Page 17

T he crystal chandeliers of Summerton House fractured sunlight into a thousand dancing rainbows, and each one felt like an accusation to Caitria. She clutched her borrowed silk gloves tighter, certain that any moment now, someone would point at the Irish peasant farmer’s daughter and cry impostor.

His Grace’s mother, the duchess, was everything Caitria had imagined and feared.

Tall, elegant, with silver-threaded dark hair, she had arctic-blue eyes that seemed to look straight through her.

The older woman’s gaze had swept over Caitria’s plain evening gown—one of Courtney’s cast-offs that had been altered to fit her—and her mouth had tightened ever so slightly.

“Isn’t she the nanny? I’m sure Lady Garner told me about an Irish nanny who’d accompanied Lord Furoe from Ireland. How…unusual to include the household staff in dinner,” Lady Penelope’s mother, Lady Hambleton, remarked to the duchess with a knife-edge smile. Did she speak loudly on purpose?

Caitria saw Lucien’s gaze harden. “Miss O’Donnell is family,” Lucien said firmly at the underlying hostility. He was defensive about his time in Ireland, where he’d lived as a simple tenant farmer, and he was protective of her.

“Indeed?” Lady Penelope’s perfectly arched eyebrows rose as her gaze darted between Caitria and Lucien. “How…fascinating.”

Caitria wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. They too thought she had been Lucien’s mistress.

Just then, she caught Alexander watching her from across the table, his blue eyes the same color as his mother’s, yet so much warmer. As she stared, they darkened with an emotion she couldn’t quite read. Or perhaps didn’t want to read.

“Tell me, Miss O’Donnell…” Lady Penelope’s voice dripped honey-coated venom, “How are you finding the escape to the country? Have you found an activity of interest? I heard there are pleasant beaches to visit.”

At the insinuation in Lady Penelope’s words, the silence that fell over the table was deafening.

Caitria’s cheeks burned, but she refused to drop her gaze.

Had someone been spying on His Grace? Had they been seen together at the cove?

She hoped not or Lucien would be upset. “I love the sea. We Irish learn to swim young, my lady. The sea doesn’t care about titles. ”

A choking sound that might have been hastily suppressed laughter came from Courtney’s direction.

“Quite right,” Alexander said, his voice carrying that aristocratic authority that could silence a room. “I find swimming to be an admirable skill. One never knows when it might prove useful.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed at his defense. “Speaking of useful skills, Lady Penelope plays the pianoforte beautifully. Perhaps after dinner—”

Ignoring his mother, Alexander said, “I was hoping Miss O’Donnell might tell us about the puppies born yesterday. Quite the dramatic delivery, I understand.”

The duchess looked as if she’d bitten into a lemon, but Caitria seized the change of subject gratefully. “Five healthy pups,” she said, careful to maintain her cultivated English accent. “Your son was invaluable in helping deliver them.”

“You helped deliver puppies, Alexander?” Lady Penelope’s voice rose an octave and her familiarity irked Caitria. “How…unexpected.”

“Indeed. Miss O’Donnell taught me quite a bit about whelping.” His eyes met Caitria’s across the table, and the heat in them made her breath catch. “She has many hidden talents.”

“Clearly,” Lady Penelope muttered into her wineglass.

“Are you staying for the summer, Miss O’Donnell?” the duchess asked, her tone suggesting she found this highly irregular.

“Yes, Your Grace. To help with Ava-Marie’s transition to her new life and to visit the seaside. I miss the sea when in London.”

“Surely that’s what nannies are for?” Lady Hambleton interjected.

“Caitria is not the nanny,” Courtney said firmly. “She’s been like a mother to Ava-Marie.”

“Oh? And where is the child’s actual mother?” Lady Penelope asked with feigned innocence.

“My cousin Ava passed away,” Caitria said quietly. “Which is why I help care for her daughter.”

“Your cousin?” Lady Penelope’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. She looked between Caitria and Alexander again, her face flushing. “Oh! I had thought… That is, I assumed…”

“Yes, quite a few people seem to make assumptions about my character,” Caitria said, quietly under her voice, as she glanced at Alexander. He had the grace to look ashamed.

“I will not have Caitria, my wife’s cousin, slandered so. I hope I can count on everyone in this room to ensure that any such lies are squashed,” Lucien added, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

The ladies had the grace to look sheepish. The duchess added, “I will, of course, explain should the need arise, and you are welcome to visit us here with Lady Courtney at any time.”

Surprised by the reconciliatory aspects of her invitation, Caitria replied with a warm smile, “Thank you, Your Grace. I shall remember your kind invitation.”

The conversation moved to safer topics—local gossip, the weather, upcoming social events. But Caitria could feel Alexander’s gaze returning to her again and again. When she dared to look his way, the naked longing in his eyes made her heart stutter.

It wasn’t until they were preparing to leave that she found herself momentarily alone with him in the entrance hall.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For everything.”

“Are you?” She kept her voice low. “Sorry for making assumptions about my character, or sorry those assumptions proved wrong?”

He reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “Caitria—”

“Your mother is watching,” she whispered. “And your future duchess is waiting.” Then she moved out to meet the carriage.

But as their carriage pulled away from Summerton House, she couldn’t stop her traitorous heart from wondering what his touch might have felt like, or her mind from imagining a world where titles and stations didn’t matter quite so much.

“Is there something between you and His Grace?” Lucien asked, concerned etched on his face.

“Of course not. We met down near the sea, that’s all.” Thank goodness it was dark and he couldn’t see her flushed face.

“His Grace is a kind man, from what I have heard,” Courtney added. “I suspect his mother is planning a match for him to Lady Penelope.”

Caitria tuned to look out the window. Courtney’s message was not lost on her. A duke was not going to offer marriage to a woman like her. “I’m sure Lady Penelope would make His Grace an excellent duchess.”

It was hardly surprising that no one in the carriage disputed that fact.

The pain under her breastbone wasn’t from overeating. How could she be stupid enough to let herself fall for a man so far above her station?

But she had. The signs were all there. She wanted to scratch Penelope’s eyes out and scream that Alexander was hers.

She’d bloody well fallen in love with a duke, and it could only end in tears—her tears.