A Duke of Her Own (Desperate Duchesses #5)

A Duke of Her Own (Desperate Duchesses #5) Page 18

“Your Grace,” he said, swinging into a deep bow like a marionette. “This is such a pleasure, such a pleasure. I’m afraid that the Duke of Gilner is not at home, but I shall send him a message.”

“Absolutely not,” Eleanor’s mother declared with a wave of the hand. “I didn’t come to see Gilner, but his daughter. This is nothing more than a pleasant little visit, a matter of a few days at the most. Between friends.”

Because the butler was still blinking at her rather than escorting them directly into the house, she said, “Lady Lisette is in residence, is she not?”

“Of course,” he said, “but I’m afraid that Lady Marguerite is paying a visit to a relative. She’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Well, then, bring us to our chambers so that we can refresh ourselves after this journey,” the duchess commanded. “It may be only a few hours from London, but you would not countenance the dust. At one point I thought I was sure to suffocate.”

Eleanor was interested to see how distressed the butler appeared to be. He was literally wringing his hands. “Perhaps there are no free chambers?” she inquired.

He rushed into speech. Apparently, there were more than enough chambers, but in Lady Marguerite’s absence—

Her mother lost her patience immediately and waved him quiet. “Eleanor, did I not instruct you to write a note announcing our visit?”

“I did, Mother. Perhaps Lady Lisette neglected to inform you?” Eleanor said, giving the butler a smile.

“Be kind enough to escort us to some chambers, my good man,” the duchess said before he could answer. “I am not used to parrying words with a butler in the open air!”

The man tore back up the stairs as if the devil were behind him. Eleanor, Anne, and their mother followed, trailing a phalanx of groomsmen carrying their trunks, the sheer number of which belied the question of a visit of a mere day or two.

The moment they entered the house the source of the butler’s distress became obvious. If the estate’s grounds were somewhat disorganized, the entrance hall was a jumble.

The hall was designed in a graceful circle stretching to the second floor, which was encircled by a banister. But at the moment that banister was apparently serving as an impromptu place for dirty laundry. It was hung with sheets that swayed in the breeze of the open door.

“An odd way to manage your linens,” the duchess said, turning in a stately circle and craning her neck. “I can’t say I recommend it. And these sheets are disgracefully unclean. What is your name?”

“Popper, Your Grace,” the butler said, looking miserable. “They’re not laundry, Your Grace, but backdrops for the play.”

“Those appear to be trees,” Eleanor said, pointing to a sheet marked with blotches that might have represented a forest in a high wind.

Her mother narrowed her eyes. “More likely a field of carrot tops.”

A peal of laughter answered her, and they all looked up and saw Lisette lightly running down the stairs. For a moment they just stared up at her, and then Eleanor gave a little wave. She hadn’t seen Lisette in seven or eight years, but if anything, she had grown only more exquisite. Eleanor had always envied her hair; it was pale, pale blond, and naturally formed beautiful ringlets. Her face was the peaceful oval of a medieval madonna. Most of the time.

“Ellie!” Lisette dashed down the stairs and gave Eleanor a hug, and another hug. She turned with a similar cry to Anne.

The duchess stiffened at the first hug, and became rigid by the third. When Lisette finally dropped her arms from Anne, Eleanor said hastily, “My mother, the Duchess of Montague.”

“It’s been years, hasn’t it?” Lisette said, smiling at the duchess with sunny charm as she dropped a shallow curtsy. “But I couldn’t forget such a beautiful chin as you have, Your Grace. Your skin has loosened slightly, around the jowls, but really, hardly at all.”

Her mother appeared stunned into silence, so Eleanor put in, “Surely you remember that Lady Lisette is an enthusiastic painter, Mother.”

“Oh, please, no ladies here,” Lisette said. She waved her fingers in the air and they saw that they were splotched with red, blue, and purple. “I have been painting backdrops for a village play. I can find you a role, if you’d like.”

Eleanor couldn’t help smiling. That was just like Lisette. She would hop out of a seven-hour carriage ride and throw herself into painting backdrops, and it wouldn’t occur to her that others might not be so eager.

“I must return to the back garden,” Lisette said. “I’ll look forward to dining together. Popper, do put our guests somewhere, won’t you?” Without further ado, she turned and left.

Her mother’s face contorted in such a manner that Eleanor knew precisely what she thought of Lisette’s manners.

Popper wrung his hands again. “If I’d known you were coming, Your Grace, I would have made sure that the house was decent.”

“If you would be so good as to allow me to retire,” the duchess stated with a quiet ferocity. “I have a powerful headache coming on. I expect it has something to do with the reek of paint in this house. And I’ll thank you to take those sheets down, Popper. I hardly think Lady Marguerite would approve.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Popper said. “Of course, Your Grace. Please, follow me.”

A few minutes later Eleanor, Anne, and Popper tiptoed out of the duchess’s bedchamber, leaving her in the tender care of two maids, who were busy fanning her forehead and mixing various restorative powders.

“I’m afraid I shall have to put you in the other wing,” Popper said anxiously, as he and Eleanor walked down the corridor, having deposited Anne in a room next to their mother. “We don’t often have visitors, and many of the rooms are draped in Holland cloths. I shall remove the sheets immediately, of course. The look on the Duchess of Montague’s face!” He shuddered. “I arrived here from the household of the Marquess of Pestle. I am not ignorant of a well-ordered household.”

“Of course not,” Eleanor said soothingly. She had a sudden thought. “I do believe that the Duke of Villiers may pay Lady Lisette a visit today or tomorrow, Mr. Popper, so you might want to prepare another chamber.”

He turned even paler, if that were possible. “And her aunt’s gone visiting! Perhaps I’ll send a note to Lady Marguerite and beg her to return this very evening.”

“Likely a good idea,” Eleanor agreed. “Would you mind having my dog brought to my chamber, Mr. Popper?”

He starting wringing his hands again. “A dog? There is a dog?”

“Yes,” she said. “My dog. He’s a small pug, cream-colored with a black muzzle. One of our groomsmen has him, no doubt.”

The butler took a step closer. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Lady Eleanor…”

Eleanor put on her mother’s best quelling expression, and Mr. Popper shifted back immediately. “Yes?”

“Lady Lisette is frightened by dogs.”

“She won’t be afraid of Oyster. He’s a pug, the kind that doesn’t grow very big. He’ll be far more afraid of Lisette than she will be of him. Everyone loves Oyster.” She waved him off toward the stairs.