Chapter 2

Dorothy raced quickly along the path, unable to see the cause of the elderly woman's distress but quite convinced of her need for help given the tone of her cries.

"Madam, how may I assist you? Are you unwell?" she asked quickly.

"I am trapped, and that creature is watching me!" the woman said in a frightened voice.

For a moment, Dorothy was baffled, looking around and still seeing no cause for alarm on either score. Then she realized that the woman's skirts had become tangled in the short canes that gardeners had placed to guide the bushes in the flower bed where the elderly intruder had stumbled.

The "creature" turned out to be only Tabitha, the cook's black cat, who had the run of the servants' quarters and gardens. She was an unusually large animal but perfectly well-tempered and no danger to anything larger than a bird.

"Shoo!" Dorothy said, waving her shawl at Tabitha and causing the cat to sprint away to another part of the garden.

Then she bent and untangled the old lady's skirts from the canes.

"There, you are free again, and the cat is gone. She's a dear old thing really, but I can see Tabitha might give you a shock if you weren't expecting to see her."

"Thank you, thank you," the woman said, tears of relief in her eyes. "I cannot thank you enough, but I do not know what I should do now…"

Dorothy was still puzzled at how frightened this unknown visitor had been and what she was doing in the Hoskins' garden.

"Good afternoon," she said gently, not wanting to give the woman any further scares. "My name is Dorothy, and I am Lord Prouton's daughter. May I help you?"

"Lord Prouton?" the gray-haired widow echoed in confusion. "I know no Lord Prouton. Perhaps my son will know him. He has such a good memory, my son. He never forgets a name or a face."

Dorothy swiftly formed the view that the elderly lady was not entirely well, whether in body, mind, or both. Her voice was certainly not strong, but it wavered less as she talked of her son. Might she have somehow wandered in from the street and he was out there looking for her?

"The ground is a little rough among these lavender bushes, isn't it? Apart from the canes, I wouldn't want you to catch a foot on those ornamental rocks."

Offering an arm, Dorothy carefully guided the elderly woman back from the woody bushes and rocks and onto the paving stones.

"There. Now, do you know where you are?"

"Yes, this must be the path to my home," the woman said, looking around in puzzlement at the garden. "How strange. I can't quite remember…"

Clearly, the old lady was not fully compos mentis. Dorothy supposed that she should take the poor woman inside and send some servants out to search the streets for someone who might be her son or another relative. She hoped Patrick would not be tiresome about that. He hated Dorothy getting involved in any charitable works or other activities he deemed best left to spinsters.

"May I ask your name?" Dorothy enquired. "I could ask my brother and our servants to make inquiries about your son and find him for you."

"I am Mary Clark, Dowager Duchess of Dawford, of course," the woman said with a little laugh, as though it should have been obvious. "Whom else should I be?"

"Ah." Dorothy smiled with recognition of the name, given the conversation she'd had that afternoon with her father and Patrick. "Then we are neighbors. My father, Lord Prouton, took on this house two months ago."

"Lord Prouton?" the Dowager Duchess repeated, non-plussed all over again. "I don't know Lord Prouton, but I shall ask my son. Aaron never forgets anything…"

Dorothy sighed at this further evidence of the elder lady's failing memory and looked along the garden wall. Towards the bottom of the garden, she spotted an old gate standing slightly open, presumably leading to the Duke of Dawford's property.

Both the gate and the garden wall looked older than the houses, and Dorothy guessed that they must once have been part of an earlier settlement. The houses had been built separately, but the gardens remained in some ways linked.

"I think that we might reach your house through that gate down there, Your Grace. What do you think?"

"Why, yes, I came in through that gate only a short while ago." The Dowager Duchess smiled with some relief. "I could not see it before. My eyes must be tired."

"Then I shall walk you safely back home," Dorothy reassured the old lady and led her charge down the path to the gate, swallowing her natural hesitance about venturing into the territory of the awful being Patrick had described. "Tell me, Your Grace, do you like living hereabouts?"

"I have always liked this house," the Dowager Duchess replied. "My husband loved it, and so does my son. Aaron has made so many improvements to the property. We have running water! When I was a girl, I could never have imagined such a thing, but the world is a different place now, I suppose."

"How very modern." Dorothy smiled. "I wish we had running water. I expect my brother will take an interest if I tell him that the neighbors have already installed their own pipework, although I don't think he'd know where to start with finding workmen and making plans."

"Aaron is so very clever." The Dowager Duchess nodded. "I've been lucky to have a son like him. I was forty when he was born, you know, and my husband and I had given up on children. Then our miracle arrived. When Aaron sets his mind to something, he always achieves it. He has been that way from when he was a young boy…"

Dorothy listened patiently to the Dowager Duchess's childish intimacies and let her extol the virtues of her only son. Because the words were spoken with love, she found it easier to listen and believe than she had with her brother's money-oriented praise of the same man earlier.

Still, Dorothy cautioned herself that a mother's love could be blind and her son might still be as cold, small-minded and ruthless as she had earlier imagined him when described by Patrick. She must not let down her guard.

As they walked up the garden path towards the Dowager Duchess's home, Dorothy looked ahead and saw a dark-haired and rather severe-looking butler in what must have been a garden-level drawing room. When he caught sight of them, he stepped out of the French windows and onto the terrace.

"Good afternoon, young Toynton," the Dowager Duchess called cheerfully as he came into her view, her recent distress entirely forgotten. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"

"Your Grace, I am glad to see you there. There was some concern when Miss Hughes could not find you, and the household have all been searching for you. His Grace was about to personally lead a search party of servants out into the streets. I must inform him immediately of your safe return."

"Why, I was only in the garden, Toynton." The Dowager Duchess laughed, seeming more confident now that she was back on home ground. "Your father never fussed half as much as you when he was the butler, you know."

The serious-looking butler acknowledged her words with a polite bow of his black-haired head on which not a hair was out of place.

"Indeed, Your Grace. But that was another time. Miss Hughes!"

This last address was a call to a short, round and bespectacled woman of around fifty who had just walked briskly around the side of the house, her silvered brown head turning here and there as if seeking something, presumably the Dowager Duchess. With her size and movements, Miss Hughes reminded Dorothy of an attentive, little bird.

"Your Grace!" the woman exclaimed and came hurrying over to take the Dowager Duchess's arm. "I was worried that you might have gone out into the street by yourself and there were so many carriages out there, with everyone arriving for the Season. His Grace is still searching for you. He has been frantic and highly displeased that we left you alone with the doors open."

"You fuss just as much as young Toynton, Louisa." The Dowager Duchess sniffed. "A walk in the garden should not be the cause of such dramatics, either for you or my son. Wouldn't you agree, Dorothy?"

"I do enjoy a walk in the garden myself." Dorothy smiled diplomatically, taking no sides in the matter. "I am only glad to have met our neighbor on the other side of that gate. It was open, by the way."

"Oh, that gardener!" Miss Hughes tutted crossly. "He does all the gardens in this little row one after another, and I suppose he forgot to lock it. Toynton will speak to him about it, but His Grace will be extremely displeased with such carelessness. First, the French windows left open, then Her Grace left alone, and now the gate too…"

The birdlike woman shook her head sorrowfully at this catalogue of errors as though it was likely to send the head of the household into a fit.

"Well, none of that is for you to worry about. I shall only thank you for accompanying Her Grace home, Miss…?"

"Miss Hoskins," Dorothy answered. "Miss Dorothy Hoskins. My family recently moved to the house next door."

"Well, thank you again, Miss Hoskins. I am Her Grace's companion, Miss Louisa Hughes. Now it is past time for Her Grace's medicine and afternoon rest, so I will not detain you further. Good day."

With a kind but hurried smile, Miss Hughes walked the Dowager Duchess back into the house and away. Dorothy realized that Toynton the butler had also vanished while she had been talking to the Dowager Duchess's companion. She was now left standing alone outside the open French windows of the rather grand drawing room.

Glancing inside, Dorothy could not help catching sight of the large portrait hanging on the far wall. There, a handsome man and woman in fashionable clothing of the last century looked at one another adoringly amid a rustic landscape. It was a lifelike and lively portrait that made you feel the people within it might turn and talk to you.

Without thinking, she took a step into the room and approached the painting. The woman's hair was a mass of fine chestnut-brown, not unlike Dorothy's hair, and the tall, handsome man clasping her hand had black hair and deep blue eyes. Whoever they were, they looked to have once been very much in love. Dorothy wondered what had become of them.

She did not know how long she had been standing there before the drawing room door opened without warning. Dorothy flinched, remembering where she was and knowing that she should have retreated to her own garden rather than entering this room. Guilt made her blush.

She started again when she found herself face to face with one of the tallest men she'd seen, broad-shouldered too, and every bit as handsome as the man in the painting, who must have been his father. Unlike the image of his father, who was smiling tenderly down at his wife, this duke was frowning most forbiddingly as he regarded Dorothy.

She knew she had committed a breach of manners and etiquette by stepping into this room, and the result was that she now found herself alone and unchaperoned, with this strange, forbidding and presumably rather angry man.

How on earth was she going to explain this to her brother?

"You must be Miss Hoskins," the tall man said curtly. "I had no idea you were actually on the premises… I am the Duke of Dawford. Miss Hughes informed me that I have you to thank for my mother's safe return. As you will have gathered, her health is not good."

The Duke's words and stance were reserved and almost unfriendly, his own surprise at the encounter evidently equal to that of his unexpected guest. It seemed that Miss Hughes had been right about his displeasure with the afternoon's events, and Dorothy was sorry to be in his presence at all.

At least he was fully dressed in light-colored breeches, a dark blue jacket and a waistcoat, a stock tied smartly at his throat. Dorothy's embarrassment would have been even more acute if she had come across their neighbor in shirt sleeves or with an unfastened stock.

"I was pleased to meet the Dowager Duchess and glad to be able to help," she replied as smoothly as she could, pulling her cashmere wrap firmly around her shoulders.

Although Dorothy knew the Duke's temper had likely already been roused by circumstances beyond her presence, it did take some effort not to wilt or stammer under the gaze of this imposing man. She reminded herself that she was not some shy schoolgirl or shrinking violet, but a mature and educated young woman entering her second Season. She was also known among friends and family for speaking her mind.

"We have only recently taken over the house next door," Dorothy continued boldly. "My father is Lord Prouton. I believe that my brother, Patrick Hoskins, has already made your acquaintance."

"Yes," the Duke confirmed, his tone still somewhat disapproving. "That is all very well. However, I would have preferred to call on your father to introduce myself and offer my thanks in a proper manner. I did not anticipate so informal an interview as this."

He gestured towards Dorothy alone in his drawing room, and her cheeks colored further at the implied criticism of her behavior. She knew she had been in the wrong but hoped that her offense would be seen as minor and innocent.

"I must apologize," she said with a small bow of her head. "It was only that the painting over there interested me, and I wasn't thinking when I stepped inside. I shouldn't be in here, in your house."

"No, you certainly should not," he agreed emphatically. "Unmarried men cannot be seen hosting beautiful young ladies without a proper chaperone?—"

The Duke of Dawford stopped abruptly, and, in his handsome though ill-tempered face, Dorothy observed a peculiar rush of color that paralleled her own.

Had something made him even angrier? Maybe he was angry at himself for giving her that inadvertent compliment. Or perhaps she had committed some further impropriety unawares. Despite her brother's warning, she found it hard to regret offending this man after his rudeness.

"I should call down Miss Hughes immediately, but that would be most inconvenient while she's settling my mother for her afternoon rest," he continued to chide her. "If you wished to see the painting, it would have been more proper to arrange to call at another time and for my mother and Miss Hughes to receive you."

"I shall go," Dorothy announced and turned towards the French windows. "Good day, Your Grace."

She had made her apology and given her explanation. There was no sense in standing there and being further berated when there was nothing more she could do to remedy the situation. If the Duke of Dawford was determined to take offense, she could not stop him.

"Wait," he called before she reached the windows, his frown now looking bemused as much as angry. "I did not mean to throw you out, Miss Hoskins, only to remind you of propriety. Please do not think that this reminder diminishes my gratitude for your service to my mother."

"I quite understand," Dorothy said stiffly, wishing she had wings to fly away from this awkward encounter as fast as possible.

How priggish and rule-bound this relatively young nobleman seemed! No wonder Patrick had taken such a shine to him. They were both prematurely middle-aged, she decided. If the two earls were cut from the same cloth, next week's dinner party promised to be one of the dullest and most unedifying experiences of her life.

It was a shame, however, that a man with such well-drawn features and a fine figure should have such a disappointing personality, especially if his father had been as amiable and loving as the portrait painter had made him out.

How very blue the younger Duke's eyes were, regardless of their storminess! She made herself look away for fear of staring.

"I wish your mother well, Your Grace. Now I shall…" Dorothy took another step towards the doors, feeling an ever stronger and more complex urge to escape, but her ungracious host had evidently not finished his scolding.

"You are still young, I suppose, and with your family background, it is understandable that your manners might be somewhat remiss," he added. "In the interests of preserving your reputation and furthering your future career, I trust you will take my advice and not repeat such an improper introduction with any of our other neighbors."

"What?" Dorothy blurted out, wondering if she had really heard him correctly. "What did you say?!"

"You're only the daughter of a country baron, aren't you, Miss Hoskins? You therefore likely have country manners and are not accustomed to moving in more sophisticated circles in London. I understand that. I only warn you that such thoughtless behavior could be misunderstood by others. I would not allow an innocent young woman to fall into such a trap."

He actually spoke as though he thought he was doing her a favor with his words!

"Yes, I am the daughter of a country baron," Dorothy retorted, her fury at this slight against her family background entirely eclipsing her previous self-consciousness and apologetic frame of mind. "Perhaps I do even have ‘country manners,' whatever they might be, although I am also familiar with London. But, tell me, as a sophisticated gentleman of rank, what's the excuse for your own rudeness today, Your Grace?"

Turning on her heel without waiting for an answer, Dorothy marched back to the French windows, but then halted and caught her breath sharply as a powerful hand landed on her shoulder and spun her back around.