How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (13 page)

“And now?”

“Now he dinna like to be away from home. He says her grace gets into scrapes when she’s bored, and he must be here to rescue her from her schemes.”

Rose chuckled and stood as Annie brought her the riding habit. “And does she need rescuing?”

“Not often, though she is a schemer, miss. MacDougal—he’s been her butler since she was first wed at seventeen—says she’s no’ one to take life sittin’ down.”

“That’s a good way to live.” Rose decided she should get to know her godmother better.

“So ’tis.”

Rose stepped into the full skirts with Annie’s help and settled the habit into place.

Annie attacked the long double row of buttons that fastened up her back and at each elbow. She helped Rose put on her boots, and then fetched the coat that went with the habit, and buttoned it on, as well. “’Tis a mighty lot of buttons to be sure, though they’re pretty as can be once they’re all fastened.”

And those buttons served two purposes today—they
offered an intriguing fashion detail, and they provided protection. No one could seduce a woman who was riding a horse
and
protected by rows and rows and rows of buttons.

As soon as she had the thought, though, she doubted there were enough buttons on earth to deter the light she’d seen in Sin’s eyes last night. Her heart fluttered at the thought.

Annie bent to give the skirts a final shake. “There ye are, miss.”

“Thank you.” Rose looked at herself in the mirror and gave a satisfied nod. Annie had pinned Rose’s hair very simply, holding her determined curls in place with a mound of pins. Rose knew it wouldn’t last, but she liked the way it looked.

But it was the habit itself that made Rose truly smile. The severity of the cut did wonders for her boyish figure, giving her a more defined waist, while the full skirts gave the impression of hips where she had very little. It was a pity to be so dependent on fashion to form one’s figure, but there it was.

But perhaps the best thing about the habit was the color. Of a deep blue, with a touch of lighter blue in the ribboning, it made her skin look golden and her eyes even bluer. “Annie, can you find the white woollen wrap for my neck? It’s chilly this morning.”

“Very guid, miss.” The maid brought the white scarf and a pair of riding gloves and placed them on the bed, along with the high crowned hat. She then
turned back and regarded Rose with admiration. “It’s beautiful, miss. I’ve never seen one like it.”

“I saw a habit in
La Belle Assemblée
and drew a pattern from it. My sister Lily sewed it.”

“Ne’er say so, miss. Why, it looks like something the duchess might have ordered from Paris.”

“I shall tell Lily you said so; she will be overjoyed. No one loves fashion more than her. It was she who thought adding these would offset the severity of the habit.” She pointed to the light blue ribboning that decorated her cuffs, and the matching double line that traced the bottom of her skirts. Those two simple additions made the tailored habit exquisitely feminine.

Annie shook her head in admiration. “Och, miss, ’tis beautiful and jus’ the thing fer a slight miss like ye.”

“Thank you.” She wondered what Sin would think of the habit. For once, she didn’t look like a skinny rail with a gown hanging on her. What she’d give for curvy hips or a noticeable bosom, something to give her a more hourglass-like figure.

Annie reached out and tugged a long curl that had fallen from its pin. “Och, no. ’Tis already fallin’ down. Come an’ sit down at the dresser once’t again, miss. I’ll pin up yer hair so it won’t fall when ye take a fence.”

“If you think you can. My hair’s not so tame.” Rose followed Annie to the dressing table and sat in front of the mirror. “How long have you worked here, Annie?”

“Fer four years, miss,” Annie said as she placed the pins in a small tray on the table and began to carefully add them. “’Tis hard to get a position here, fer the duchess is known fer her guid nature. That’s no’ to say tha’ she dinna expect things to be right, fer she do. But as Mr. MacDougal points out, as the duchess is usually in the right o’ it, tha’ is no’ a difficult thing to take.”

Rose smoothed the ribbon at her wrist before saying casually, “I suppose, working at Floors, you also know Lord Sinclair.”

“Ye mean Lord Sin?” At Rose’s surprised look, the maid blushed. “Dinna mind me, miss. Her grace calls him tha’ and I forgot ’tis no’ polite to use it in public. I’ll do better aboot tha’, I will.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Rose picked up a comb and absently ran her finger along the ivory teeth. “He’s quite a handsome man, isn’t he?”

“Indeed he is. I’ve heard her grace says there’s no handsomer man in all o’ the kingdom. She laments tha’ ’tis unfortunate he knows it.”

“He is very aware of himself, though I wouldn’t call him vain.”

“Nay, miss, fer he dinna value tha’ as some would. But he’s no’ blind to it, neither, and he’s willin’ to use it when it suits him. I suppose all men are tha’ way, though, when ye think on it.”

“He’s different, though. I’m not sure how, but . . . ” She shrugged.

Annie paused, her gaze finding Rose’s in the mirror. “Och, miss, ye dinna fancy ’im, do ye?”

“No, no. Of course not!”

“Guid, fer I’ve heard some worryin’ things aboot the man, I have. Aboot how many women he’s chased and all sorts o’ things.”

Rose replaced the comb on the dresser. “I was just curious about him.”

“I dinna blame ye fer tha’. Do yerself a favor, miss, and stay away from him. He’s a known bounder, he is. Too handsome fer his own guid. I once’t heard the duchess say he’d been running his own life since he was a lad of seventeen and tha’ it ruined him. And he’s far too many women runnin’ after ’im to settle on jus’ one.”

“Oh? There none that he’s more fond of than the others? No one special?” Rose found herself holding her breath as she asked the question.

“There is one I’ve heard aboot, a Lady Ross. But she is no’ only older than he, but she’s wed as well. They’ve been seein’ each other on the side fer well o’er two years.”

“Goodness. And Lord Ross doesn’t mind?”

“He’s a diplomat and is oot of the country a guid bit.”

“Ah. Lord Sinclair must be deeply in love to continue with the relationship for so long.” Rose’s stomach felt odd, as if her toast wasn’t sitting well. “Two years . . . that’s something.”

Annie laughed. “Lord, no. No’ according to Lord Sin’s—pardon me, miss, Lord Sinclair’s valet, Mr. Dunn, who is as flash a cove as ever walked the earth. ’Tis naught but a flirtation.”

“For two years?”

“I daresay her ladyship has been convenient, miss. Me mam, bless her soul, tol’ me tha’ was the worst thing ye could be to a man—convenient.”

“I daresay that’s true.”

“Aye, I’ve heard the duchess say time an’ again tha’ no woman will e’er tell him no, which has ruined him fer the rest of the world.”

Well, I’m not joining those hordes.
She would be the one to say no, and she’d say it as many times as she had to, no matter how he made her feel whenever he was close.

“Of course, Lord Sin has no problem sayin’ no t’ others. The duchess is always invitin’ him to visit, but he rarely comes. ’Tis odd he’s here now.” Annie shrugged. “But again, there’s nothin’ aboot this house party as is normal. Mr. MacDougal says in all his years workin’ fer her grace, she has ne’er invited so many ancients to her house. We dinna know why—” Annie caught Rose’s gaze in the mirror and gave an apologetic laugh. “Och, how I do go on. I was fergettin’ me station.”

“No. I was quite interested. I’ve sisters at home and it’s nice to have a coze with a woman my own age.”

Annie chuckled. “Ye willna find tha’ among the other guests, will ye?”

“No, I won’t.”
Why did the duchess invite these guests, then? Did Sin have anything to do with that?

Annie finished pinning Rose’s hair and then plopped her hands on her hips and regarded it from several angles. “I think that’ll keep yer hair in place, miss. Shake it once, though, t’ be certain.”

Rose shook her head vigorously, surprised when no strands fell free. “It stayed perfectly!”

Annie beamed as she returned the unused pins to the small waxed paper that had held them. “I’ve ne’er seen such thick hair. ’Tis lovely when ‘tis down, but when ye try to pin it up, ’tis a tragedy awaitin’ a stage.”

Rose laughed and stood up, tied her scarf about her neck, and then tucked it in. “Annie, thank you. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“There, miss. ’Tis me dooty.” Annie opened the door. “Have a delightful ride.”

“I shall,” Rose said as she left.

•  •  •

Sin found his great-aunt standing under the portico, looking far younger than her seventy-plus years. Her pugs were romping across the smooth lawn, watched by two harried footmen.

He frowned at her morning gown. “You’re not riding?”

“Not today, no. I’ve too much to do, getting things ready for the picnic.”

“Let Charlotte do that for you. You love to ride.”

“Perhaps next time. Besides, both Misses Stewart
are riding and their mother has charged me with seeing to their safety.”

“Ah, you’d be stuck with the slowpokes, then.”

“Sadly, yes.” She glanced up at the sky. “Do you think it’s going to rain? Perhaps I should send some umbrellas with one of the servants.”

“If it rains, we’ll just return here.”

A groom came around the corner leading two very sturdy-looking ponies.

The dogs barked and the footmen began to herd them inside.

Staring at the ponies, Aunt Margaret didn’t seem to hear the commotion. “Good God. Who will be riding those? We normally only allow children on the ponies.”

“The Misses Stewart, I believe. I assure you the ponies are well up to carrying the weight of their riders.”

Another groom came around the corner of the house, leading two horses notable for the amount of gray about their noses. “And those are for Mr. Munro and Lord Cameron?” she asked.

“The bay is Camelot and the black is called Chagrin. They’re very well behaved.”

“And almost old enough to be let out to pasture.”

“Oh, they’ve a few good, slow rides left in them.”

Aunt Margaret plopped her fists on her hips. “Sin, have you been drinking?”

“Not yet. If you dislike my choices of mounts, talk to Lady Charlotte. She was in total agreement
with me when we discussed it last night. I wished to ensure none of your guests would be injured, and with so many older and inexperienced riders, this made sense.”

Another groom came around the corner, this time leading two prancing horses. One was a large, powerful-looking gelding, the other a smaller, sweet-stepping mare.

“And those are for you and Miss Balfour, I take it?” Aunt Margaret said drily.

“Both you and she seem to think she is quite the horsewoman.”

“For her sake, I hope our assessment is correct.”

The two Misses Stewart appeared in the doorway, Miss Isobel resplendent in blue, Miss Muriella in green. They preened a bit, so he supposed they were proud of the riding habits that were cut in a style more suited to younger women. The cut of their habits didn’t concern him, but the fact that their necks and wrists dripped with heavy layers of lace that flapped in the wind did.

Sin saw his great-aunt staring at the lace and he said in a low voice, “Aren’t you glad I didn’t give them more restive mounts?”

“Lud, yes. Such silliness. If you can get them to agree to ride those demmed ponies, I’ll be eternally grateful. Both Misses Stewart think they can ride, but they cannot.” She turned and waved. “My dears!” she called. “Why don’t you join us over here?”

The two women began to pick their way across the lawn toward them.

“Bloody hell, how tall are the heels on those boots?” Sin asked.

Aunt Margaret merely grimaced.

As the sisters arrived, Aunt Margaret smiled. “I was just telling Sin that I think the ponies might be better for this weather. Aren’t they adorable?”

Miss Muriella beamed. “Ponies? I love ponies!”

But Miss Isobel was made of sterner stuff. “Won’t they be shorter than the other horses? And slower, too?”

“They are shorter,” Sin agreed, “but not necessarily slower. It’s sometimes nice to ride at a pace that allows for discussion.” He looked directly at Miss Isobel and said in a meaningful tone, “A nice, slow, steady pace.”

An eager look crossed her face and she simpered. “Oh yes! A slow ride can be most enjoyable.” She said in a lower, more meaningful voice, “I do love a
cozy
conversation.”

Oblivious, Miss Muriella turned to Aunt Margaret. “Mama and Papa are in the sitting room. Mama said to tell you that as MacDougal has brought them some tea, they are quite comfortable there until the carriage is brought around.”

“Excellent. It will be a little while, for I want to get you all off on your adventure first. One of the footmen will bring hot tea to you here, too, so make certain you avail yourselves of it. Oh, there he is.” As the footman
hurried over, balancing a tray with several steaming mugs, Aunt Margaret said, “There’s Lord Cameron and Mr. Munro. Pray excuse me as I introduce them to their mounts.”

Sin smiled as Aunt Margaret went to greet the two men who had just exited the castle via the terrace doors. Miss Isobel continued to chatter on about various rides she’d taken and sights she’d seen, her sister often chiming in.

They were all ready except for Rose. Should they send someone to her room to remind her of the time? Perhaps she’d overslept—

The front doors opened and Rose walked onto the portico, the tail of her skirt thrown over one arm, her hat perched at an audacious angle upon her head. She paused and drew on her gloves.

Sin wasn’t prepared for the way his chest instantly tightened, his body awakening as if she’d touched him.

Her riding habit fit her perfectly, tight about her narrow waist and smooth over her small, rounded bosom, the skirts frothing over her hips to the ground. She wore a plain white scarf about her neck, neatly tucked into her riding coat. Her hair, pulled back from her face in a style as severe as her habit, emphasized her blue eyes and thick black lashes. With her hair confined, Sin noticed that Rose’s eyebrows were delicate slashes that tilted up a bit at the ends, giving her a devilish look.