But by then, Diana was exhausted. She never knew why these bouts with the dressmaker and clients wore her out, but they did. There was so much negotiating between what could be done rather than what wild imaginations thought were reasonable. So instead of riding back with the Brookhouse ladies, she cried off, saying they would have plenty more to do once they met with her two sisters, who awaited them at Grenwood House.
But they refused to leave her to walk alone, instead saying they’d carry her to Eliza’s house, an offer she gratefully accepted. Once home, she asked that tea be brought out to her in the garden, and she took her sketchbook, charcoals, and pencils with her so she could draw designs while she drank her tea.
Eliza’s garden wasn’t large by any means, but it was large enough for Diana’s purposes. She vastly enjoyed watching the blackbirds and wrens, and would sometimes leave seeds for them so she could sketch them. She’d spent a good hour doing so before she realized a storm was brewing. Swiftly, she took a new page to capture the blackness building like bruises on the sky and the distant lightning like electric fingers piercing the clouds to arc toward the ground.
Her pencil fairly flew in her attempt to get it all on paper before the rain assailed her little corner of London and forced her to view the dramatic crescendo from inside. So when a footman came to announce, “His Grace the Duke of Grenwood,” it took her a second to react.
Then she swiftly cut out her sketches of the storm and tucked them at the back of the book, leaving her gown designs on top. Her nonfashion sketches showed just a little too much of herself for her comfort. Besides, given the Almighty Grenwood’s dislike of what he considered trivial, she couldn’t bear hearing him mock her for them.
He entered the garden just as she closed the sketchbook.
She rose. “Your Grace, I wasn’t expecting to see you tod—”
“How dare you encourage Rosy’s interest in Lord Winston?” he snapped. “The man is indeed a fortune hunter, whatever you may have heard! I can assure you, my information about him was credible. And even if it wasn’t, you have no right to involve yourself in our family affairs, damn you!”
The unexpected attack roused her temper. “That is what you’re paying me and my sisters to do, isn’t it?” she shot back. “Involve ourselves in your sister’s début?”
He glowered at her. “That does not include going behind my back to approve her suitors.”
“I wasn’t going behind your back. You weren’t there. Rosy asked me what I thought of the man, and I told her the truth—that I’d never heard he was a fortune hunter. But I also said he has a reputation as a rakehell, and I cautioned her against encouraging him as a suitor.”
That seemed to take him completely off guard. “You told her that?”
“Yes. If you press her on it, she may even admit it.” Or she may not, given how much you intimidate her. Best not to say that aloud. He was still their client, after all.
Which was also why she dared not tell Grenwood that Winston was her cousin. She doubted Grenwood would stay a client of Elegant Occasions if she did. And she rather liked Rosy. She didn’t want their association to end merely because the duke had some problem with lords of the realm. She’d also have to dash off a quick note to Winston telling him not to reveal their connection. Oh, and warn her sisters not to speak of it, too.
Grenwood began to pace the garden, no small feat given the little space available and the length of his strides. “Damn it to hell.”
“You really should stop cursing.” Relieved that he seemed to believe her, she resumed her seat on the garden bench.
He uttered a harsh laugh. “That’s what you’re focused upon at this moment?”
“That . . . and the fact that Rosy obviously omitted some things when she related to you my conversation with her.”
Not to mention the fact that he was dressed rather spectacularly. He couldn’t possibly have had clothes tailored for him in one day, so he must have owned these already. Even the highest stickler in society couldn’t have found fault with his present attire—from his black tailcoat, figured white waistcoat, and perfectly tied cravat to his fawn breeches, white stockings, and highly polished black shoes. He even had a fancy gold watch fob.
He looked splendid. No, delicious. But she simply wasn’t going to think about that right now. There was always tonight, in her dreams.
Good Lord, she was in so much trouble. For the first time in her life, she’d found someone she desired and he was entirely unacceptable. A duke in name only, a true rebel against the rules she still clung to.
That made him quite dangerous.