect you at half-past two then.”

  He and his mother departed a few minutes later after assuring Lady Amelia and Lady Juliette that they had both made great progress with their dancing.

  “I cannot imagine what you were thinking,” his mother said once the two of them were seated across from each other in their carriage. “A gentleman does not spin a lady about in such a . . . a . . . careless manner. It is not proper!”

  “She needed to forget herself for a while, Mama. I am sorry if you disapprove of the method with which I achieved that.”

  “Humph!” She folded her hands in her lap as though trying her best to remain the chastising parent. The twitch of her lips betrayed her, however, and soon she was smiling at him with warmth in her eyes. “I suppose I should thank you. I was actually at my wits’ end before you arrived. What you managed to accomplish today with Lady Amelia . . . I cannot say I have ever seen her so animated before. It was really quite lovely to watch.”

  Settling
back against the squabs, Thomas stretched out his legs and allowed himself to relax. “Thank you, Mama.” His success had certainly lifted his spirits and filled him with a sense of accomplishment that he hadn’t felt in some time. It made him want to dance with her again, if for no other reason than to be overcome by that surge of delight her laughter offered.

  Chapter 3

  Avoiding a tea party wasn’t something Amelia had planned on doing, but it would be a necessity if she was going to keep the appointment she’d made for later that day. So she deliberately remained in bed for another two hours after waking, until Juliette eventually came to knock on her door.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, popping her head in the room.

  Amelia groaned from beneath the comforter she’d pulled up over her head. “I have the most dreadful megrim.”

  “Oh dear.” Juliette stepped further into the room and carefully closed the door behind her. “Perhaps some chamomile tea will help? I can ask a maid to bring some up along with a breakfast tray.”

  “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

  Amelia ate the food as soon as it arrived and finished her tea while Juliette sat in a nearby chair and kept her company. “How do you feel now?” she asked when Amelia pushed the tray aside and leaned back against the pillows propping her up.

  “As though three angry little men are hammering away on my skull right here, here and here.” She pointed to the sides of her head and to the top.

  “Would you like me to send for the doctor?”

  Amelia forced a weak smile. “I’m not so sure there’s a lot he can do. This will eventually go away on its own and without the expense of a doctor.”