Page 34 of A Perplexing Regency Romance (The League of Meddling Butlers #5)

“Now, I have to clear a few things up. Mostly, about the shawl. I am blind—”

“Blind!” she cried.

“No, not entirely blind, I am blind to colors. Certain colors. You might as well know it. I know it is a deficiency and I probably ought to have told you before now, but there it is.”

“I see,” Finella said quietly. She did not actually see at all. It was a shame, she supposed, that the duke could not see colors as other people did, but as a deficiency it did not seem the worst thing in the world.

“I am afraid it could be passed to my children. Male children, in particular.”

Why was he talking to her about children? Should not that conversation be had with Lady Violet?

“So that’s what happened with the shawls,” the duke said. “The shopkeeper told me it was yellow, and I could not tell the difference.”

Did he just say he went to the shop for a yellow shawl? Yes, he did. She was sure he did. He said he went into the shop to buy a yellow shawl.

Finella pinched herself. Rationality, Finella, rationality! There will be a rational reason why the duke went to buy a yellow shawl that has nothing whatsoever to do with you. Do not be fooled by your feelings!

He grabbed her hand and said, “Miss Finella Fernsby, I have been besotted with you since you took my hand while I was lying on the road. I cannot say what your own feelings might be after…well after all this.”

“My feelings?” Finella said. She had just told her feelings not to fool her. But he’d just said words, direct words. He’d said he was besotted, that was a very direct word…there could be no rational explanation for that word.

“Also, the daffodils were supposed to be delivered to you, not Lady Violet. I do not know what has come over my butler, but he is making a lot of strange mistakes. He might be ill.”

Finella felt she was struck dumb. No, not just felt like it, she really was struck dumb.

“What I am saying, Miss Fernsby, is would you consent to wed me despite…recent events.”

“Really?” Finella said with a sob. It was overwhelming, she did not know what to do. She was not entirely sure it was real. Perhaps she’d lost her wits and was even now on her way to bedlam, babbling about the duke.

“Yes, of course really,” the duke said.

If she were on her way to bedlam, which felt like a distinct possibility, she might as well enjoy the delusion and play it out until someone informed her that she was insane. “Well I would. Also, I think I might faint.”

“Sit down, Miss Fernsby. Sit down so you do not injure yourself in a fall.”

“Where?” Finella said. There were no chairs.

“Sit here,” he said, patting his lap.

Under no circumstances that she could have imagined would Finella Fernsby have sat on a gentleman’s lap. She really did feel woozy though.

Before she could positively decide what to do, he’d pulled her down and she found herself on his lap.

“There, that’s better,” the duke said. “Now was that a yes? I cannot kiss you until I am assured of it.”

“Yes, assured. Be assured,” Finella whispered.

Then he did kiss her, very softly. If this was bedlam, Finella was happy to stay for the rest of her life. His lips were different from her own. They were somehow rougher, and she liked it very much.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a head pop into the room. It was Sir Edward. He winked, pulled his head back, and closed the doors.

The duke kissed her again and it was really very marvelous.

Then he traced his finger up her neck and cheek and that was even more marvelous.

He ran his hand down her bare arm and gently removed one of her gloves.

If she’d not been sitting on his lap, she would have fallen over. His hand wrapped round her bare hand.

“Ever since The Strand, I wondered what your little hand would feel like with your glove off,” the duke said.

His hand was so much larger than her own, but hers felt very safe wrapped in his.

“And look at those curls, they are perfection, and dimples too,” the duke said, kissing her once more.

“I’m very short,” Finella said. She did not know why she felt compelled to point that out but it seemed somehow necessary, as if the duke might not have noticed.

He laughed. “Yes, I know. You can be difficult to find in a crowd, especially when I am in a chair.”

“I am more rounded than other ladies?” Finella said. Why on earth was she directing the duke to look at all her faults? It was as if she could not stop herself.

He wrapped his arms around her and said, “I know, and very soft. As for me, you won’t mind my current situation? That I am stuck in this chair for a month?”

“Gracious, no. You have a lovely lap, Your Grace.”

“You’d better call me Finstatten. Or Hugh if you like it better.”

The duke kissed her again. It became very much settled in Finella’s mind that she would like to spend forever kissing the duke. Or Finstatten or Hugh, as she would know him. It really was the best thing to do that she could think of.

The doors to the reception room were flung open. The duchess stood in the doorway. It occurred to Finella that the lady would not appreciate finding the lady she sponsored wantonly sitting on a gentleman’s lap. She wrestled herself out of the duke’s chair and to her feet.

“Took you long enough, Duke,” the duchess said. “I presume from this display that you are engaged to wed?”

“We are, Duchess,” the duke said. “As for Miss Fernsby’s position on my lap, she was feeling faint and there was no other place to sit.”

“Yes, yes, very convenient,” the duchess said with a snort.

“I really was woozy, Your Grace,” Finella said. “I did not expect…”

“You did not expect?” the duchess said with a laugh. “I’ve been expecting it for weeks. The two of you are very well suited. Perhaps too nice to run a sensible household, but very well suited nonetheless.”

Since the duchess had opened the doors, more and more of the people in the ballroom began to gather round the doorframe and peer in.

The duchess turned. “You will all be delighted to know that Miss Fernsby has accepted the duke. Now do avail yourselves of the refreshments I have provided.”

The duchess, as always, was very astute. If there were one thing to distract people from gossip, it was food and drink. The lady then directed the duke’s footman to his chair and led them out of the room as the rest of her guests spilled into it.

“You may spend a quiet hour in my library,” the duchess said. “I will direct Wagner to bring you wine and a tray. I feel confident that it is safe, as you are engaged and the duke is, at this particular moment, incapacitated.”

She led them through the ballroom and Finella saw Lord Packington leading his sister out, rather than into the refreshment room.

Finella could not imagine what the lady thought, as she had received daffodils and she had thought the green shawl was meant for her.

Lady Violet was not to know of all the mistakes that had been made.

The library was quiet, the duchess left them there, and Wagner was efficient with the wine and a tray. The footman helped the duke onto a sofa and was sent away.

Finella sat next to him, very close, and admitted that she had assumed the duke and Lady Violet were a match. The duke said that Lady Violet had thought the same and he did not know if he would have trouble from Lord Packington.

“On no account are you to meet him on a green to settle it,” Finella said. “I really feel strongly about that. Perhaps I should not have an opinion on what gentlemen choose to do, but I really am against it.”

The duke had laughed. “Have all the opinions you like about me, Miss Fernsby. Well, he cannot challenge me at the moment, in any case. Nobody ever shot at somebody in a wheeled chair. In time, I hope he will see the true situation and realize that his sister was never ready for a season.”

“That’s what the duchess says,” Finella said. “Also, you should call me Finella.”

“Ah, I have been calling you Finella in my thoughts for some time. Sometimes I have even called you Finny.”

Finella laughed at that, as those close to her at home often called her Finny. Then the duke stopped her laugh with a kiss. Their hour alone together went by surprisingly fast.

It did go by though, and the duchess returned to them. She said that while she was exceedingly liberal, she did still have to report to Finella’s father and the baron counted on her to protect his daughter’s honor.

The duke was helped back into his chair and his carriage was called.

Finella walked out to the pavement and waved the duke off.

As his carriage trotted away, he hung out the window and waved.

She waved back. Goodness, they had done an awful lot of waving through this courtship that Finella had never been convinced even was a courtship.

The duchess stood next to her. “Well now, I cannot think of another two people who deserve to be happy as the two of you. Your father will be most pleased with my efforts, I think.”

Her father. The baron would be more than pleased.

He would be positively bowled over. His parting advice was to avoid wedding a vicar.

He would hardly imagine she’d wed a duke instead.

Perhaps what the duchess and her father would never understand was that her fiancé was a glorious gentleman and she would have accepted him even if he was a vicar.

He could be a pirate for all she cared about it. Who could refuse Finstatten?

Finella fairly floated up the stairs. In her bedchamber, Lucy was peering out the window, watching the carriages coming for the duchesses’ guests. Her maid turned and said, “There you are. See? You survived the night just fine.”

“More than fine, Lucy. I am engaged.”

“Engaged?” Lucy said, staggering back. “To who? Is he poor? Is he in the straits you’ve talked about? Can he afford a lady’s maid?”

“I am engaged to the duke. I am engaged to wed the Duke of Greystone.”

Lucy tossed back what was either water or gin. “My dream is coming true. I’m to be the lady’s maid to a duchess. I can hardly believe my luck.”

Finella laughed. “Yes, I am feeling rather lucky too.”