Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(45)

He rose, holding a porcelain basin painted with daffodils.

“At the risk of being pathetic,” Elizabeth replied, taking the basin, “we thank you. You are very kind, sir.”

Though not exactly proper. Why didn’t the fellow introduce himself?

“Haverford is known for its hospitality as well as its library,” he said. “Shall I send the housekeeper to have a look at you, Miss Charlotte? I must warn you that some of her remedies bear results that make Merlin’s bad ale look like meadow tea.”

“I’ve brought a few tisanes,” Elizabeth said. “Charlotte will come right with time, quiet, and rest.”

Charlotte’s ailment also provided the perfect excuse for missing the first night’s buffet, a cheering thought when Childe Harold was the alternative.

The gentleman bowed. “I’ll leave you then, ladies. A footman is on duty at all times at the top of the main staircase, and will alert the kitchen should you need anything. Welcome to Haverford.”

Elizabeth dipped a curtsy, and then took the place beside Charlotte when the gentleman had quietly closed the door on his way out. He was a handsome specimen, in a mature, unfancy way.

A bit short on charm though. “Shall you live, Charl?”

“I’ve been carried to my boudoir in the arms of a duke,” Charlotte said, flopping against the back of the sofa. “I’m not sure I can bear the strain such an honor has put on my maidenly nerves.”

“That was His Grace of Haverford?”

Charlotte began unbuttoning her cuffs. “I stood up with him for a minuet three years ago. Doubtless, he’d be pining for me still if he’d bother to recall the occasion.”

Elizabeth set the basin on the low table. “I am certain you’ve been his elusive dream all this time. What sort of duke fails to introduce himself?”

“One focused on aiding a damsel in distress. I was truly having a bad moment. Did you bring any peppermint tea with you?”

Alas for His Grace, if Charlotte was more interested in peppermint tea than the duke’s manly attributes.

“Mama sent along practically everything but henbane and eye of newt. I’ll find a footman to fetch us hot water and a tray. Do you suppose the bedroom is up those stairs?”

Steps curved along the portion of the wall that lacked a window. Like the furniture, chandelier, sconces, and upholstery, the bannister was in the elegant, refined style of the last century.

“I’ll have a look,” Charlotte said, “but unhook me and unlace me before you go, lest I expire for want of air.”

Elizabeth obliged, then went in search of a footman. Upon inspection, Haverford Castle was all of a piece, its decorative scheme reminiscent of the grander styles and more elaborate flourishes of a bygone era.

Plaster cherubs smiled down from intricate molding, old-fashioned Sèvres vases held single blooms in the occasional windowsill. The floors were polished wood, which was fine for keeping down the dust, but doubtless contributed to the castle’s winter chill.

All very orderly and understated, of which Elizabeth approved. She was orderly and understated herself, on her good days. Though when she considered what she’d seen of the castle and what she’d seen of its owner, she admitted that this house party hadn’t started off like any of the others she’d endured.

No bowing, fortune-hunting bachelors, no effusive greetings from women who secretly wished Elizabeth to the Antipodes merely because Papa was titled.

But one handsome, healthy duke with green eyes and a practical streak. What a pity Elizabeth hadn’t met him ten years earlier, when she’d still believed fairy tales could come true somewhere other than the pages of a storybook.