Lady Diana shifted her gaze to Mother. “And she’s shy, you say?”
“Not always, apparently,” Geoffrey said dryly. “Or at least not with you.”
“That will certainly make matters easier,” Lady Diana said. “Assuming you agree to engage our services.” Before he could answer, she added, “Ah, here are my sisters at last.”
As she performed the introductions, he noticed that, in his own opinion, neither of the two was as attractive as Lady Diana. Granted, Mrs. Pierce had blond hair, blue eyes, and a curvy figure, a combination he sometimes found appealing, but she was too short—given his height, he would tower over her. As for Lady Verity, her hair was a slightly darker shade than Mrs. Pierce’s, and she had green eyes, but while every bit as tall as Lady Diana, she was too thin.
He liked some meat on a woman’s bones, especially in bed. He didn’t want to feel he might crush a chit every time he lay atop her. And despite Lady Diana’s elegance—something he’d always associated with fragility—she did seem well capable of bearing his weight.
He groaned. Already he was thinking like a duke, auditioning prospective wives to bear his heir and winnowing them down to the one he found most compelling. But none of these women were remotely acceptable, even if he did plan to marry, which he didn’t. Or not anytime soon anyway. He might be a duke, but they were far above him in manners, breeding, and all the other things that mattered to their sort. They wouldn’t give him a second glance, even if they planned to marry, which it appeared they didn’t or they wouldn’t have started this business in the first place.
A pity, then, that he found Lady Diana so fetching. Indeed, if the trio of sisters hadn’t come so highly recommended, he would turn around and leave right now. But he could tell from the excited chatter of Rosy and Mother that they liked the ladies, which counted for something with him.
After several minutes of discussion, Lady Diana whispered to her sisters. Then Mrs. Pierce asked his mother if she’d like a tour of the town house, and Mother readily assented. As those two walked off, Lady Verity asked Rosy if she’d like to go sample some of the pastries left from the previous night’s event. Never one to refuse pastry, Rosy gave a quick nod and those two headed off, too.
He and Lady Diana were now left alone, obviously by design. So when she gestured to the settee, apparently expecting him to sit on it, he did so, albeit reluctantly. The damned thing felt as flimsy as it looked.
Lady Diana perched on the chair opposite him as gracefully as a swan. “Shall I call for more tea, Your Grace?”
“No need. This shouldn’t take long.”
With a frown, Lady Diana picked up a portable writing desk like one he might use in the field. When she took up a pencil and licked the tip of it, a fleeting and very wicked image entered his head. He stamped it out at once.
“I hope you don’t mind if we have a private chat, just the two of us,” she said. “I’d rather discuss what we offer without three people asking questions. It goes more quickly this way. So, can you tell me what sort of help you desire from us for your sister’s début?”
He propped one ankle on his knee. “I don’t know enough about débuts to tell you even that much.”
Lady Diana nodded, as if that wasn’t unusual. “At a minimum, I would think you’d wish us to prepare her for her presentation to the queen.”
“Certainly. That is, I’m aware she must be presented, but I’m not sure what that might entail.” Feeling impish, he asked, “Is there a début orchestra? Does Rosy wave to the queen from across a room? Must Rosy give a series of curtsies? Or is that the queen’s duty?”
She eyed him askance. “You aren’t taking this seriously, are you?”
He sobered. “I am. But I’m so entirely out of my depth that I don’t know what to ask for.”
“Would you prefer that your mother participate in this discussion?”
“She won’t be the person paying you.” The chit actually winced at his mention of payment. “Besides, I fear Mother is no more knowledgeable about débuts than I am. She was born into a long line of ironmasters and was raised in a household of men. None of them knew a damned thing about débuts and women’s fashion.”
His curse made her frown. “I see. So you’ve come to us to make sure your sister has a successful début.”
“Yes. But before we start discussing that, I need to tell you a few things about Rosy.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her pretty lips. “You already claimed she’s shy.”
“She is, despite her surprisingly forthright remarks about the silly gossip high society feeds on.”
“Only high society?” she said archly. “You do realize that gossip exists in every village, town, and city in England and probably the world. Are you claiming that the ironmasters of Newcastle never gossip?”
He could hardly claim that, given the gossip that had been going around town ever since his father’s death. The worst was that he’d killed Father to get his hands on the dukedom, which was ludicrous. For one thing, the dukedom came after Father’s death, and he’d had no idea he might inherit such a thing. For another, Geoffrey would give the dukedom back if that were possible. But if the powers-that-be insisted on naming him duke, he figured he might as well have whatever went with the blasted title, which wasn’t as much as people probably thought.
“I’m not saying they never gossip,” he said. “But they are too busy putting food on their families’ tables to do much of that. It isn’t worked into the very fabric of their world as it is in London.”
“I see. So these are highly principled ironmasters.” She wrote something in her notebook.
He leaned forward. “What are you writing in there?”
“Whatever I must to help me make sense of your family’s peculiar situation, so I can do what I can for your sister. Also, I made a note to remind me and my sisters to call her Lady Rosabel.”