Free The Disdainful Marquis by Edith Layton Page A

both to raise as best she could on what little her first husband had left her. When they had heard of his own death a few years ago, somewhere in Ireland, his own daughter had not even shed a tear. Small wonder, then, that Jane had not looked for a handsome, dashing stranger to carry her off, after a childhood full of a handsome dashing father who had carried her everywhere and then abandoned her. When prim and proper Arthur had stepped out from behind the counter at his shop to ask to keep company with her, she had accepted with alacrity. And though Catherine had not known Jane’s father too long or too well, she too was wary of gentlemen with easy smiles and pleasing graces. Not, she reminded herself, that she was much in the way of meeting such gentlemen, or any gentlemen at all, these days.
    Catherine quickened her pace, as the wind was beginning to bite fiercely, and the pavements at last communicated their chill through the bottom of her handsome kid slippers. She had been out shopping far longer than she had ever planned, and she was anxious to get back and get her parcels seen to, so that she could dream of Jane and Arthur’s pleased expressions when they saw the bounty she had sent.
    She was so intent upon her thoughts that she did not see him till he was almost abreast of her, although Annie had seen him coming from far down the street.
    He tipped his hat, which he wore at a rakish angle, to Annie, and as she tittered, he swept it off altogether with a flourish as Catherine raised her eyes to him.
    “Good day to you, little one,” he said pleasantly enough.
    Although she had never acknowledged his greetings before, Catherine knew it would be quite rude to simply pass him by and cut him dead. He was a neighbor to the duchess, and the duchess seemed to hold him in some awe. So Catherine reluctantly inclined her head in greeting. His words had been innocuous enough, but she had seen the same amused gleam in his eyes.
    “All ready for your little trip?” he inquired politely.
    “Yes. Thank you. Quite ready,” Catherine answered, wishing he would end this interview, for she was not at all sure, all things considered, that it was proper for her to be speaking with him.
    “Yes,” he drawled, seeing her impatience and hesitation, “you’d best be hurrying home, little ladybird. Your house may well be afire. Reinforcements have arrived.”
    At Catherine’s puzzled glance upward at him, something in his aspect changed, and he reluctantly withdrew his gaze from her clear blue eyes.
    He replaced his hat jauntily and added, “You’d best see to your bonnets, child. The competition bids to be fierce this year.” And again he nodded and went on down the street, leaving Catherine with the usual mixture of feelings of chagrin and confusion, and Annie pink with pleasure at having been noticed by such a fine gentleman.
    Catherine gave her coat to the footman and saw Griddon coming toward her. She began to explain about her parcels and how she wanted them sent, when he cut her off gently, “Her Grace has been asking for you. She’s in the study. With a visitor.”
    Catherine flushed with guilt, thinking of how on the one day that she was wanted, she was out. She reached the door and tapped lightly upon it.
    “Come in,” the duchess called.
    There was a woman sitting at the desk opposite the duchess. A magnificent woman. Her red hair was a tumble of curls, pulled back with a simple green ribbon. Her figure was full and imposing and her green walking dress was afroth with lace and frogs and knots. Her eyes were large and brown, with the darkest, longest lashes Catherine had ever seen. Her lips were full and very red and pouting, and she had, as she looked at Catherine, something of the imperious expression the duchess herself affected.
    “Look who’s here,” the duchess said wryly. “Look who the cat’s brought back. It’s dear Violet. And she’s consented to come with me on my little jaunterings.”
    “Go