Read Online The Debonair Duke by Emilyn Hendrickson - Free Book Online Page B

countess happily relating a story of school mischief that turned out to Lady Gresham’s credit. The duke must have made her mother’s heart swell when he commented that he could see where Lady Pamela inherited her charm and grace, implying that they came from her mother. Pamela wryly accepted that no flattery about her looks was offered. That would have been pouring the butter boat a bit heavy.
    “I wish Lady Pamela to join a small group of my friends on Tuesday morning,” Lady Anne said quietly to Lady Gresham before it was time to leave. “It is a little waltzing party, to allow us to practice in private. His Grace approves and will also attend,” she added artlessly.
    Pamela almost smiled when she noted the expression on her mother’s face. The war waged within again —decadent waltzing versus the duke and his set.
    The duke won easily when he bowed over Lady Gresham’s hand, adding in his distinctive voice, “I believe Lady Pamela will shine quite well, as I feel certain you would should you choose to try the new dance.”
    “Of course she may attend,” her ladyship replied with a regal nod that set the Countess of Broughton coughing into her handkerchief.
    Lady Anne exchanged a nod with Pamela that might have been demure, but Pamela almost chuckled, for Lady Anne’s eyes danced with mischief. ‘Tuesday, next?”
    Pamela walked with the departing trio as far as the door, pressing Lady Anne’s hand in gratitude that she should be so helpful. After all, Pamela reminded herself, this was in aid of finding the true owner of the sapphire-and-diamond necklace —nothing more.
    In the meantime, Pamela intended to pore over her father’s copy of the peerage in order to expedite the hunt. It took time to check each name and the family listed beneath each titled gentleman. What she might do when she had compiled her list, she had not quite decided as yet. Perhaps the duke would have a solution.
    Her heart warmed at the memory of the kind words he had expressed on her behalf. She knew he had gone out of his way to assure her presence come Tuesday, and she thought it excessively obliging of him. Of course, he only wished her there to assist in solving the mystery.
    There was a hint of “so there” in her thoughts, for as commonplace as were her looks, she had no illusions that the duke might be inclined to look in her direction for his duchess —however lovely that notion might be.
    * * * *
    The weekend passed with all the usual events taking place. Pamela joined her mother at a concert, attended a rout, followed by a modest ball, then on Sunday accompanied her mother to the chapel the countess favored to hear a sermon that dealt with telling the truth.
    In her mind, Pamela defended herself by insisting she had told the truth —just not all of it. After all, she did not wish to make her mother ill.
    * * * *
    Tuesday morning Pamela was up early, as had become her habit. “I should wish to seem proper and yet have just a hint of the dashing,” she confided to Rose. “Do I have anything that isn’t depressingly proper?”
    “We shall see , my lady.” It was clear that Rose harbored raised hopes for her mistress, especially after the duke attended the at home on Thursday.
    It was decided that a simple, high-waisted frock with a crossed braid of fabric beneath the bust and little light puffs of sleeves at the shoulders would do. In a delicate printed muslin the dress was elegantly unpretentious, as only one cut by a master hand could be. Pamela worried the skirt might be a trifle short, but had been assured by Rose —who had bothered to find out what might be proper—that that length was all the thing for the waltz.
    Feeling a bit like a fairy princess, Pamela set off for the Radcliffe house in the family carriage. Her mother had naturally not come down to see her off; she was preparing to go on her own rounds.
    Breathless, although she had not rushed, Pamela calmed herself once she entered the Radcliffe house.