Page 23 of Undercover Duke

The duchess smiled. “We did. Maurice and I were still in mourning for his brother, although our children were able to go out and about. Then just as that period ended for me and Maurice . . .”

When she trailed off and sadness stole over her face, sympathy for the duchess welled in Vanessa’s throat. “You had to go into mourning again.”

The woman nodded. “My mourning only ended last month.” She paled a bit. “I swear, I have never been so sick of wearing black in all my life.”

“I can only imagine,” Uncle Noah murmured. “We gentlemen barely change our clothes while in mourning, but you ladies have a more drastic alteration to endure.” A devilish look crossed his face. “And while I’m sure you look lovely in black, Duchess, you look even more beautiful in that shade of blue.”

“Careful, Sir Noah,” the duchess said with mischief in her voice. “Flattery is the devil’s plaything.”

Vanessa frowned. “I thought it was ‘idle hands.’”

“Those, too,” the duchess quipped.

Uncle Noah laughed. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

“And that, sir, is but another flattery,” the duchess said.

“Then perhaps I should demonstrate my admiration in some way other than words.” He leaned close. “Will you give me the honor of dancing this next with me, Duchess?”

“It’s the supper dance,” the duchess said. “Are you sure you want to be forced to share my company for supper as well?”

“I can think of nothing I’d like better,” he said, “although a lowly fellow like myself can only dream of having a dowager duchess’s company.”

“You are . . . are . . .”

“Handsome? Well-groomed?” He winked at her. “Witty?”

“Attempting a dalliance,” the duchess answered. “Though I don’t mind that a bit.”

When he offered his arm and she took it, Vanessa shook her head. She’d never seen her uncle flirt before. It was decidedly unsettling. And very unlike him, too. So to watch him flirting with a veritable stranger—

“Is that mymotherdancing with your uncle?” Sheridan asked as he came up beside Vanessa.

“Oh, yes. And she seemed quite eager to accept his invitation.”

Sheridan gazed out over the floor at the pair. “I hope he’s not assuming she’s a wealthy woman. My father left her with only a minimal widow’s portion.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “My goodness, you’re such a cynic. He’s not dancing with her for her money. He has plenty of money and property of his own.”

“In that case, I find their interest in each other intriguing.”

“How so?”

“I wouldn’t think they’d be well-suited as a couple. Unless . . .” He grimaced.

“Unless what?”

“Nothing. I’ll ask her later what she sees in him.”

Vanessa chuckled. “I think she sees a good-looking fellow to partner her for a dance.”

“And supper. If we were anywhere else and if this were anything more formal, they wouldn’t be paired to go in to supper together.”

She stared at him. “You are amazingly stuffy sometimes, do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I was brought up with the idea that my future lay in helping hostile countries negotiate agreements satisfactory to all. I learned proper protocol at my father’s knee.”

“Then I should point out, Your Grace, that I most certainly would not be the one you’d take in to supper ‘anywhere else . . . more formal.’ So tell me, why are you willing to break protocol to dance with a lowly miss likeme?”