So perhaps it wasn’t the woman’s hair, but her creamy complexion. Sadly for Dahlia, the sun had been just as encouraging to her freckles, which now dotted her nose. She’d powdered her face before leaving the house, but the powder would be gone by now.
Her sister Lily used to warn her about the effects of the sun, but a walk was so much less enjoyable when one had to pin on a bothersome hat and wear ridiculously long-sleeved gowns as if preparing for a snowstorm.
But now, watching the pretty lady disappear through the castle doors with her admirers, Dahlia wished she’d heeded her sister’s advice a bit more.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Freckled, tanned, and curly mopped she might be, but she was also the duchess’s goddaughter. And her grace had promised to assist her in meeting the most eligible men society had to offer. Surely that would be enough. Dahlia wanted to find true love, the kind that wasn’t frightened away by a few freckles.
The kind of love my sisters have found.
She headed toward the marble steps leading to the massive castle doors. As sad as it was, she’d never been in love. Once, when she’d been much younger, she’d thought she might be, but that had turned out to be a mere infatuation. The man had proven to be most unworthy of her burgeoning affections, for he had no manners and no true heart, either—he’d ridiculed anything romantic, mocked anything tenderhearted, and eschewed anything that smacked of “silly feelings.”
She almost scowled at the thought, but there was no point in thinking about that now. With the encouragement of her family, her short infatuation had ended. Now, if someone wished to woo her, she wanted it to be done correctly, passionately, with soft words and whispered compliments, flowers and soulful glances, romantic notes and—oh, this time she wanted it
all
!
So here she was: walking into a real castle, ready to begin her own fairy tale, ready to be blessed by a godmother who, better than a mythical fairy godmother, was a wealthy duchess who threw fabulous balls and
was known for her matchmaking skills.
Such good fortune!
Hurrying her steps, she walked into the castle behind two young ladies who’d arrived in separate coaches. They’d fallen upon one another like lifelong friends and were excitedly chattering about a variety of people Dahlia had never heard of.
The second she stepped into the foyer, all thoughts fled. Though she’d seen the room once before, she couldn’t help but stare yet again. Her amazed gaze followed walls covered in blue Chinese silk painted with gilt and green flowers, to the high ceiling that featured a mural of a flowered paradise with plump angels and a benevolently smiling God. She noted that, though it was partially hidden by a large tree decked in silver and red ornaments, even the parquet floor had not been spared adornment, as the center had been fashioned into a trompe l’oeil pattern.
Added to the normal decoration was a flurry of glittering seasonal candelabras and garlands of greenery and holly, until Dahlia scarcely knew where to look next. Her dazed attempt to absorb all of these beauties at once stole her breath. It was an ostentatious display, yet it was so artistically done that the words “garish” or “vulgar” could never apply. It was simply beautiful beyond—
A giggle made Dahlia turn and she realized she’d been slowly spinning in a circle, her head tilted back to take in as much of the foyer as possible, one hand plopped upon her bonnet and holding it firmly in
place. Her face heated, and she lowered her gaze and released her bonnet.
The two women continued to smirk, and Dahlia didn’t suppose she could blame them. She tried for a friendly smile. “Hello. I daresay I look the bumpkin, staring in such a way, but—” She waved at the ceiling. “It’s simply beautiful.”
They glanced indifferently at the mural. The taller of them said loftily, “I daresay you haven’t yet seen the pavilion in Brighton. It’s far more opulent. Ah, MacDougal. There you are.”
The duchess’s very proper butler appeared as if from nowhere. MacDougal bowed and spoke in a deep tone that was surprisingly thick with a brogue. “Lady Mary, so ye’ve returned. How’s yer father, Earl Buchan?”
“He’s well, thank you. He’ll be joining us before the ball.”
“Tha’ will please her grace. I’ll make certain his favorite bedchamber is readied.”
“Thank you.” Lady Mary threw a hand toward her companion. “I’m sure you remember Miss Alayne Stewart. The Stewarts are neighbors of ours. She was a guest here last year, too.”
“O’ course I know Miss Stewart.” The butler bowed. “If’n ye’re ready to be escorted to yer bedchambers, I’ll take yer pelisses and bonnets and ha’ them brushed and returned to ye.”
Lady Mary inclined her head and removed her pelisse and bonnet, revealing a beautiful traveling
gown of blue with gold trim. The color set off her deep auburn hair to perfection.
Dahlia had to admit that Lady Mary was attractive, although her blond-haired companion was less so. Miss Stewart’s face was longer, her nose pointed and her teeth protruding the slightest bit, so that she looked like an annoyed rabbit. Despite this unfortunate tendency, her traveling gown of pale pink adorned with green satin bows proclaimed her a woman of fashion.
Lady Mary peeled off her gloves. “MacDougal, where is her grace? I’d like to say good afternoon before I retire to rest before dinner.”
“She’s welcomin’ other guests at the moment, but will be glad to hear tha’ ye asked fer her.”
Lady Mary didn’t look too happy about the butler’s answer, but he didn’t seem to notice, turning away to assign a footman to escort her and Miss Stewart upstairs. As the two walked toward the grand staircase, he mentioned that—if the two ladies were so inclined—a light repast had been laid out in the dining room along with ratafia and sherry. That seemed to go a long way toward soothing Lady Mary’s ruffled feelings.
When the other women had disappeared, the butler turned to Dahlia and his visage softened. “Och, Miss Balfour, how pleasant to see ye again. How are yer sisters?”
“Both still upon the Continent, enjoying themselves.”
He smiled gently. “They be true ladies, the both of them.”
“Indeed, they are.” She hesitated and then confided, “I miss them very much.”
“I canno’ wonder at tha’, fer we miss them here and we hardly had them wit’ us fer a month. We’ve been lookin’ forward to yer visit fer quite a while now.”
Dahlia smiled. “Thank you.”
“ ’Tis naught but the truth, miss. Shall I take yer coat and bonnet?”
“I believe I’ll wear my bonnet up to my room. My hair—” She curled her nose. “It’s not fit for human eyes.”
He chuckled. “As ye wish, miss.”
She’d just handed her pelisse and gloves to him when a feminine voice tinged with the faintest hint of a Scottish accent rang across the hallway. “MacDougal, has she come yet?”
Dahlia turned to see the duchess hurrying across the foyer, a herd of pugs panting behind her. The duchess wore a beautiful morning gown of yellow silk more suited to a much younger woman. Beautifully made, the gown swished as she walked and was the perfect foil for the red wig perched upon her head. One could instantly see the intelligence in the bright blue eyes that peered over a beaked nose at the butler.
“MacDougal, you must tell me the second she arrives! I’ve been waiting in the salon for— Ah!” The duchess stopped in front of Dahlia. “Why, you are
already here! My dear Miss Balfour, finally, you have come!”
MacDougal, beaming fondly, announced in an impressively deep voice, “Miss Balfour jus’ now arrived, she did.”
Aware of the bright blue eyes now examining her from head to toe, Dahlia sank into a quick curtsy. As she did so, one of the pugs ran up to sniff her skirt. Dahlia chuckled when it sneezed so hard that it jumped back several inches.
“Feenie, stop snuffing Miss Balfour’s skirt!” The duchess frowned at the dog. “I’m sorry, but they are sadly unruly. I keep a firm hand on them all, but the servants spoil them wretchedly.”
Dahlia thought she detected a flash of disbelief on MacDougal’s face, although the butler quickly hid it. To hide her smile, she bent to pat some of the less bouncy pugs. One of the dogs seemed to be considerably older, his eyes milky, his tail wagging calmly. She smiled at him and rubbed his ear before straightening. “What delightful dogs. I’ve always wished to have one, but my father does not believe they belong in the house.”
“I’ll remind you of that when they steal one of your good ribbons and run madly through the hallways, streaming it after them like a comet.” The duchess’s eyes gleamed with humor. “Come, Lady Charlotte has been impatiently awaiting your arrival, too, and—Oh. You still have on your bonnet.”
“I can’t remove it, as my hair was sadly mussed on
the way here. No two strands are pointing in the same direction. I fear that I slept upon it and only a damp brush will set it to rights.”
The duchess nodded in understanding. “Then by all means, keep your bonnet. My hair used to give me such fits, too, but I’ve since tamed it.”
Dahlia glanced at the duchess’s wig. Was that how the duchess had tamed her unruly hair, or were there other secrets underneath?
Her grace slipped an arm through Dahlia’s and, as inexorable as the ocean, led her toward the salon. “I’m so glad you’ve arrived! We’ve such delights planned. It seemed to take the coach forever to bring you to us; Charlotte was certain you’d forgotten.”
“Forgotten? To come here? I’ve been holding my breath for weeks, thinking the day would never come. To be honest, it feels as if I’ve been looking forward to this event for most of my life.”
The duchess looked pleased. “We feel the same, I assure you. I think you’ll enjoy our Christmas Ball. It’s much larger than our annual Winter Ball, which was our most festive occasion until Charlotte and I decided to expand our social calendar. It’s so expanded now that Roxburghe swears he cannot come home without finding the house full of people. He’s right; we’ve fairly packed the months with house parties and balls. But then, what’s a castle for, if not to entertain?”
“All year long? That must be taxing.”
“Charlotte and I find it quite worthwhile. All of our
balls have been huge successes—well, all except our Butterfly Ball, which we held last year but will not be doing again.”
“Why not? Lily said it was lovely.”
They reached the huge double doors and the duchess led the way through. “Your sister was being kind. For reasons I dare not explain for fear of making you shudder, Lady Charlotte and I’ve decided to never again— Ah! Charlotte, look who I found in the foyer.”
A kindly looking woman came forward. Her fashionable gown of dove gray accented with heavy cream lace rustled as she walked, while the lace-trimmed mobcap perched upon her curls bounced with each step. Short and plump and beaming, she looked like a small, good-natured fairy. “Miss Balfour, what a pleasure!”
“Lady Charlotte.” Dahlia dipped a curtsy. Just as she was rising, she caught sight of a tall figure behind Lady Charlotte, near the fireplace. The man stirred the fire with a brass-knobbed poker but, to her faint surprise, didn’t look around at her arrival. His lack of interest piqued hers.
He was fashionably dressed, his broad shoulders and narrow waist well displayed by his fitted coat and breeches. Why was he here, waiting in the room the duchess had practically dragged her to? Could her grace think this gentleman could be a good suitor? Dahlia’s pulse quickened.
Her grace’s gaze followed Dahlia’s to the stranger. The duchess frowned and, obviously impatient with
the gentleman’s lack of attention, she cleared her throat.
The man finished banking the fire, apparently not in a hurry to heed the duchess’s hints. As she watched him, Dahlia had the oddest impression that he was hesitant to turn around.
Perhaps he doesn’t wish to be presented as a suitor. Has the duchess forced him into this meeting?
Her uncertainty grew until, just as he bent to replace the poker, she caught a glimpse of his profile. Her heart gave an odd leap. Before he turned to face her, she already knew what she’d see—the red slash of a jagged scar, marring a face of such masculine beauty that it was worthy of the best Greek tragedies.
She was prepared for the scar. But what she wasn’t prepared for was the fashionably cut hair that made him look younger. Much younger. It made him seem like a new man, one she didn’t know at all.
But know him she did, although she was astonished to see him here, dressed and pressed into a man of fashion.
Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Lord Kirk, who invited
you
?”
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
Lord Kirk has much to explain.
Much.
After hearing a few hard, cold facts from Miss Balfour, I’ve half a mind to refuse to assist him further. Fortunately for him, I enjoy a challenge, and this will be the biggest I’ve ever faced. I only wish he’d told us all to begin with . . .
* * *
As soon as the words left Dahlia’s lips, her face heated and she sent a hurried glance at the duchess. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, but I never expected—” She gestured toward Lord Kirk, her onetime friend, long-time neighbor, and now, sworn enemy.
“I daresay you are surprised,” Lady Charlotte offered kindly.
“Very.”
Kirk took up his cane from where it had been resting unnoticed by the fireplace and limped forward.
Dahlia watched him with a narrowed eyes, her gaze
flickering from his perfectly tied cravat to his pressed breeches and shined Hessians.
He stopped before her and bowed.
She blinked. A
bow?
From
him
?
And yet he did it with amazing grace, glinting a smile at her as he did so. “Miss Balfour, what a pleasure to see you here.”
In all of the times they’d met, he’d never offered such a pleasantry. His greetings were always so informal as to border on the impolite. She’d never questioned it, for it was simply his way and he treated everyone the same. But this greeting, combined with the perfect bow, was different—a nice mixture of formality and warmth, like that of someone used to polite society.