Chapter Three

A tticus Gosling, Duke of Wexham inclined his head politely as Lady Baldwin led him away from the most interesting person he'd met thus far at this house party, and that included Lady Belinda who he was expected to offer for at some point. Not that there was anything wrong with Belinda, just the opposite. She was perfectly suitable. But the little time they'd spent in each other's company was enough for Atticus to know that while she would make an excellent duchess, he felt little for her. No spark. There was no sense of intoxication at her presence.

Unlike Miss Holm. She made his head buzzy, as if Atticus had swallowed an entire snifter of brandy.

"I do apologize, Your Grace," Lady Baldwin intoned. "Had I known you'd been subjected to Miss Parthena Holm I would have rescued you sooner. The girl has the unfailing ability to cause unpleasantness whenever she appears." She gave a drawn-out sigh. "But Mrs. Holm is a distant relation of mine, and she despairs of finding appropriate matches for her daughters. I do everything in my power to help her. Fidelia," she inclined her head towards a lovely brunette, "will do well. But Parthena is another matter."

Atticus made a sound in his throat, which his hostess took as agreement. Lady Baldwin was an ambitious, social climbing matron who desired nothing more than a connection to a duke. She'd once been a friend of Atticus's mother and when he'd made the decision to wed, he'd called upon her for assistance. He had no female relatives to turn to. Conveniently, Lady Baldwin had a niece of marriageable age. Seemed simple enough.

"I hope I did not make a mistake in offering to have the Miss Holms accompany Belinda tomorrow. But Fidelia plays the pianoforte exceptionally well."

"And the other Miss Holm, what is her talent?" Parthena's earlier comment about being a foil now made a great deal more sense.

"The violin." Lady Baldwin made a dismissive sound. "Adequate at best. But, I promised Mrs. Holm that both would perform with Belinda. My niece sings like a songbird, Your Grace."

"I look forward to hearing her."

A smile spread across Lady Baldwin's features. "Ah, there you are, Belinda." She led Atticus to her niece. "Excuse me for a moment while I check with Corman on the refreshments."

Lady Baldwin wasn't trying very hard to hide her motives.

"Your Grace." Lady Belinda blushed prettily. She had delicate features with wide blue eyes and a trim figure. Daughter of a marquess, she was well-bred with a large dowry and a multitude of connections. Belinda would perform her duties in the marital bed and outside of it.

But nothing stirred when Atticus looked at her. Not his heart or his cock.

Still, Belinda was an adequate choice. A good decision.

Atticus listened with one ear as Belinda chattered away about a ball she'd attended in London and assumed he gave a fig about who'd been present. His eyes kept drifting to a spot over Belinda's shoulder, to Parthena Holm.

*

A shadow came to stand over Parthena as she waited for the inevitable. Either Mama or Lady Baldwin would return to inform her that Wexham had raised a fuss. She'd insulted a duke and must be escorted out.

"Have you been sitting here the entire time?"

Every so often, Parthena would tilt her chin, enough to see him standing beside Lady Belinda. They made a splendid couple, both richly dressed and absurdly attractive. Pity he had to be Wexham. Before Lady Baldwin arrived, Parthena had been considering his lips and what kissing him might feel like. She'd acted on such an urge only one other time, with one of the village lads.

Fidelia came to stand before her, a glass of punch in one hand. "Staring out at that folly across the pond. Talking to dukes." She wiggled her brows. "Ensuring the anger of Lady Baldwin."

"She is particularly wrathful, isn't she? As it happens, Fidelia, I didn't realize he was Wexham until after I insulted him with the insinuation that the duke might be ancient, gout ridden and possibly have a peg leg."

Fidelia looked towards the heavens. "You didn't. Please tell me you're joking."

"I am not," Parthena assured her. "Wexham wasn't the least offended. He laughed at my wild imagination."

"Really? Usually a gentleman flees from you as if his coat was on fire."

Parthena gritted her teeth. "There isn't any need to remind me."

"Wexham is not at all what I expected. Quite handsome. Just look at those curls."

Sneaking another look at the duke, Parthena tried not to sigh. "Lovely. Black like a raven's wing. Wait until you catch a glimpse of his eyes. An unusual light brown, they appear gold."

"And he's a duke. No wonder Lady Baldwin is so filled with determination. Mama tells me that Wexham is expected to offer for Belinda. I hope he does so after our musicale since we leave the following day. Bad enough we'll miss the celebration which is bound to include fireworks, such as we had on Belinda's birthday."

Fidelia adored fireworks.

"I suppose." The idea of watching Wexham prance Belinda about left Parthena with an uneasy sensation in her mid-section, as if she'd had one too many servings of treacle. She turned away from Fidelia to take in Wexham. She'd never really wanted to be anyone other than herself, but just then, watching Belinda place her slender fingers on Wexham's arm, Parthena desired nothing more than to be a young lady who might catch a duke's fancy.

Wexham bowed to Lady Belinda and moved away from her, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. He deliberately paused, looked directly at Parthena and… winked . As if they shared a secret known only to the two of them. Then he strolled off in the direction of Mr. Shore.

A pleased sound erupted from her. Perhaps she didn't need to be Belinda.

"Parthena? Are you well?"

"Exceptionally, Fidelia. I was merely contemplating Mr. Shore who studies not only birds, but you, it seems."

A blush stole across her sister's cheeks. "The duke is Mr. Shore's patron. I spoke to him for some time after we came out to the terrace. He and Wexham grew up together and are close friends."

"You don't care for scholars or birds, Fidelia." But Parthena was smiling.

"Most scholars do not resemble Mr. Shore." Her sister laughed. "And I will learn to like birds."