Read Online An Ideal Duchess by Evangeline Holland - Free Book Online Page A

continued on after instructing her butler to hold the drinks back until the bowls had been emptied, she realized someone was calling after her. She turned to see Mrs. Sewell, the schoolmaster’s wife waving her handkerchief in greeting. Ursula waited patiently for the woman to reach her side, for this was her duty to the people in her parish, and hoped the meddlesome woman would not press for more than a brief exchange of pleasantries.
                  “You don’t know how grateful I am to finally find you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Sewell dabbed at her cheeks with the handkerchief. “Mr. Sewell said you couldn’t possibly see to every single guest at the garden party, but I just had to thank you personally for consenting to sit on the school board this term.”
                  “You are welcome.”
                  Mrs. Sewell was oblivious to Ursula’s close-ended reply, and began chattering on about curriculum and textbooks, which, due to her position on the school board, Ursula might find interesting had her attention not strayed back to Malvern and his American. Button wiggled in her arms and barked, breaking her contemplation, and she set the floppy-eared spaniel down on the grass, where he promptly lifted his hind leg and urinated in the direction of Mrs. Sewell’s spring frock. The woman gasped in horror, holding her trailing skirts up as she jumped away from the spray and, to Ursula’s delight, bobbed a hasty curtsey before rushing away.
                  Ursula’s mouth curved into a slight smile as she bent to pick up her delightful dog. “Good Button.”
     
    *          *          *
     
                  Amanda found the Duke of Malvern a much more congenial companion than when they last met, and was pleased to discover a very intelligent, thoughtful and perceptive person beneath the stern façade she astutely surmised time and proximity could chip away. She glanced at him with a small smile of pleasure, which he returned after a moment, and gestured for him to take his turn with the croquet mallet. His left arm remained encased in the silk sling, but it failed to hamper his game as he stood slightly over the yellow beech wood croquet ball, gripped his mallet in his right hand, and swung it towards the ball in a straight, smooth line.
                  The tapered head of the mallet connected with the ball with a slight pop! , and the ball rolled bumpily over the manicured lawn in the direction of the sixth bridge, sliding handily beneath the wire arch. Amanda refrained from cheering and grinned at His Grace, as he loped back to her side, the breeze ruffling his auburn hair. He returned her grin, teeth white against his tanned, freckled skin, his gray eyes fixed attentively to her face as though he did not hear the polite clapping of the crowd around their game, nor that he was even aware of their presence.
                  “Well done, Your Grace!” She gripped her mallet, prepared to take her own whack at the ball.
                  “Bron, Miss Townsend,” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he squinted at her. “And you aren’t so bad yourself.”
                  “Is that allowed?” Amanda arched a brow before moving into the proper position to hit her own ball. “It must be de trop to shed so many layers of nomenclature at once.”
                  “It’s rather silly of us to continue ‘Your Grace-ing’ and ‘Miss Townsend-ing’ one another after spending the afternoon together annihilating the other players at croquet.”
                  “Don’t let my brothers hear that—they’re already rather sore at me for not sparing their pride in front of strangers.” She held the mallet in both hands and swung, smacking the ball towards the same bridge at which His Grace had aimed.
                  She tilted her head to the side, crossing