He’d nearly decided to leave when his mother whispered, “Geoffrey.” He turned toward the doorway and lost all power of speech. Because there, framed by a ray of sunlight, stood the most beautiful creature he’d ever encountered.
Yes, her rich, auburn hair looked as if it had been hastily done up in its simple coiffure, and her frown at spotting him and his family marred the perfection of her wide, pearly brow. But still, all he could do was stare. Like an apprentice engineer confronted for the first time with a skew bridge, Geoffrey wanted to figure out how all her parts fit together to create such a magnificent whole.
Other than being statuesque, the lady had “parts” that weren’t particularly unique: warm, brown eyes, a fetching face with a delicate sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and the requisite curves for a woman, or as much of them as he could see. The very fact that he wanted to see more of them was unsettling. So was the way she ignited a pulsing heat in his temples that coursed straight down to his loins.
That had never happened to him, or at least not immediately upon meeting someone. But under the circumstances, it would be unwise, to say the very least, to acknowledge it or contemplate acting on it or anything of that nature.
She strolled into the room and held out her hand. “You must be Grenwood.”
“And you must be the proprietor of Elegant Occasions.” He took her hand and shook it for a fraction too long. He’d taken off his gloves and she wasn’t wearing any, so the skin-to-skin contact had his pulse racing. Which was absurd, of course. “Mrs. Pierce, is it?” he asked.
With a lift of one elegant brow, she tugged her hand free of his. “Wrong proprietor. I’m Lady Diana Harper.”
He tensed up. “You’re a lady of rank?” By God, he really should have spent more time learning about Elegant Occasions.
Judging from how she stiffened, she agreed with him. “I’m not sure why you’re here if you didn’t know that.”
Though her name sounded familiar for some reason, he couldn’t place where he’d heard it.
His mother stepped in. “Forgive us. We’re a bit out of sorts. I’m Mrs. Arthur Brookhouse. My son asked for this meeting after my good friend recommended you. I believe she’s related to someone who used your services previously? Anyway, she only knew the name ‘Mrs. Pierce’ when telling us how to find you in Mayfair. I assume that Mrs. Pierce works for you?”
“Not exactly. Eliza Pierce is my widowed sister, and this is her home. My other sister is Lady Verity Harper. We three run the business together, but my sisters are still dressing, I’m afraid. You took us all by surprise. We expected you later.”
“So we were told,” Geoffrey clipped out. “I assumed that because businesses usually start early in the day, you would all be available.”
Her frozen expression showed he’d put her on her guard. That gave him a certain churlish satisfaction.
“Our company is unique,” Lady Diana said in a brittle tone. “Most of what we do requires us to be at social engagements well into the wee hours of the morning. So I hope you can understand why we do not operate during the hours of a typical business concern while the Season is going on.”
“Of course,” Mother said, shooting him a warning look. “How could you? And we are very pleased you could see us today.”
Lady Diana smiled at Mother. Apparently, he was the only person she didn’t smile at, for she turned an even brighter smile on Rosy. Every ounce of her seemed to soften, as if she could tell his sister was uncomfortable. “You must be the duchess,” she said kindly.
Before he could correct the woman, Rosy blinked, then gave a nervous laugh. “Perish the thought! Geoffrey—the duke—is my brother. He’s hoping you can help me with my début.”
Lady Diana looked mortified. “Please forgive me, but my sister didn’t say exactly whom we were to help.”
“It’s an honest mistake,” Geoffrey said. “No harm done.”
She gazed at him as if trying to figure him out. “So that’s why you and your mother came here with your sister?”
He nodded. “I should explain. We . . . that is, Rosy . . . Rosabel—”
“My daughter is shy, Lady Diana,” Mother said, looking at him in bemusement. “She’s not used to high society—indeed, none of us are. My late husband was the third son of Viscount Brookhouse, but we were never . . . part of that world. So we went on in Newcastle in our own merry way until my husband died. Shortly afterward, some duke—a very distant cousin of his—died, too, and Geoffrey inherited the dukedom out of the blue. So now we’re in this situation.” She looked at Geoffrey. “Yes?”
“That about sums it up,” he said, relieved to have his mother do the explaining. Lady Diana was unnerving him with her beauty and her perfect manners and her hard-won smiles.
Lady Diana stared at him. “Oh, you’re that duke.”
He tensed. “What do you mean?”
“There was talk of an heir to the Duke of Grenwood last year, but I’d completely forgotten about it, mostly because rumors about who the heir was were rather wild. Some said he was an American, which was why no one had ever met him, and others claimed that the Brookhouse family disinherited him for being a blackguard, leaving him only the title of duke, because they couldn’t take that away from him. The most outrageous one was that he’d been under everyone’s noses all this time, working as an engineer in Newcastle.”
“That last one is true,” Rosy said cheerfully. When they all stared at her, she added, “And a bit of the middle one, too. Well, Geoffrey isn’t a blackguard, and it was really Papa who was disinherited, but that happened before I was even born.” She must have realized they were still staring at her, for she said, “What?”
Lady Diana chuckled. “So, definitely not an American, then? I’m just making sure.”
Rosy blinked, then shook her head, pulling into herself the way she always did when strangers focused on her.