Read Online An Ideal Duchess by Evangeline Holland - Free Book Online
Authors: Evangeline Holland
Ads: Link
her way slowly through the guests milling about the lawn, pausing at intervals to glance at the croquet players, and Ursula raised a brow at Viola when the gel finally reached her side.
“Your parasol, Your Grace,” Viola bobbed a slight curtsey, opened the plain ivory parasol, and held it over Ursula’s head.
“My goodness, Viola, did you manage to lose your way between my bedroom and the lawn?” Ursula took the parasol and tilted it over her head, taking care for the upswept brim of her straw hat, and handed the dozing spaniel to her companion.
“No, Your Grace,” Viola said dully, cradling Button in her arms.
Ursula huffed quietly in exasperation. She never could get a rise of the gel; perhaps if she prodded her companion with the blunt tip of her parasol…She followed Viola’s line of vision directly to the American, who had paired with Squire Challoner’s wild son around a bridge, and frowned. She might not be entirely convinced of the gel’s suitability as the next Duchess of Malvern, but it wouldn’t do for the too handsome and too reckless Anthony Challoner to steal the heiress from beneath Malvern’s nose. She narrowed her eyes and cast a sidelong glance at Viola, whose fidgeting fingers woke Button, who promptly yelped and began wiggling.
“You are dismissed, Viola. Go play with the young people.”
“Your Grace!” Viola’s eyes widened as she struggled to hold the small dog. “You are much too kind.”
“I am nothing of the kind. One hour.” Ursula raised one finger to emphasize that one hour. “And hand me that dog.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Her companion obeyed, curtseying once more, and backed away a few steps, before turning to hasten towards the game.
Ursula watched the young people for a moment, noticing Viola went directly for Malvern, who in turn looked over her companion’s head to visibly seek her out amongst the crowd. Ursula dipped her parasol in acknowledgement of his regard, and then smiled when her son immediately maneuvered Viola towards Challoner and the American, smoothly switching partners. They were of like mind, almost moving as one in his capacity as Duke of Malvern, and she almost regretted the breaking up of their delightful à deux for the necessity of his marrying to continue to line. Almost, was the key word, for she was greatly relieved that Auberon was now the duke instead of Alexander.
She felt a small pang of guilt and sorrow for the loss of her eldest son, but truth be told, she did not know him very well, since the rearing of the Marquess of Rodborough was the province of his father, leaving the younger children to her. Nevertheless, Providence worked things out in its own way, and now the rightful duke wore the strawberry leaves.
As Ursula strolled across the lawn with Button tucked in the crook of her arm, she nodded graciously to guests seated in garden chairs and seats facing the game, and to those lounging beneath the tents erected by the footmen, in both a show of might and of confidence. She was well aware of the whispers that stopped when she approached, and of the pointed stares and sly innuendo from those ladies of equal enough rank to couch their nose for scandal in blandishments.
They were there to see if the Townsend family had toppled, if the Duchess of Malvern had fallen from her lofty height, if Bledington—she winced—was tumbling down about their ears. Not during her reign and not during her son’s if she could help it. Ursula paused to confer with Fowler, who was uneasy about the amount of punch Mrs. Alcock was sending up for the guests, and as she
“Your parasol, Your Grace,” Viola bobbed a slight curtsey, opened the plain ivory parasol, and held it over Ursula’s head.
“My goodness, Viola, did you manage to lose your way between my bedroom and the lawn?” Ursula took the parasol and tilted it over her head, taking care for the upswept brim of her straw hat, and handed the dozing spaniel to her companion.
“No, Your Grace,” Viola said dully, cradling Button in her arms.
Ursula huffed quietly in exasperation. She never could get a rise of the gel; perhaps if she prodded her companion with the blunt tip of her parasol…She followed Viola’s line of vision directly to the American, who had paired with Squire Challoner’s wild son around a bridge, and frowned. She might not be entirely convinced of the gel’s suitability as the next Duchess of Malvern, but it wouldn’t do for the too handsome and too reckless Anthony Challoner to steal the heiress from beneath Malvern’s nose. She narrowed her eyes and cast a sidelong glance at Viola, whose fidgeting fingers woke Button, who promptly yelped and began wiggling.
“You are dismissed, Viola. Go play with the young people.”
“Your Grace!” Viola’s eyes widened as she struggled to hold the small dog. “You are much too kind.”
“I am nothing of the kind. One hour.” Ursula raised one finger to emphasize that one hour. “And hand me that dog.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Her companion obeyed, curtseying once more, and backed away a few steps, before turning to hasten towards the game.
Ursula watched the young people for a moment, noticing Viola went directly for Malvern, who in turn looked over her companion’s head to visibly seek her out amongst the crowd. Ursula dipped her parasol in acknowledgement of his regard, and then smiled when her son immediately maneuvered Viola towards Challoner and the American, smoothly switching partners. They were of like mind, almost moving as one in his capacity as Duke of Malvern, and she almost regretted the breaking up of their delightful à deux for the necessity of his marrying to continue to line. Almost, was the key word, for she was greatly relieved that Auberon was now the duke instead of Alexander.
She felt a small pang of guilt and sorrow for the loss of her eldest son, but truth be told, she did not know him very well, since the rearing of the Marquess of Rodborough was the province of his father, leaving the younger children to her. Nevertheless, Providence worked things out in its own way, and now the rightful duke wore the strawberry leaves.
As Ursula strolled across the lawn with Button tucked in the crook of her arm, she nodded graciously to guests seated in garden chairs and seats facing the game, and to those lounging beneath the tents erected by the footmen, in both a show of might and of confidence. She was well aware of the whispers that stopped when she approached, and of the pointed stares and sly innuendo from those ladies of equal enough rank to couch their nose for scandal in blandishments.
They were there to see if the Townsend family had toppled, if the Duchess of Malvern had fallen from her lofty height, if Bledington—she winced—was tumbling down about their ears. Not during her reign and not during her son’s if she could help it. Ursula paused to confer with Fowler, who was uneasy about the amount of punch Mrs. Alcock was sending up for the guests, and as she
Similar Books
