The Inconvenient Duchess

not so grand as Bethany had been, but then, no one was. Perhaps a touch of rouge… She wondered what Marcus would think, when he saw her.
    And realised that the rouge was not necessary for the colour appeared on its own in her cheeks. Dear God. She scrubbed at them, as though the thought that had put the roses there might be easy to interpret.
    Polly returned with her tea and she sipped it gladly, ignoring the slight rattle as she placed it on the saucer.

    She walked down to dinner that night with her head held high to accent the graceful neck she had never known she possessed. And when she entered the dining room, St John was there and sprang to his feet at the sight of her.
    ‘Miranda.’ He said her name in a kind of sigh, unlike the usual playful tone he used when addressing her. ‘I swear I had no idea.’ He crossed the room, and she cast her gaze to the floor as he walked slowly around her. ‘Whose plan was this, then? Have you been to London and back in an afternoon that you appear so fine?’
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘This was Polly’s doing. She insisted.’
    ‘Then you must take her advice in all things, for she is wise for one so young. Is that a new gown as well?’
    ‘You spoil your compliments with base flattery, St John. This is the same dress I have worn to dinner these two weeks.’
    ‘I did not mean to flatter you. It is just that…your transformation is so startling… Frankly, Miranda, I can hardly look at the dress, the woman wearing it is so radiant.’
    She tried not to take pleasure in the comment, reminding herself that it was not St John that she needed to please.
    She asked hesitantly, ‘Do you think the duke will approve?’
    St John looked elsewhere, then busied himself with his soup. Finally he muttered, ‘I am, perhaps, not the best person to ask on my brother’s taste when it comes to women. After all, it has been several years since we spent any time together. Tastes change.’ He paused, taking another spoonful of soup. ‘But how could he not like it? It really is most becoming.’
    Wonderful. He must have a fancy for long, undressed hair. Had she changed what in his eyes was her only good quality? She took a deep drink of wine and allowed the footman to refill the glass. She would not let worry about the duke ruin her evening. She tossed her head and felt the curls bob against her neck. It made her smile. ‘If he does not like it, then I care not what he thinks, for it looks fine.’
    St John laughed at this little rebellion. ‘That’s my girl. Keep your chin up and show me more of that beautiful neck. Your brief stay here has done you good.’
    She could feel the colour in her cheeks again. There was no point in hiding it. He could no doubt see what effect his compliments had on her, but was too polite to comment. Soon he would artfully turn the conversation to topics more general that she could respond to without a blush or a giggle.
    She took another sip of wine. She would enjoy them while she could, for her husband must come back soon and he would send St John away. Already, he was describing some fine-blooded mare he’d seen at the inn today and laying plans, as he did occasionally, to start a stud farm in the area. She nodded in feigned interest as the entrée passed away and the dessert course arrived. St John’s plans were always expansive and he told them well, but she suspected that they were a source of the conflict between himself and his brother. The family’s younger son had not received much of an inheritance, and what he had seemed to have disappeared in the two months since his mother’s death. St John’s debts were bigger than his dreams, and he relied on the duke to keep his creditors at bay.
    He gazed at her over the dessert and they fell into a silence that was at first comfortable, then pregnant with expectation. Too much wine tonight, she thought. It would be best to retire early and put an end to this foolishness.
    ‘And what of this evening?’ St John asked as if reading her thoughts and tempting her from them. ‘Port in the library? I could read to you. The music room, perhaps? There is a pianoforte there. I don’t suppose you play? I can manage a few simple tunes that won’t offend a lady, although my voice is nothing to speak of.’
    He was so eager. So willing to please. And it would be enjoyable, as evenings spent in his company often were. Too comfortable. She felt the danger of growing too used to them. The parting would be