Page 33

“My Lady,” a maid said to her suddenly, “the Duke of Gloryfield is here.”

“Yes, he is to speak with my father this afternoon.”

“No, My Lady. He says he wishes to see you first.”

Perhaps, Samantha thought as she made her way to the entrance, it was for the best that Diana had made herself scarce if she was not planning on meeting him yet.

“Hello, Your Grace,” she said softly with a curtsy. “I had not been expecting you.”

“I thought we might promenade,” he suggested, but she knew better than to take it as a mere suggestion.

He was telling her that they would promenade, and she was not going to oppose him.

“You will accompany me, will you not?” Samantha asked the maid, who also knew better than to disobey orders and simply nodded and followed.

“Might you wish to tell your father that you are leaving?” the Duke suggested.

“He will not even notice my absence. I hear that my brother is to arrive soon, and so all of his attention is there.”

“Very well.”

It was an easy enough agreement, with Samantha not wanting the Duke to ask questions, and the Duke likely not caring enough to do so in the first place. Soon enough, they arrived at a park that was bustling with people. Samantha had not seen gatherings like this in a while, save for the party, and she hesitated before stepping out of the carriage.

Everywhere she went, it was the same. Her family was terrible, she was a social climber, and nothing she did would ever changethat. Her own fiancé had thought as much himself after all. As if on cue, the stares began, but then, they quickly changed from judgment to bewilderment. Lady Samantha Winston was on the arm of a duke, just as her sister had been.

The Duke did not seem half as fazed by it, instead continuing with her on his arm.

“If anyone asks,” he explained quietly, “you and I met through Lord Drowshire, who arranged for the two of us to see each other. We have been courting for three months but had not told thetonbecause I believed the social season should be about the new debutantes. You were, of course, perfectly happy not to say anything.”

It was a good enough excuse and would not attract many questions, but Samantha hated it.

“So, you expect me to go along with that?”

“Of course. Why would you not?”

“Because,” she hissed, “it makes it sound as though you are ashamed of me.”

“You are on my arm right now, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am quite clearly not ashamed of you. Besides that, it will reflect poorly on myself rather than on you.”

“These things always reflect poorly on the lady, never the gentleman.”

“Then I shall be sure to rectify situations that come of our agreement as and when necessary. Why are you being so difficult?”

“I am not being difficult!” Samantha snapped, but she could not help but smile at herself.

She was, and she knew she was, but she could not help it. She had known the feeling of being watched by everyone all of the time, and she had always hated it. It had been too much to bear at times whether she smiled through it or not.

“What would you like to tell everyone, then?”

“That we have met at an event, fallen madly in love with one another, and now cannot wait to be married.”

“That will only suggest that you were untoward which I suppose is not far from the —”

“Then we could call it a deal between friends?” she suggested, “You spoke with my father, and we are now wanting a practical marriage which is also exactly what this is. Practical.”