Read Online Between the Duke and the Deep Blue Sea by Sophia Nash - Free Book Online
Authors: Sophia Nash
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coming to get you,” Roxanne said cheerfully.
“Who?”
“The mothers.”
“Pardon?”
“And the daughters. Looks like the widows are going to make a play for you too. Bye-bye.”
Alex gave himself over to the process. The process of being plucked over by a group of hens and chicks. The former clucked, and the latter preened. Then the roosters strutted by to take stock of the proceedings. The last of them was the Earl of Paxton, who was careful not to remove the traces of glistening tears on his pretty face.
“Your Grace, I presume,” the earl said, with a proper amount of sadness radiating from a small smile. “You do me a great honor in coming today. My dear, dear Roxanne would be in awe that you graced us with your presence. I am only sorry it had to be on this saddest of days that we finally meet.”
“I always liked the name Roxanne,” Alex said. “Almost as much as Tatiana. Although I think Harriet would suit a countess better, don’t you?”
That silenced the crowd. All the better for them to think him destined for an asylum. It might thin the ranks of the matrimonially inclined.
“Tell me about your dear countess, sir. Was she a docile sort or a hoyden?”
The Earl of Paxton pursed his mouth. He recovered nicely. “Indeed. She was the best of wives. Kindhearted, beautiful, always inclined to think of others before herself. A perfect countess. All the other wives and daughters of our acquaintances cherished her friendship.”
Not a single sound of agreement echoed. One lady coughed into her lace handkerchief.
Alex smiled. “I was given to understand that she was an excellent boot polisher.”
“The best . . .” the earl said before halting abruptly and standing back on his heels. “I can’t imagine who would have told you that.”
“Why, your footman, my dear man. When I came to call.”
“You came to call?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I came to make your acquaintance and to extend an invitation to attend a supper and dance Thursday next. Of course, I did not leave the invitation when the footman informed me that your wife had disappeared and was presumed dead. I knew you would be in mourning.”
Desire warred with correct decorum on the earl’s face. Desire won out. Of course.
“Well, I certainly cannot have you thinking that we would not offer you a warm welcome in Cornwall, Your Grace. I will, of course, attend. But I shall not dance.”
“Not even a quadrille?”
The earl blinked. “Well, certainly not a waltz.”
Another gentleman, whose corset did not quite meet the challenge of his substantial girth, cleared his throat. “Paxton, we shall release you from your engagement to dine with our family Thursday.” The pretty face of a young lady beside the man appeared crestfallen.
“Nonsense,” the duke replied before allowing Paxton to attempt any sort of diplomacy. “I invite you and your family as well, sir. Indeed, I am sorry I cannot invite you all, but there will be other entertainments this summer, of that I promise.” That he might not attend them was something he did not feel he had to impart.
A flurry of happy noises erupted all about.
“But I am interrupting a solemn occasion. Please, I beg of you to continue. Now is not the time for us to discuss parties, and soirees, and summer balls.” He scanned the crowd and could not find a single person whose countenance agreed with his sentiments. All of them wanted to talk about parties, and soirees, and summer balls.
Except one.
A thin, older, less formally garbed fellow had wandered to the gravesite and was staring at the coffin that lay therein. His long salt-and-pepper hair was tied into a queue, and his matching moustache was drawn high on the ends.
Alex wondered who he was but decided against drawing attention to him. He was sure, if Roxanne was still skulking about the tree trunks as he suspected, that she would tell him later.
“Well, I suppose it is time,” the earl said with a deep
“Who?”
“The mothers.”
“Pardon?”
“And the daughters. Looks like the widows are going to make a play for you too. Bye-bye.”
Alex gave himself over to the process. The process of being plucked over by a group of hens and chicks. The former clucked, and the latter preened. Then the roosters strutted by to take stock of the proceedings. The last of them was the Earl of Paxton, who was careful not to remove the traces of glistening tears on his pretty face.
“Your Grace, I presume,” the earl said, with a proper amount of sadness radiating from a small smile. “You do me a great honor in coming today. My dear, dear Roxanne would be in awe that you graced us with your presence. I am only sorry it had to be on this saddest of days that we finally meet.”
“I always liked the name Roxanne,” Alex said. “Almost as much as Tatiana. Although I think Harriet would suit a countess better, don’t you?”
That silenced the crowd. All the better for them to think him destined for an asylum. It might thin the ranks of the matrimonially inclined.
“Tell me about your dear countess, sir. Was she a docile sort or a hoyden?”
The Earl of Paxton pursed his mouth. He recovered nicely. “Indeed. She was the best of wives. Kindhearted, beautiful, always inclined to think of others before herself. A perfect countess. All the other wives and daughters of our acquaintances cherished her friendship.”
Not a single sound of agreement echoed. One lady coughed into her lace handkerchief.
Alex smiled. “I was given to understand that she was an excellent boot polisher.”
“The best . . .” the earl said before halting abruptly and standing back on his heels. “I can’t imagine who would have told you that.”
“Why, your footman, my dear man. When I came to call.”
“You came to call?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I came to make your acquaintance and to extend an invitation to attend a supper and dance Thursday next. Of course, I did not leave the invitation when the footman informed me that your wife had disappeared and was presumed dead. I knew you would be in mourning.”
Desire warred with correct decorum on the earl’s face. Desire won out. Of course.
“Well, I certainly cannot have you thinking that we would not offer you a warm welcome in Cornwall, Your Grace. I will, of course, attend. But I shall not dance.”
“Not even a quadrille?”
The earl blinked. “Well, certainly not a waltz.”
Another gentleman, whose corset did not quite meet the challenge of his substantial girth, cleared his throat. “Paxton, we shall release you from your engagement to dine with our family Thursday.” The pretty face of a young lady beside the man appeared crestfallen.
“Nonsense,” the duke replied before allowing Paxton to attempt any sort of diplomacy. “I invite you and your family as well, sir. Indeed, I am sorry I cannot invite you all, but there will be other entertainments this summer, of that I promise.” That he might not attend them was something he did not feel he had to impart.
A flurry of happy noises erupted all about.
“But I am interrupting a solemn occasion. Please, I beg of you to continue. Now is not the time for us to discuss parties, and soirees, and summer balls.” He scanned the crowd and could not find a single person whose countenance agreed with his sentiments. All of them wanted to talk about parties, and soirees, and summer balls.
Except one.
A thin, older, less formally garbed fellow had wandered to the gravesite and was staring at the coffin that lay therein. His long salt-and-pepper hair was tied into a queue, and his matching moustache was drawn high on the ends.
Alex wondered who he was but decided against drawing attention to him. He was sure, if Roxanne was still skulking about the tree trunks as he suspected, that she would tell him later.
“Well, I suppose it is time,” the earl said with a deep
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