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MARGARET FOLLOWED THE Duke of Jevington into a large foyer. Black-and-white tiles gleamed, contrasting with high cerulean walls adorned with ornate molding. Her footsteps echoed in the empty room, as if she weren’t truly supposed to be here.
That, at least, was true.
The duke led them with the same air of confidence he always had. His hair curled, revealing a sliver of bare skin between his head and informal cravat. She pulled her gaze from his neck. It would be too easy to linger on the generous width of his shoulders, and the perfect proportions of the rest of his body.
Large men accompanied him. They lacked the formal attire of footmen. Most footmen were young with pleasing visages that made them not an unwelcome sight in dining rooms where every other detail had been carefully mulled over to make it exquisite. Most footmen did not seem as if they’d made it to the advanced age of thirty-five through vigorous battles.
These were no footmen, and Margaret shivered.
They exited the foyer and entered a great room. This room was filled with furniture. Velvet chaise-longues reclined beside red leather armchairs. Margaret would have found the room intimidating even if it were empty.
Unfortunately, it was not empty.
Handsome men sat on the chaises and armchairs. They smiled blandly as Margaret and her family entered the room, then rose.
Margaret’s stomach tightened, and the Duke of Jevington turned around. “Friends, these are my guests, Mr. and Mrs. Carberry. They’ve brought Mr. Carberry’s mother, Mrs. Carberry, their delightful daughter, Miss Carberry, and Lady Juliet.”
The men smiled toward Juliet. Men were always smiling at Juliet, and she straightened her shoulders.
“I am exhausted from the journey,” Juliet confessed. “I shall go on a walk.”
“Would you like help?” a dark haired man with blue eyes asked.
“Naturally not. I have been walking for decades. Besides, my betrothed would find male company inappropriate. He is the Duke of Sherwood.” Juliet exited the room with that peculiar feistiness that comes with people equipped with other advantages, and Margaret was alone.
Mrs. Carberry smiled blissfully. “That is my dear daughter’s friend. She will soon be a duchess.”
There was an awkward silence, perhaps as the men contemplated that the Carberries were untitled. Finally, the Duke of Jevington gestured to the man beside him.
“This is the Duke of Sandridge,” the Duke of Jevington said. “He lives in Cornwall.”
The man did appear as if he were from Cornwall. His sun-kissed hair was a longer length than normal, falling in casual waves. It was easy to imagine him spending his days by the ocean. Even his skin was a golden color, as if he didn’t care that the shade was most often found in hard-working farmers and berry-pickers.
“A pleasure.” The duke bowed, and Margaret curtsied hastily.
“And this is the Duke of Hammett,” the Duke of Jevington said.
Margaret stared at the man before her. The Duke of Hammett had short, dark hair and he towered above her. Even his neck was large.
“And this is the Duke of Ainsworth,” the Duke of Jevington said, gesturing to a thinner man. “Next to him is the Duke of Brightling.”
The Duke of Brightling flashed her a wide smile, and his blue eyes sparkled, resembling newly polished sapphires. Margaret had heard rumors about the Duke of Brightling’s handsomeness, and unlike other rumors, in this case everything was true.
The dukes were all broad-shouldered and imposing, testaments to generations of good health and their ancestors’ strategic marriages with beautiful women.
“You’re a duke too?” Mama’s voice squeaked.
“We are all dukes,” the Duke of Brightling said.
“I see.” Mama brushed a hand over her brow. “It seems incomprehensible.”
“We’re all accustomed to the fact,” the Duke of Ainsworth said.
“I suppose you would be,” Mama said finally.
The dukes nodded at the veracity of the statement. They appeared like statues that one didn’t think should be able to move, since they were already so exquisite. The feat of movement seemed a needless addition to such perfection.
Mama turned her head. “Are those men also dukes?”
Margaret followed Mama’s gaze.
Two men stood by the curtains. Men, in Margaret’s experience, either came with or without muscles. These men belonged to the former category. Their arms swelled, and their bald heads gleamed, devoid of the tousled locks most men of the ton favored. Their clothes seemed of lesser quality than the others, as if they were prepared to run through a bramble bush.
“No,” the Duke of Jevington said.
The duke’s expression appeared distinctly different. His cheeks hadn’t had a habit of shifting color before. He had not seemed prone to mortification, but now, as the man’s cheeks adopted a ruddy tint, Margaret considered that perhaps the man had simply not had a reason to be embarrassed.
Of the two of them, Margaret had fulfilled the task better. She’d done sufficient embarrassing things for both of them, even if she did not get the charitable rush of joy one might experience after assisting someone with something of actual importance. Instead, she shifted her legs awkwardly.
“They are my guards,” the duke said finally. “Vladimir and—er—Boris.”
Margaret’s mother’s eyes darted up.
“I take security very seriously,” the duke continued.
“Naturally. You have many important guests,” Papa said.
“The guards are tasked with my protection. I would not—er—desire late night intruders.”
“I see.” This time Mama’s cheeks flamed, and Margaret averted her eyes.
“Would you care to see your room?” the duke asked.
Mama hesitated.
“Oh, absolutely.” Papa grinned. “I can get some more work in.”
“Of course,” the duke said. “We provide desks in all our rooms.”
Papa rubbed his hands together.
The duke called for his housekeeper, who soon led them through a corridor. This time they headed toward a grand staircase that curved in a magnificent manner. They strode up the steps, and Margaret placed her gloved hand over the thick glossy wooden banister. Floral patterns were carved into the balusters, and for a moment Margaret stared at the incredible sumptuous surroundings inside the building.
“It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?” the housekeeper murmured.
“Yes,” Margaret said.
“We have staircases in Scotland,” Mama said quickly. “They are of a similar quality. My daughter is quite accustomed to staircases.”
“Of course,” the housekeeper said, and Margaret’s face heated.
“This way,” the housekeeper gestured to her right, and Margaret’s parents turned obediently.
This corridor was quiet, but it dazzled with equal vigor to the main reception rooms downstairs. Beauty was distributed equally here, as if it were doing its part to prevent any of the furniture staging a revolution.
The housekeeper opened a door and gestured to Margaret’s grandmother. “This is for you.” She looked at Margaret. “Your room is next to it.”
Margaret stared at a pleasantly decorated jonquil colored room, then followed her parents to another chamber. In another house the bedroom would have been suited for a drawing room. Even though two canopied beds were in the room, the room remained large, as if the architect had intended any eccentric inhabitant to be able to host parties inside.
Green damask silk lined the walls, and a magnificent molding adorned the high ceiling, as if the designer had found it essential to create the ceiling with the utmost splendor, since it was placed at least fifteen feet above the gleaming wooden floor dotted with equally magnificent oriental carpets.
“I suppose this will do,” Mama said. Her voice did not display any particular enjoyment of the surroundings, as if to prevent the housekeeper from reporting back that the Carberry family were not accustomed to such finery. Still, Mama did not normally keep her neck reclined at a sharp angle.
Sunbeams entered through long windows that overlooked the grounds, but it wasn’t the immaculate gardens that drew Margaret’s attention. Beyond the garden lay a sliver of turquoise.
The ocean.
Margaret’s heart soared.
“Are we very far from the coast?” Margaret asked the housekeeper.
“The coast?” The housekeeper raised her eyebrows momentarily.
“Why on earth would you ask about that?” Mama asked. “You’ll be spending your time here.”
Mama knew why Margaret would ask though.
Mama knew about Margaret’s delight in the discoveries Mary Anning had made near Lyme Regis.
She simply didn’t approve.
The housekeeper gestured toward a dirt road, lined by majestic chestnut trees. “You can reach the coast by following that path.”
“Thank you,” Margaret said.
“Yes, so kind of you to indulge her,” Mama said to the housekeeper, casting a glare in Margaret’s direction. “Obviously, our daughter will not venture from the castle. She is perfectly content with everything here.”
“Er—yes.” The housekeeper’s stalwart expression wobbled, and she suddenly appeared far younger.
Lily pattered happily through the room, taking delight in squeezing underneath sideboards and chairs, as if eager to find a hiding place, though the dog was not conducive to being hidden.
“Be good, Lily,” Mama admonished.
“Lily is always good,” Papa said staunchly, and Lily wagged her tail.
Mama scrunched her lips with the air of a woman who had a great many circumstances to discuss but was valiantly resisting the impulse to share them.
“Oh, these items are only from the seventeenth century,” the housekeeper said lightly. “You needn’t worry.”
“I see,” Mama squeaked, her eyes wide.
“Please ring the bell pull if you need anything,” the housekeeper said. “The duke has made everything at your disposal. Dinner is at seven. There will be drinks in the drawing room at six, though you are welcome anytime.”
After that short speech, the housekeeper hastened from the room.
“Really,” Mama said, turning to Margaret. “I hope you’re not going to indulge your strange obsession with bones. It’s not ladylike. The duke didn’t invite you here to have you digging about on the coast. You will be the death of me.”
“They’re fossils,” Margaret said. “And they’re most special. They explain how the world used to be.”
“It is far more important to know how the world is today,” Mama declared. “So far, you have shown no sign of accomplishing even that. Once you master the current world, you can delve into the past. After all, no man wants to hear you pontificate about the wonders of fossils. Men tolerate women discussing fashion and water coloring techniques, because they can dismiss those things as women’s interests.”
“Now I’m not certain that’s true,” Papa said. “Seems to me they might be interested in fossils.”
“Even worse,” Mama said. “Fossils are a topic some of them might think was something they should be able to discuss. Realizing they lack the knowledge to do so, will cause them discomfort. What sort of woman goes about causing men discomfort?”
“You’ve made your point,” Papa said.
“Thank you,” Mama said triumphantly and collapsed onto a conveniently located chaise-longue.
Her mother had that odd gleam in her eyes again. The last time Mama’s eyes had gleamed in that manner, atrocious things had occurred.
Mama angled her head toward Papa. “They’re all dukes. Do you not find it odd?”
“Well, Jevington is a duke,” Papa said. “It’s not entirely unreasonable for him to have invited other dukes.”
Mama frowned, and Margaret had the impression that if her mother were a high ranking noble, she would prefer to surround herself with those who would be suitably awed by her position. After all, Mama had enjoyed Scotland and its absence of titled people from the home counties. There, few people had minded that Papa’s money was new.
The ton though had a distinct preference for pre-nineteenth century coin. Indeed, Margaret was certain any money that was not pre-eighteenth century was deemed suspect in the eyes of the highest rungs of London society, as if it were tainted by poisonous factory smoke.
Margaret’s mother and grandmother decided to test the bedding after the exhausting journey.
“I’m going to explore the place with Lily,” Papa said.
Lily wagged her tail at the sound of Papa’s words.
Her father glanced at Margaret. “Do you want to come with us?”
Margaret wanted to say no. If she went downstairs, she was bound to see other people, and she chewed her bottom lip. “Perhaps I’ll just go to my room.”
“Of course, you must go,” Mama said sternly, and Margaret soon followed Papa down the stairs. Lily wagged her tail, excitedly sniffing each vase they passed.
She scurried along the oriental carpet, leading them at such a brisk pace, that Margaret was almost surprised when they reentered the reception room.
The Duke of Jevington and his friends rose hastily.
Lily greeted the other dukes, and Papa beamed as they bestowed her with compliments.
“Let me give you a tour,” the Duke of Jevington said magnanimously. He turned to his burly companions. “You may accompany me.”
Margaret gave a tight smile.
“At a distance of ten feet,” he told the two men.
The two men nodded in that somber manner that good servants excel at doing, making certain their employer felt entirely comfortable, if only by making certain no request, no matter how odd, ushered their surprise.
Margaret followed the Duke of Jevington. She’d imagined he would want to wander through the garden or the corridors for his tour, but instead he led her to a balcony. He ascertained the curtains were fully open and not at risk of collapse.
He then opened the door, and she stepped onto the balcony. The large glass windows made it clear what they were doing.
“This offers some privacy,” the Duke of Jevington explained, flashing a cocky grin. His two companions lingered on the other side of the door.
No doubt they were accustomed to performing more athletic movements when serving as guards. The guards settled down on a chaise. Though their expressions were still appropriately rigid, their shoulders were relaxed.
“Now what do you think of my friends?” the duke asked. “Do you have a favorite yet?”
“I barely know them,” Margaret said. “Besides the concept is—” She hesitated.
“Ridiculous?” the duke offered.
Margaret’s cheeks flushed. “It wouldn’t be polite to say that.”
He shrugged lackadaisically. “I don’t much care for politeness. The far more important thing is that it would be wrong. I think you would care about correctness.” The Duke of Jevington gave her one of his infuriatingly broad smiles. “It will work. I planned it.”
The duke did not add anything to his statement. It seemed its ducal origin was enough to be coronated with effusive exaltations.
“But why would they want to marry me?” Margaret asked.
“Miss Carberry,” the duke said in an explanatory tone. “No man wants to marry. Not unless they’ve consumed a steady subsidence of the most atrocious poetry.” He leaned closer. “The romantic sort. I doubt Dante would make a man overly compelled to resist all reason.”
Margaret considered his statement.
“Some men, though, have accepted their fates.”
“And you’re not one of those men,” Margaret said, worried whether she’d overstepped this odd outpouring of confidences.
“It’s not my fate,” the duke said amiably. “Not now at least.”
“I thought all men were desperate to have an heir.”
“Perhaps ten years ago,” the duke admitted. “When the war on the continent was still raging. But I find it rather less likely that some Frenchman will decide to impale me with a bayonet or will aim a cannon at me. My health is excellent. I have no sisters or mother who might be cast from the castle if some beastly second cousins inherit it. In fact, all my second cousins are quite pleasant. Most unromantic.”
“Not everything can be a Jane Austen novel,” Margaret said.
“Indeed.” The Duke of Jevington bowed his head, as if to give appropriate reverence to that wisdom. “And yet, you will find my friends have excellent qualities. Come, let’s join them.”
Margaret wanted to visit the coast, but perhaps her mother was correct, and the duke would not find her instinct to wander the coast polite.
No matter.
She would do it as soon as she could.
Margaret nodded and followed the duke into the reception room, ignoring the fact she felt removed from everything she knew. The duke’s two men plodded after them.
“You’ll love my friends,” the duke said. “They’re all good men. We’ve been together since school.”
“And they all desire marriage?”
He grinned. “I don’t think any of them have that wish. But they’ll soon discover it.”
“How do you know?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why, they’ll spend time with you.”
Margaret knew he hadn’t meant anything by his comment, but her heart still fluttered.