Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(18)

She forbore pointing out that even had Penelope been plain and retiring, she would still have been the center of attention at all times. Her cousin was the richest heiress in England, after all.

Penelope blinked at her words and almost looked shy.

Miss Royale murmured a “good afternoon” as she crossed in front of them on the way to the portico entrance of Pelham.

Penelope’s eyes narrowed determinedly. “I’ll not let that upstart steal my duke away from me.”

And so saying, she marched off, evidently with the idea of reaching the Duke of Wakefield ahead of Miss Royale.

Artemis sighed. This was going to be a very long fortnight. She crossed to the side of the gravel drive, almost in back of one of the long colonnaded arms, and set Bon Bon gently down on the grass. The elderly dog stretched and then toddled, stiff-legged, to a nearby bush.

“Ah, Miss Greaves.”

She turned to see the Duke of Scarborough striding toward her, looking rather dapper in a scarlet riding habit. “I hope your journey was a comfortable one?”

“Your Grace.” Artemis dipped into a low curtsy, a little confused. Dukes—or indeed any gentlemen—rarely sought her out. “Our journey was quite pleasant. And yours, sir?”

The duke beamed. “Rode my gelding, Samson, with my carriage behind, don’t you know.”

She couldn’t help smiling just a bit. He was such a jovial gentleman—and so pleased with himself. “All the way from London?”

“Yes, indeed.” He puffed out his chest. “I like the exercise. Keeps me youthful. And where is Lady Penelope, if I might enquire?”

“She’s gone ahead to greet the Duke of Wakefield.”

Artemis bent to lift up Bon Bon and the little dog sighed as if in gratitude. When she rose the Duke of Scarborough’s eyes were narrowed. She turned to look where he was gazing. Penelope was leaning close to Wakefield and smiling up at him as she let him kiss her hand.

Scarborough caught Artemis’s curious stare and his expression relaxed into another cheery smile. “Always did like a challenge. May I?”

He took the nécessaire from her hand and offered his arm.

“Thank you.” She laid her fingertips on his arm, reminded again of why she rather liked the elderly duke. In her other arm, Bon Bon laid his little chin on her shoulder.

“Now Miss Greaves,” he said as he led her slowly toward the front doors, “I’m afraid I have an ulterior motive in seeking you out.”

“Do you, Your Grace?”

“Oh, yes.” His eyes twinkled at her merrily. “And I think you’re a bright enough lass to have an inkling of what it is. I wonder if you might tell me the sort of things your cousin likes most in the world.”

“Well…” Artemis glanced at her cousin as she thought about the matter. Penelope was laughing prettily at something the Duke of Wakefield had said, though Artemis noted that the gentleman himself wasn’t smiling. “I suppose she likes the same sort of things most ladies do: jewels, flowers, and beautiful objects of all kinds.” She hesitated, biting her lip, then shrugged. It wasn’t as if it were a secret, after all. “Beautiful, expensive objects.”

The Duke of Scarborough nodded vigorously as though she’d imparted some wonderful wisdom. “Indeed, indeed, my dear Miss Greaves. Lady Penelope should be showered with all that is most lovely. But is there anything else you might tell me? Anything at all?”

They were nearly to the portico and on impulse Artemis ducked her head to murmur, “What Penelope really adores is attention. Pure, undivided attention.”

The Duke of Scarborough just had time to wink and say, “You’re a marvel, Miss Greaves, truly you are.”

And then they were climbing the steps to where the Duke of Wakefield stood with Penelope beside him.

“Your Grace.” Wakefield’s bow was curt enough to nearly be insulting. His cold eyes flicked between Scarborough and Artemis and one corner of his mouth crimped. “Welcome to Pelham House.” He merely glanced at a waiting footman and the man promptly stepped forward. “Henry will show you to your rooms.”

“Thank you, sir!” The Duke of Scarborough grinned. “A nice little house you have here, Wakefield. I confess it quite puts my own country seat, Clareton, to shame. Of course I’ve recently built a music room at Clareton.” Scarborough’s eyes widened innocently. “Pelham hasn’t been updated since your dear father’s time, has it?”

If Wakefield was bothered by the rather obvious jab, he didn’t show it. “My father had the south facade on the opposite side of the building rebuilt, as I’m sure you remember, Scarborough.”

Artemis realized with a start that Scarborough was of an age to have been a contemporary of Wakefield’s father. What did Wakefield feel, welcoming his father’s friend to his home? Seeing what his father might’ve looked like had he lived? She examined Wakefield’s face. Nothing at all, if one were to go by his expression.

For a moment the Duke of Scarborough’s face softened. “Had all those windows put in to overlook the garden for your mother, didn’t he? Mary always did like her gardens.”

It was slight, but Artemis thought she saw a muscle tic underneath the Duke of Wakefield’s left eye. For some reason the small reaction prompted her into speech. “What sort of instruments have you in your new music room, Your Grace?”