Page 30 of Hot Duke Summer
A tticus had a difficult time keeping his attention on Belinda, his intended bride, because he was far too enthralled with watching Miss Holm. The entire house party was dining al fresco at a half dozen circular tables set out on the terrace. He could just make out Miss Holm, her sister, and mother sitting at a table some distance from him. Purposefully, he assumed. Any further from the main table where Atticus sat, and their small group would be situated in the gardens.
He replayed their all too brief interaction earlier that day. The shock when Miss Holm realized he was Wexham. The soft flutter of her lashes when she blushed after Atticus winked at her. Miss Holm was a most curious creature.
Every so often Lady Baldwin would glance at Miss Holm, lip curling with disapproval.
Duncan, being of no importance to their hostess, had switched seats and placed himself directly across from Fidelia Holm. What would Lady Baldwin do, he wondered, were he to stand and take a seat with the Holm ladies and Duncan?
“Are you enjoying the duck, Your Grace?”
“Delicious,” he said to Lady Baldwin, barely tasting anything on his plate.
Parthena was speaking, demanding his attention as well as those seated around her. Hands fluttering about in the air as she told her tale, features expressive and not the least composed. So unlike another other young lady at this house party. The light of the lamps glinted off the dark brown ringlets framing her face, bouncing off her cheeks as she spoke. She took a deep breath, pausing, and looked in his direction.
A breathless sensation struck Atticus. Desire for Parthena. Not all of it physical.
“Your Grace,” Lady Baldwin addressed him, the ghost of a frown on her lips as if guessing where his interest lay. “Is there something about the roasted potatoes which distresses you?”
“Not at all, madam. I fear I was lost in thought, contemplating something Mr. Shore related to me yesterday concerning a business matter.”
“I thought Mr. Shore’s expertise was with birds.”
“Oh, it is,” he assured her, schooling his features. “But Mr. Shore is also well-versed in land management.”
Parthena stood, still immersed in whatever story she related, gesturing wildly. Her left hand struck out, smacking the footman behind her, in the nose.
The serving dish the footman held went up in the air as he grabbed his wounded nose, which was now bleeding. The serving dish had been filled with peas. The tiny pellets rained down on the unsuspecting Lady Hanson, seated at the next table.
Lady Hanson shrieked.
Atticus could only press his lips together to keep from laughing.
Lady Baldwin set down her fork with an irritated sound. “I only hope,” she said under her breath to Belinda, “she does not stab you with the bow of her violin tomorrow evening. If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace.” Lady Baldwin came to her feet with a grimace. “I must see to Lady Hanson.”
“Of course,” Atticus demurred, struggling to keep his features bland.
“I warned my aunt against inviting Mrs. Holm and her daughters. But—” Belinda looked towards Lady Baldwin who was motioning for her butler, Corman. “Mrs. Holm pleaded and assured her there would not be a repeat of the incident . I suppose she underestimated Parthena.”
“The incident?”
Belinda colored. “I really shouldn’t speak of it, Your Grace.”
Parthena, meanwhile, had taken a step back from the table, a stricken look on her features as she took in the peas littering the floor, the bleeding footman, and Lady Hanson. Duncan’s shoulders shook with silent laughter while Fidelia merely gave her sister a patient look.
The long-suffering Mrs. Holm stiffened and took a deep breath as she observed her daughter, tipping up her glass of wine.
“My aunt and Mrs. Holm are distantly related. Very distantly,” Belinda started. “Cousins, I believe.”
“Lady Baldwin related as much to me.”
“And as such, she feels duty-bound to assist Mrs. Holm in any way she can, given their situation. Mr. Holm has been ill for some time. The circumstances of the Holm family are greatly reduced.”
Parthena’s family was not wealthy. Not of note. He’d assumed as much given where they were seated.
“My aunt hosted a dinner last year, a small gathering of local gentry, and invited Mrs. Holm and her daughters. There is no secret she’s trying to find husbands for them. The eldest is the only one to have succeeded thus far. Leta.” Belinda gave an elegant roll of her shoulders. “They are all oddly named. At any rate, stuffed capons were on the menu. Somehow Parthena,” she nodded in Parthena’s direction. “Managed to,” Belinda cleared her throat, “trap her hand in the cavity of one of the birds.”
Atticus blinked. “The cavity? Her hand became stuck inside a capon? How is that possible?”
“I’m not sure how it happened, Your Grace. Capons are rather small in size. She mentioned something about currants. Regardless, her hand became stuck.”
Atticus looked towards Parthena who now resembled more a deflated souffle than a young lady. She was looking anywhere but at Lady Baldwin.
“In attempting to dislodge the capon from her hand, Miss Holm spilled the contents of her glass. The glass rolled across the table, along with the wine within and onto the lap of Mr. Odam, who pushed back his chair abruptly from the table.” Belinda bit her lip. “Mr. Odam and his chair tipped over and into Corman,” she discreetly tilted her head in the direction of Lady Baldwin’s butler. “Corman went spinning across the length of the dining room and into the gravy boat held aloft by one of the other servants. Quite a mess.”
Atticus stared at Belinda. “You must be exaggerating. I cannot fathom—”
“I am not, Your Grace. Miss Parthena Holm is the terror of hostesses everywhere. There is good reason why Mrs. Holm despairs of her ever finding a match. I doubt there is a gentleman courageous enough. So you see, by extending an invitation and allowing Parthena and Fidelia to accompany me tomorrow evening, my aunt bestowed a great kindness. Which I’m sure she now deeply regrets.”
*
Well this was utterly horrifying.
Parthena had spent most of the meal observing the Duke of Wexham, absorbed with the shape of his mouth when he spoke to Lady Belinda and the graceful movement of his hands as he speared a sliver of duck.
Mooning over Wexham. A duke. One intended for Lady Belinda.
Yes, but he winked at me.
Parthena launched into an amusing story about a visit to the cheesemonger and a wheel of cheddar to distract herself from the sight of Wexham seated beside Belinda. In the process of describing how the cheddar rolled off the counter and headed out the door—Mr. Somerset, the cheesemonger, who still wouldn’t allow her back in his establishment—Parthena unintentionally smacked a passing footman with her hand. In the nose. Rather hard. There seemed to be a bit of blood. The poor footman lost his grip on the serving bowl of peas he carried, which in turn, spilled over Lady Hanson.
“Dear God,” Fidelia murmured. “The Misadventures of Parthena Holm continue.”
Everyone enjoying the evening meal among the flickering lamps and the aromas wafting from Lady Baldwin’s garden stopped speaking immediately. Jaws dropped. Lady Hanson jumped about and shrieked as if a hive of bees attacked.
Parthena cleared her throat. Apologized to the footman, though he was too busy trying to stop the blood streaming from his nose to accept, and stepped back, pretending complete absorption in her skirts. This wasn’t nearly as bad as a capon attached to her hand and tossing Corman into a gravy boat, but nearly.
Lady Baldwin surged forward to comfort Lady Hanson, all the while her scathing glare remaining on Parthena.
Mama swallowed her entire glass of wine and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Parthena,” she said in exasperation. “You are a magnet for misfortune.”
Entirely true.
“I’ll just.” Parthena waved her hand, careful to keep it close to her side and not hit anyone else. “Take a walk about the gardens, shall I? Let my meal settle a bit before venturing back inside for this evening’s entertainment. Charades, perhaps.”
“A splendid suggestion, Parthena,” Mother intoned. “Walk about the gardens at least twice. Pray do not trip into the fountain. I think after your stroll, you might consider retiring for the evening. Tomorrow will be another day.”
Mother’s way of informing Parthena that it might be in everyone’s best interests if she did not join the other guests in the drawing room. At the sight of her, Lady Baldwin might insist the Holm ladies return home immediately.
“Yes, Mama.”
She slid away, daring a look in Wexham’s direction. The duke was likely as horrified as everyone else by Parthena.
But Wexham had that same half-smile from earlier on his lips, the amber of his eyes drawing over Parthena in a way that had the heat flying up to sear her cheeks.
Perhaps the duke didn’t mind a disaster now and again.