An Unexpected Proposal (St Daine Family 1) Read online

  Claire bit back a burst of laughter at his wince and shook her head. “There were many to choose from, Father. I decided upon this one for its durability in addition to its lovely color. Does it not suit? I was so looking forward to arriving at Rothwyn House with at least a bit of time to spare for dancing, but if you prefer I change, I shall do so immediately.”

  “You will not change,” Lady Clarisse stated while making her way carefully down the stairs, her feet kicking at the hem of her emerald evening gown despite the several inches of fabric already gathered high in her hands. “We've barely a moment to spare as it is, Audrey, and I see nothing to fault in our daughter's attire. Can we go now, please? If I must spend even one moment more than is necessary in these shoes, I vow I shall tumble headlong into something.”

  * * *

  In her rush to reach the lady's side before she could be pulled away into the boisterous crush inside the ballroom, Phoebe almost barreled broadside into Lady Claire Leighton the very moment she arrived. Had it not been for the other girl's quickly outstretched hands, Phoebe quite feared she would have upset them both, causing each of them to spill in an undignified heap upon the highly polished floor. Her balance corrected, thanks to the other girl's quick reaction, Phoebe grabbed at Claire, both hands clasping tightly around the other girl's forearms.

  “I need to speak with you, please, about a matter most urgent. Come with me,” she explained somewhat breathlessly, pulling Claire along behind her toward the gallery which led to the library without waiting for her to either agree or give Claire a chance to dismiss her with some vague but polite excuse.

  “Do forgive my haste and abrupt manner, but this simply cannot wait,” Phoebe continued over her shoulder. She pulled Claire into the library, closed and locked the door, and then leaned against the frame, relieved to have managed to sweep the girl away before Lucien became aware of her arrival.

  Given her plan for the evening, Phoebe had fully intended to greet the earl and countess of Sterne's daughter with a happy smile, but with one look at the hideously colored gown Claire was wearing, her nose crinkled in distaste instead. “Oh, dear.”

  Her eyes crept up the length of the thing to meet with Claire's mischievously twinkling gaze, and her own widened in sudden understanding.

  “You're doing it a-purpose, are you not? Of course you are,” she finished, answering her own question, and finally, the smile with which she had intended to greet the other girl found its way onto her lips. Tilting her head slightly to the side, she asked, “Do you like my brother, Lady Claire? I am speaking of Lucien, the duke, of course.”

  Phoebe walked toward a tall row of bookshelves, one dainty fingertip running across the leather bound spines of a score of works before she turned back to Claire to clarify her hasty spate of words. “Not that you would know I've a second brother. Unless you do. But given that Tristan hasn't been home since far too long, I don't suppose you would know or remember him, would you? So, of course, I mean Lucien. Do you like him?”

  She watched the play of expressions on the other girl's face as they ran the gamut from interest, to dismay, to the polite mask one wore when one needed to answer but not necessarily divulge the truth. Phoebe waved it all away. “I can see that you do like him but are loath, for whatever reason, to admit it. No need to play the proper with me, Claire. I am his sister, after all, and though he can be quite a boor, I do love him. Just now, however, his overprotective stalking is quite interfering with my goal. Could you distract him for me, please? A few moments is all I ask. I must speak with Lord Nicholas regarding a quite crucial matter, but Lucien is always hovering, and—”

  Claire gasped at her mention of Nicholas Locke and her surprised laughter burst into the room, but Phoebe only counted down the seconds, awaiting her answer.

  “Nicholas Locke?” Claire finally asked. “I have seen that one and it is no surprise to learn your brother would prefer to keep the two of you at a distance from one another.”

  “Posh,” Phoebe declared with a dismissive wave of her hand. “They are friends. We all are. Bastian, Jules, Nick, Tian, Tina, Reesa—even young Weezy and I have shared many a confident conversation right here in this very room. Lucien just doesn't want me asking Nick about Tristan.”

  She pursed her lips into what she hoped was a convincing pout. “I believe he fears I may well hie myself aboard one of Sebastian's new ships and go searching for Tris myself, but I vow that is not my intention. I only want to know if Nick has heard anything on the docks. Will you occupy Lucien for a bit? For me? Please...?”

  Phoebe stared at her, willing as much hope and concern into her gaze as she could possibly muster and still she feared Lady Claire would decline to assist her until, finally, a look of resolution came over the girl's face and she nodded. “I would be delighted to assist you, Lady Phoebe, but where might I find the duke in this crush? I did not see him when we arrived.”

  “Call me Phoebe, please, and I shall call you Claire. After all, we share a secret now…unless you prefer to remain on more formal terms?”

  Claire shook her head and Phoebe inclined her own toward the door. Grinning, she unlocked unlocked it, and motioning for Claire to come forward, she pointed to her brother who was standing near the musician's dais, his gaze fastened upon the door.

  “There he is,” she said. “He is watching for you, I believe.”

  The look of surprise on Claire's face said she found the idea of Lucien waiting for her to be quite ludicrous. “Of course he isn't! Why would he—”

  “Oh, don't be silly,” Phoebe interjected. “If he would insist your family and friends be included on the guest list, he most definitely would stand in wait and anticipation of your arrival.”

  * * *

  Leaning indolently against a tall column in the ballroom, after having somehow missed her arrival, Lucien watched through narrowed eyes as Claire smiled and nodded at first one group of acquaintances and then another as she determinedly made her way, her friend Melisande firmly in tow, from the St. Daine library and across the ballroom to his grandmother's side.

  Amelia had been making conversation with the twins, Emily and Alaina, but upon Claire and Melisande's approach, both girls lowered their gazes, excused themselves in unison, and hurried forward in his direction. Lucien shook his head at the dual reaction. For siblings who often declared themselves uniquely individual, the girls still managed to be an awful lot alike when they were together.

  “Surely you two are not rushing off to hide in your chambers at this early an hour, are you?” Lucien asked when Emily and Alaina drew up beside him where. “The ball is about to begin in earnest and I vow it was your voices I heard, just last week, mind you, complaining about being forbidden to attend the various festivities in Town due to your youth.”

  Alaina St. Daine scoffed at his reminder. “Of course we are not scuttling off to our chambers, Lucien. Emily and I are quite capable of dancing a few dances without wilting from the excitement of being allowed to mingle with our elders.”

  “You have to admit it is deuced unfair to make us stay home when in two short years we will be expected to join the crush ourselves,” Emily chimed in, lifting her chin in that special way of hers that seemed to lend importance to her words. “How are we to know what is expected of us at such affairs when we are not allowed to attend?”

  Emily St. Daine was the oldest of the barely sixteen-year-old twins, Lucien reminded himself as the girls often did, and by a full two minutes, at that. Recalling having heard those exact words during more than one family meeting wherein the matter under discussion was the twins 'unfair exclusion' from the festivities in Town, Lucien stifled a chuckle.

  He could fair understand their temerity, but privately, he believed the fuss was more about how much they would miss Phoebe once she married than any real desire to mingle with friends or to dance away an evening.

  Looking from one girl's bright, expressive face to the other, he sighed, a momentary sense of overwhelm filling him
. How was he expected to know how to raise a family when he had never had one of his own, he thought, his own question in direct counter to Emily's. But he dared not voice his fears aloud, and especially not to the girls. Alaina and Emily would do their best to take utmost advantage of his feared shortcomings, he knew, twisting them to their own benefit, which they often did anyway now that Grandmother Amelia had come to assist him with the twins and Phoebe.

  He wondered, not for the first time, if his grandmother had schooled the girls in the art of cajolery since her arrival. Still, whether the twins had done so on their own or with Grandmother Amelia's assistance, they had learned all too well how to rearrange a matter to the benefit of their own gain.

  The notion struck him that perhaps it was time he started to look for a wife, for the girls' sake, but he hurriedly pushed it away to answer Emily's question. “You are expected to behave as any proper young lady might, Emily Anne, whether in Town or here, where you are protected by home and family,” Lucien reminded for what must have been the hundredth time since their father's death.

  The inquiry into their expected proper behavior settled once more, Lucien's gaze sought and found his grandmother and her current companions, pausing to linger appreciatively on Lady Claire. She had worn her hair up again, he noted, and wondered if it would fall to just below her shoulders or further if he dared to pull the jade tortoise shell combs free.

  “I told you he likes her, Emily,” Alaina said, her eyes twinkling merrily for having caught her eldest brother staring. “He has to be the reason Grandmere and Phoebe invited her, and look. She brought her red-haired friend, too.”

  Lucien's eyes flared and he promptly focused his stern gaze on the younger twin, which also conveniently served to pull his attention away from the rather attractive Lady Claire. “Who likes whom? What, exactly, are you suggesting, Alaina Georgette?”

  “Everyone likes Lady Claire,” Emily replied to her sister with a shrug while choosing to ignore her brother's question altogether. “But clearly she is impressed by precious few. Phoebe says she rarely dances. Perhaps that is the true reason Phoebe invited her? Grandmere says Lady Claire often appears rather dreary, too, and yet, her private conversations are lively and filled with surprisingly clever wit. I wonder if she has a secret?”

  The girls' chatter hopped from subject to subject without pause, as usual, and Lucien did his best to keep up. What had Emily said about Grandmother engaging in private conversations with Lady Claire? Lucien wondered. His gaze moved from his sisters to join them in their perusal of the lady in question. Why would his sisters think she had something to hide?

  Studying her carefully from the hem of her subtly muted green gown to the mass of shiny dark curls caught up in a set of elegantly matched combs, Lucien found himself pondering the last bit of Emily's contribution. Casual observation lent no clue and having realized he had slipped from engaging in polite conversation with his sisters to speculate about the possible secret life of Lady Claire Leighton, he cleared his throat to bring the girls' attention back to him—and his away from Claire.

  “Girls, one does not pry into the private affairs of another. Behave yourselves,” he admonished with a hint of warning. Still, his gaze wandered back to the lady in green while his thoughts became ever more tangled. Was Lady Claire harboring a dark secret? Perhaps she had confided in his grandmother, or was doing so even now, he thought, noting the way the three women seemed to huddle together, talking quietly despite the distracting buzz of conversation humming throughout the crowded room.

  “I find her quite lovely, Lucien,” Emily told him. She reached up to straighten his cravat and then patted his chest. “Perhaps you should dance with her?”

  “Despite the horrid green she is wearing, I find I must agree, Em. Lady Claire is already a shade more than passing pretty. Perhaps we will offer a bit of fashion advice later. Discreetly, of course,” Alaina added thoughtfully.

  “If you are genial with her, she may even agree to partner with you for some of the activities Grandmere has planned this week,” Emily suggested to Lucien, this time ignoring her sister—for the moment.

  “If she were to allow you and I to consult with her on the choices in her wardrobe, I feel certain we could shortly elevate her to an Original, a beauty far beyond compare,” Alaina said, continuing with her original thread of conversation despite Emily's distraction.

  Emily's noncommittal “Hmm” of agreement had barely registered in Lucien's thoughts before Emily opened her mouth and confused him yet again. “In this instance I believe we should refrain, Alaina. Grandmere says Lady Claire only wears the drab, pale colors to help hide herself among the crowd. She prefers to remain unnoticed. Do you think it has anything to do with her promise to help Lady Melisande? They are the best of friends, after all.”

  “Drab clothes? Promise? Hiding within the crowd?” Lucien resisted the urge to shake his head in order to clear the sudden, muddled confusion in his brain and then the girls, for continuing to speak around him when he was certain both understood their doing so was rude.

  But then, the twins often left him in a turmoil of mental disarray when they started chattering on about this matter or that, and so he opted for his usual manner of coping – he stopped trying to follow their conversation. Waiting instead for them to realize he was still with them, he glanced toward the small gathering near his grandmother once again.

  Amelia was staring at him rather pointedly, he realized, and he did not mistake the subtle gesture she made when their eyes met for anything other than the command it was.

  He had been summoned.

  “I think it has more to do with her fear of being caught in a loveless marriage like her mother,” he heard Alaina reply as he started to walk away. Having paid no heed to Lucien's momentary distraction, she said, “Anyone with eyes can see how the poor countess pines while the earl turns his attention elsewhere.”

  She nodded toward where the earl and countess stood, backs to each other, each wearing bland expressions while they looked out over the ballroom and Lucien's mouth dropped open in shock at her blunt, yet astute conclusion. How could she possibly have known of the estrangement between the Countess and Earl of Sterne?

  Hastily snapping it shut, he chose to heed his grandmother's call rather than address Alaina's comment—both as a nod to his own self preservation and because he had a legitimate reason to free himself from the twins' jumbled chatter. “Excuse me, girls, but I believe Grandmother is beckoning to me. Go and fetch Phoebe and do try to stay out of trouble, will you?”

  The girls once again nodded in unison and turned away to do his bidding. Lucien watched them go and then, finally allowing himself the quick, confusion-clearing shake of head earlier denied, he started forward to answer his grandmother's silent but unmistakable call.

  5

  By the time Claire had located Melisande and then the dowager duchess to try and get close to the duke so that she could distract him from his constant watch over Phoebe while maintaining her own distance for her own self-preservation, she noticed his younger sisters had effectively cornered him near the dais where the musicians played.

  Apparently she had not been the only one Lady Phoebe had rallied to her cause. Hiding a smile of amusement at the rapid turns of expression on His Grace's features as he spoke with his sisters, she could only guess at what mischief the girls had dreamed up to detain their brother. But when he glanced at her parents, his jaw dropping, Claire felt her brows tug downward. Was it possible Lucien and his sisters were discussing her?

  Casting a quick glance at Melisande, who was absolutely stunning tonight in the cream silk gown she had chosen to wear, she pasted a bright smile on her lips and asked the Rothwyn matriarch, “Do you think your grandson will be too busy keeping a brotherly eye on the younger St. Daines this evening to dance, Your Grace?”

  Only half listening to the dowager duchesses reply, she glanced furtively around the Rothwyn ballroom, searching for Lady Phoebe. Had she found a
nd had her moment with Lord Nicholas?

  “Absolutely not,” she heard Amelia say. “While I would expect nothing less than a healthy dose of careful concern from Lucien for his sisters, I also fully expect him to do his part as host this week. In fact, I've asked him to lead a few of the games. Will you be participating, Lady Claire?”

  Claire refused to acknowledge the race of her pulse at the mere thought of spending time with the duke—in any capacity. “Perhaps, Your Grace, though I much prefer the library to the lawns. Melisande, however, is looking forward to spending several hours upon the green. Mayhap your grandson will choose to pair with her for the games,” she suggested instead.

  “Hmph. Here comes the lovable scoundrel now,” the dowager pointed out, one silvery brow arched high. “We shall ask him.”

  “Ask me what, Grandmother?” Lucien inquired, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the elder lady's cheek. “Whether or not the St. Daine women will finally be the end of me?”

  Straightening, he said, “I do believe they will, yes.”

  Lady Amelia chuckled. “We were discussing the activities we've planned for the week, my dear boy, and with whom you intend to partner when the time comes.”

  “I see,” Claire heard him say and her attention snapped into focus—on him.

  While the duke and his grandmother spoke, she studied Lucien from the corner of her eye. His mere presence was unsettling enough, she thought, but his nearness was already making her feel as if drawing a breath were suddenly a thing she must consciously remember to do. Fighting to keep her hands from rising up to soothe her burning cheeks, Claire realized she had yet to really look at him.