Page 5 of Corrupting his Duchess

“Only emotionally,” Anna replied, pulling her friend into a brief, whispered hug. “You look flawless, as usual. Tell me you loathed every minute of the journey.”

“With all my heart. The roads were the worst. My breakfast threatened to make a reappearance with every jolt.”

They shared a soft laugh before Gretchen leaned closer to Anna.

“Come,” she said, hiding her mouth with her gloves. “Tell me whether this Duke is as impossible as they say.”

“I cannot quite decide if he’s a man or a particularly elegant thundercloud.”

Gretchen raised a brow. “That much?”

“Oh yes. Glared at me as though I personally offended the furniture.”

Before Gretchen could reply, the sound of another carriage rolling to a halt filtered in from the hall.

“Anna!”

Julia Proctor arrived in a burst of sapphire blue, her skirts swishing dramatically as she pulled Anna into a full-bodied embrace. Her dark hair was swept into a crown of curls, pinned with silver combs that sparkled as she moved. Her cheeks were pink from excitement, or the wind, and she smelled faintly of rosewater and citrus.

“Don’t you dare begin without me,” she declared, releasing Anna and turning in a theatrical circle. “Good heavens, this place is dreary. Grand, yes, but positively built for brooding.”

“That is the idea,” Anna said. “The Duke of Yeats appears to thrive on draughty corridors and Gothic moods.”

“Delicious,” Julia said with a grin. “Where is he? Lurking in a tower with a goblet of red wine and a dramatic monologue?”

“Likely reading business contracts in silence, such a waste of such a handsome face” Gretchen muttered, smoothing her skirt.

Trailing behind Julia was her younger sister, Natalie, eighteen and still getting used to being in rooms filled with strangers.She wore a pale blue gown, soft and demure, her honey-brown curls tucked beneath a bonnet several shades too simple for the occasion.

Natalie gave Anna a shy smile. “It is beautiful here,” she said softly, “but I certainly will ruin everything by saying something foolish,” she added, half under her breath.

“Nonsense,” Julia said, slipping an arm around her sister. “That’s my role.”

“I still cannot believe we were invited,” Natalie whispered to her sister.

“That’s because I was invited,” Julia said breezily. “You were simply attached to my hem like always.”

A dry cough snapped through the air behind them.

Isaac.

He stood at the threshold like an ill-timed footnote, glancing between the girls and frowning slightly as Henry stepped beside him, wearing the same impenetrable mask and ignoring the sighs and fluttering of lashes from the ladies save Anna.

Anna didn’t turn. “Must my cousin always appear just when I’m about to enjoy myself?” she murmured under her breath.

Voices echoed from the hall and a moment later, Nathaniel Lowton entered.

He was tall, golden-haired, and entirely too aware of his own effect. His coat was still open from the ride, his breeches dusted, and his boots gleamed with a polish that could not have survived travel, yet somehow did.

“Yeats,” he greeted, clapping Henry on the shoulder as he passed, “you’re looking unusually grim today. Is it because you’re playing host?”

He grinned at Henry's understated glare then turned toward the ladies with the kind of grin that had likely ruined hearts from London to Bath.

“Ladies,” he said with a bow that balanced charm and calculation, “your radiance has thoroughly outshone the chandeliers. I am Nathaniel, Duke of Frayton, and I must apologize in advance for whatever offense I shall inevitably commit this evening.”

Gretchen's smile was faint, her tone cooler than the firelight behind her. “How considerate, Your Grace. Apologies offered before offenses are rarely sincere.”

He tilted his head, amused. “I find it efficient to front-load expectations.”