Lord Sebastian's Secret (The Duke's Sons #3)(97)
The dog stared. Not in a belligerent way, but as if he could see right through Robert, to the very back of his head.
“I’m not thinking about her,” Robert said. “That was simply a…glancing reference. To the past. I told you, I’ve given up thinking about her.”
One of the little dog’s ears moved, just slightly, as if he’d heard something off.
“This visit will be like relaxing in one’s own comfortable rooms after a long journey,” Robert added. “I am all anticipation.”
The pup offered a soft response. Not a bark, or a whine, or a growl. Actually, it sounded uncannily like some ancient curmudgeon at the club clearing his throat. Robert waited, almost believing that some sort of crabbed pronouncement would follow. Of course it did not. He gazed at his new companion, who returned the favor with a solemn, unwavering regard. “I shall call you Plato,” Robert said. “You seem to deserve the name.”
He put the letter aside and rose.
“I trust you will behave yourself,” he added, indicating the box of sand he’d shown the dog earlier. He had no idea whether the pup—Plato—would use it, should the need arise, but he hadn’t wanted to leave him in the stables. Who knew how the pack there would receive him? Heading for the door, Robert wondered whether he could enlist his valet in Plato’s care. Bailey would arrive tomorrow with some things Robert had wanted from London. Doubtful. Unlike his brother Sebastian, Robert had a strictly professional relationship with his personal servant. Better tip one of the footmen to check on Plato now and then.
Robert left his bedchamber, strolling toward the beautifully curved stairway that led to the lower floor, catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror as he descended. He did not, of course, stop to ogle himself in the glass. He was well aware that his new coat fit him to perfection. Weston was an artist with the shears. Robert knew he had the shoulders to fill it out, too, even if he wasn’t as tall as some of his brothers. He showed a fine leg in his buff pantaloons, and the careful tousle of his auburn hair flattered his handsome face. The folds of his neckcloth would excite the envy of the young men—and many of the older ones—here. He looked, in fact, exactly like what he was, a pink of the ton. And he did not care a whit why people called it pink or what that might mean. He’d given up thinking of such stuff.
There was a momentary hitch in Robert’s step as he once again forced his mind away from the subject of a certain young lady. If she was incapable of appreciating his gifts, then she could just…go hang. He’d had much more fun back when he didn’t think of her. Hadn’t he? Yes, of course he had. And he was here to have it again.
Robert reached the bottom of the sweeping stair and walked along a lower corridor toward the buzz of conversation in the great drawing room. The tone was bright and excited, full of expectation. Gerald and Anne were known for their lavish hospitality, and for providing a perfect balance of planned activities and freedom at their house parties. Not here. They hadn’t lived in this house before the old earl’s death last year. But their established reputation as artists of diversion had lured guests all this way from town. Robert assumed there would be hunting, though he didn’t know the country, as well as walks and riding and indoor games and music and more. Or, guests could choose to lounge about with a novel in front of the fire on a crisp October day, or write letters, or whatever they liked. It was a familiar, beguiling prospect.
Robert entered the drawing room, a large chamber that ran along the back of the house, with a row of tall glass doors that gave onto a terrace above spreading lawns. Beautifully decorated in buff and blue, it was dotted with comfortable groupings of sofas and chairs that encouraged conversation. Just now, however, at midafternoon, most of its denizens were clumped together discussing plans for the latter part of the day.
It was a promising gathering, Robert thought as he paused near the door. There were several young couples he counted as good friends and others closer in age to their hosts.
The largest group, though, was clustered around Lady Victoria, the daughter of the house. She hadn’t received a proposal during her first season, and so her parents had invited a number of eligible young men, along with some of her female friends to balance the numbers. Robert ran an appreciative eye over the latter, noticing several very pretty faces that he’d seen about town. He thought he’d danced with one or two of these ladies. In a minute he’d recall their names.
Robert’s closest friend among the Salbridges, the eldest son and heir, was not present. Laurence was off at his intended bride’s house for the hunting, Robert remembered. Some suspected he’d offered for the Allingham chit chiefly because her family had a huge estate in Leicestershire, but Robert knew that to be only secondarily true. Laurence had been quite taken with Marie as well. He’d told Robert so. Of course, her enthusiasm for sport was probably part of the attraction. Robert smiled at the thought.
Lady Victoria gave him a brilliant smile in return. He couldn’t have asked for a warmer welcome. Robert started forward to join the group.
He’d hardly taken two steps when the sounds of an arrival behind him made him turn back to the door. Then, for a moment, he thought he was delirious. It couldn’t be. But the figure standing in the opening was solid flesh, not a phantom. “What are you doing here?” he said.
“I’ve come for the house party,” answered Flora Jennings.