Chapter 5

Outside the drawing room, Dorothy took a deep breath and steeled herself as she listened to the low-pitched rumbling of male voices from within. She knew from the servants that all guests were now present, and the clock in the hallway showed five minutes until eight o'clock, the exact time Patrick had instructed her to make her entrance.

Composing herself, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, a carefully controlled smile on her face as she took in the room and its occupants. Patrick seemed pleased with her outfit and obedience, while most of the men looked at her with friendly but reserved appreciation, pending a formal introduction.

Only one man in the room was actually staring at her fixedly—that infernal Duke of Dawford! As at their first meeting last week, the gaze of his deep blue eyes had felt like a physical touch, and the sensation had taken days to fade.

Given the lack of a smile on his face now, he was presumably not pleased to see her again. Still, had no one ever told him that it was ill-mannered to stare like that?

She made a point of not looking at him and saw him turn away out of the corner of her eye. Perhaps he had belatedly remembered his manners. Well, if the worst thing the Duke of Dawford did tonight was glare at her for a minute, she could deal with that.

"Before we go into dinner, I should introduce you to our guests, Dorothy," Patrick told her.

"Of course, Brother," Dorothy agreed, smiling sweetly at an affable-looking young man nearby with slightly too-long light-brown hair and boyish features. "Please, do introduce me."

But to her dismay, instead of leading her to that man, Patrick walked her straight over to the Duke of Dawford.

"Your Grace, may I present my sister, Dorothy Hoskins? Dorothy, this is His Grace, the Duke of Dawford."

She bobbed a graceful curtsey, as much for the chance to lower her eyes to the ground and avoid those of the Duke as out of manners. When she rose, she found that the Duke had stood and bowed his own head for precisely the same length of time. They looked up at one another at exactly the same moment, and once again Dorothy felt ensnared by those blue eyes.

"Miss Hoskins, how kind of you to grace us with your presence tonight," he said, giving no indication that they had already met.

"The honor is ours, Your Grace," Dorothy murmured in response, equally evading the subject of their previous introduction.

"If you would, Your Grace, might I ask you to escort Dorothy into dinner when the gong sounds?"

The tall, dark man hesitated, his features frozen at this request, and for a moment, Dorothy wondered if he might refuse.

"That would be a privilege," the Duke responded at last, sounding as though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, but masking the expression on his face with another bow.

As they left the Duke and walked away towards the other guests, Patrick patted Dorothy's hand. "Perfect!" he whispered. "Now, let's see if we can have him promenading with you in the park before the Season even starts."

"Do you enjoy hunting, Your Grace?" Dorothy asked slightly desperately, having had all of her previous conversational gambits come to nothing since the moment the Duke of Dawford had offered her his arm at the sound of the dinner gong. "I have heard that there are several renowned hunts in Surrey."

"Not really," he replied coolly. "It strikes me as an inefficient, costly and cruel way to clear foxes from the landscape. The only purpose the English hunt serves is its utility in identifying casual sadists and mindless fools through their enthusiasm for the pursuit."

"I see."

While Dorothy tended to agree with him, what could she possibly say to such a statement? Yet again, he made it hard to continue the line of conversation much further.

"But you do like to ride horses?"

"How else would a man get around?" he responded.

Dorothy felt her temper rising. Knowing that Patrick would be watching closely from the other side of the table, she held herself in check and took a spoonful of watercress soup.

"What would you like to talk about, Your Grace?" she asked, with polite exasperation. "I admit that I am now at a loss for inspiration, and we have not even finished the soup. How are we to pass the time until pudding, unless you assist me?"

Dorothy spoke lightly but pointedly, maintaining a smile, although she did not feel it was particularly convincing.

"I'm sure your brother must have some ideas. Did he not make any suggestions before your guests arrived? I thought he might even have given you a list of appropriate subjects—my mother's health, the weather, the neighborhood around our houses, my estate in Surrey, my hobbies… Have I missed anything, Miss Hoskins?"

The Duke's words were glib and somewhat disrespectful, but his eyes still had that strange intensity that so disturbed her. He might be unwilling to talk to her, but he was certainly not unwilling to look at her, and it was unnerving to have his gaze rest on her eyes or her mouth, or even glance swiftly at her bosom when he thought she was not paying attention.

Riled by his non-cooperation and stirred up by his gaze, Dorothy bit her lip at his words but could not help the fire in her eyes when she looked back at him. She was certainly angry, but she felt something more that she could not pin down.

"I think you'll find that those are all the standard topics of conversation when meeting for the first time at a dinner party," she hissed. "Unlike some people, I don't need to be schooled in basic manners at the age of twenty, whether my family is from the country or not."

Once again, they regarded one another like fencing opponents, seeking an opportunity to capitalize on the other's mistakes and score a point. Still, each for their own reasons, neither of them was willing to acknowledge that this was not really their first meeting.

"Whether or not the topics of conversation were your own, you can't deny that the guest list was carefully planned to provide you with a surfeit of eligible bachelors and that the seating has been arranged to place us together in the hope of furthering our acquaintance. Was that your own idea or your brother's?"

At this accusation, Dorothy was not even able to summon a fake smile. If a maid had not come around to clear the dishes, she might as well have torn into the Duke, regardless of their audience. Privately, she cursed Patrick's overweening ambition and matchmaking endeavors. He had been far too obvious in his designs and had made a fool of himself.

The loss of this rude man's favor would be nothing to her personally, but Patrick would feel it keenly. Dorothy decided that this served him right. After dinner, she would devote her attention to the other guests and ignore their next-door neighbor. If Patrick blamed her for not striking up a firmer acquaintance, she would tell him exactly what his precious Duke had said at dinner.

"I had no say in the seating arrangements," Dorothy told the Duke baldly as soon as the servants had departed to fetch the main course. "Your imagination runs away with you if you think I have any influence on this household and its running."

These last words were more a bitter aside to herself than a reproach to the Duke of Dawford, but he challenged them all the same, his tone now infuriatingly sarcastic.

"Well, if it were unplanned, you must be simply delighted by the good fortune that has seated you beside the unmarried man of the highest rank."

Despite the content of their exchange, both Dorothy and the Duke were still speaking in low tones, their heads close together in order to avoid being overheard by other guests. Dorothy was even more irritated to glimpse Patrick smiling at her from further down the table, evidently imagining that she was having an intimate conversation of some sort with this awful man.

"Right now, I'd rather be seated up a tree in the garden than anywhere near this table," she retorted, but the Duke either wasn't listening or didn't understand.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Hoskins, but your efforts and those of your brother are entirely in vain. I am not looking for a wife at the present time. When I do, I will not choose a young woman who throws herself at me in such an undignified fashion."

"Throw myself at you? You might be the most arrogant man I have ever met, duke or not. Frankly, I would throw myself under a carriage to get away from you. Not even the highest title in the land could compensate for a deficient personality like yours. While I am prepared to make great sacrifices for the good of my family, marrying you would be a step too far!"

The Duke of Dawford looked astonished at this outburst, and from the few interested glances around the table, Dorothy was conscious that she might have spoken too loudly and too excitedly.

The surprise on the Duke's face made him look younger and less sure of himself for a moment, although Dorothy felt no mercy for him on this account. As Patrick had taken pains to emphasize, the Duke of Dawford was a man of substance and influence. In her view, he had no excuse for either poor understanding or poor manners.

Still, it again occurred to Dorothy that this was not a man accustomed to being challenged by women, and that she enjoyed challenging him perhaps for that very reason. It was simply a compulsion in his presence, something like performing certain steps when specific music was played on a dance floor. This was a strange new dance she hadn't previously even realized she knew.

"What's that, Dorothy?" her slightly deaf father asked in good humor. "Are you talking about marriage already on your side of the table? This is only meant to be a dinner to meet a few neighbors."

"We were most definitely not discussing marriage," Dorothy said with a snort and a contemptuous side glance at her dinner partner. "In fact, that's the last subject I wish to discuss for the foreseeable future."

From his place at the table, Patrick shot her a warning glance.

"That sounds like a great pity to me," the long-haired young man sitting opposite, whom Dorothy now knew to be Lord Lensbury, spoke up. "It is always a shame for a beautiful woman to grow cynical at such a young age."

"Cynicism is often only the result of one unpleasant experience or unfortunate acquaintance," Dorothy replied with a graceful smile. "Positive experience and fortunate acquaintance can quickly erase any inclination to such attitudes."

"I'm glad to hear that." Lord Lensbury smiled back. "If your experience of our neighborhood has been unfortunate in your early months here, I hope you and your brother might give me the chance to turn that around. Perhaps you might join me for a picnic in the park on Sunday? I'm sure my mother and sisters would love to make your acquaintance."

Lord Lensbury had kind eyes, and Dorothy was glad of the invitation, regardless of any matchmaking hopes from Patrick.

"I believe we are free on Sunday, are we not, Patrick?"

"Why, yes. I will check my diary and confirm with you tomorrow, Lensbury," her brother agreed after a short hesitation, during which she wondered if he were hoping the Duke of Dawford would make a counter-offer.

She spent the rest of the meal studiously ignoring the Duke beside her and conversing amiably with Gareth Wardle across the table, learning a great deal about the neighborhood and its key figures, as well as being reassured that some gentlemen had good manners that matched their ranks.

Leaving the men to port and cigars after dinner, Dorothy hoped for a long respite in the drawing room by herself before they joined her. She was therefore dismayed to find them all tramping back into the room before she had even time to sip her cup of coffee. Stifling a groan, she re-fixed a smile on her face and turned to the first two men walking through the door.

"Lord Granford, Lord Hinderton, I was most interested in the conversation you were having about horses at dinner, but I did not like to interrupt you. Do I understand that you both breed horses?"

Her question was a deliberate invitation to these gentlemen to come and join her on the sofa and neighboring chair, removing the chance that Patrick might try to foist the dreadful Duke of Dawford on her again. Thankfully, the two earls immediately picked up her conversational opening and sat themselves down to talk about what was evidently their favorite subject.

The object of her wrath, meanwhile, closely followed her father's bath chair as it was wheeled in by Wilkes, the strongest of their footmen, and set before the fireplace.

The Duke of Dawford bowed to Lord Prouton as soon as the elderly man noticed his presence and looked up.

"I must bid you goodnight, Lord Prouton. It is late, and I am tired. Thank you again for your hospitality."

"Of course, of course," Lord Prouton answered with a perplexed nod.

Ten thirty was late for Lord Prouton but not for a young man like the Duke of Dawford, who could not yet be thirty. Such an excuse was almost insulting, and Dorothy saw the look of dismay on Patrick's face as he hurried to the Duke's side.

"I hope dinner was to your liking, Your Grace," he probed. "The beef was sent in specially from a farm we know in Sussex."

"The food was excellent, Hoskins. I am simply tired and must go home. Good night."

Seeing Dorothy, the Duke executed a bow that was too deep, an almost sarcastic gesture in its exaggeration. It made her blood boil. Adding insult to injury, he took her hand and raised it to his lips, but then stopped there sharply, his breath raising the tiny hairs on the back of her wrist.

He must have realized, as she did, that after eating and drinking, neither of them was wearing gloves. For the second time, they stood together hand in hand. Dorothy felt her eyes widen at the pulsing wave that ran through her at this contact.

"Good night, Miss Hoskins," the Duke said abruptly, before dropping her hand and turning away.

Without further ado, he nodded farewell to the other bemused guests and left the room, with Patrick trailing behind to see him out at the front door.

"He didn't even want port and a cigar." Lord Hinderton laughed. "That's why Patrick brought us back in here. Now he's gone, and we sacrificed ourselves for nothing!"

"I do like port," Lord Granford, who was somewhat portly himself, sighed. "Especially with a piece of strong cheese."

"That does not sound at all fair to me," Dorothy declared, annoyed on their behalf now as well as her own. "I do not see why all our guests should be deprived on account of one abstemious individual. May I call for port and cigars for the gentlemen, Father? I shall be going to bed soon anyway."

At his nod, Dorothy rang the bell and gave her instructions to the butler. With the drawing room door ajar, she could still hear the voices of her brother and the Duke in the hallway, Patrick still attempting to engage him in conversation and being gracelessly rebuffed.

She knew all too well how irritating Patrick could be, but there were ways to withdraw without being so uncivil, and the Duke of Dawford was not even trying. His words and actions were a real slight against her family's hospitality.

A few seconds later, Patrick returned to the drawing room looking distinctly put out but trying to put on a brave face for the remaining guests.

Dorothy walked past her foolish brother with a murmured excuse about fetching her wrap. In fact, on impulse, she went to the front door, opened it quietly, and slipped out to follow the Duke of Dawford into the night air.