Free Maggie MacKeever by The Misses Millikin Page A

clubs that Chalmers mentioned, the purpose of which is to demand, most stridently, precisely those measures. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on one’s viewpoint—the violence of the radicals alienates many who might otherwise support them. The horror of the French Revolution remains painfully clear in many minds.”
    “Oh.” Lily had only the haziest notion of what the French Revolution had entailed; something to do with heads in baskets, she believed. “What do you think, sir?”
    The Duke of Kingscote’s thoughts at that moment were not such as he would confide to his companion, being too comfortable in his bachelor status to announce a suspicion that he’d been stricken by Cupid’s dart, and furthermore being determined to immediately wrest that missile from his chest. Puzzled by his silence, Lily blinked at him. The duke decided to let his wound fester a trifle longer. “I?” He shrugged. “Many of the Hampden clubs entertain highly unpleasant designs of seizing the property of the leading individuals in their communities. Since I am the leading property holder in a great many communities, I can hardly wish them joy of it.”
    “Naturally not! I perfectly see that.” Lily sighed. “It must be very nice to be wealthy, I have always thought—my own family hasn’t a feather to fly with, you see.” She looked guilty. “Oh, drat! Rosemary would be very angry if she knew I’d told!”
    “Do not distress yourself. Miss Millikin!” The duke’s voice, due to a strong inclination toward mirth, was strained. “Lady Chalmers will never hear of your blunder from my lips. Tell me, is it at you that those four young puppies are gaping? I cannot imagine that their attention is for myself.”
    Lily glanced over her shoulder, encountered the combined soulful glances of Messrs. Meadowcraft and Gildensleeve, Steptoe and Pettijohn, and giggled. “Pay them no heed, Your Grace; I do not! Oh!  Pray do not think me ungrateful, for naturally I must count myself honored that they have chosen to admire me, and I do!”
    Gervaise suffered a pang of disappointment that Miss Millikin should utter so ordinary a comment, then took himself to task for expecting that she should be the exception to his maxim that young ladies were invariably humdrum. “I’m sure,” he offered politely, “it is not surprising that the young gentlemen should admire you.”
    “Oh, no,” Lily replied simply. “They always do. It is because I am a nonpareil, I suppose. At all events, it doesn’t signify, because I must have a peer—a wealthy peer, because as I have told you, our pockets are to let.” Again, she frowned. “Although I have not yet decided exactly how I am to accomplish it, the only peers I have thus far encountered being either married or stricken in years.”
    The duke, who as a bachelor must number among the aforementioned afflicted, could no longer restrain his mirth. He chuckled. Lily regarded him quizzically.
    “What have I said—oh, dear! I did not mean to infer that you are stricken in years, sir! It would have been odiously impertinent! Although you’re hardly in your salad days—but I daresay any number of ladies wouldn’t mind! ”
    “Due to my vast fortune, I conjecture?” Gervaise could not recall, despite his great experience with the game of hearts, having been so thoroughly entertained in many years. “You relieve me!”
    “Poppycock,” Lily said gloomily. “I make no doubt I’ve sunk myself quite below reproach. Again!”
    This sad little admission had a strange effect on His Grace—strange, that is, in that he had never before experienced a sensation in his breast as if elegant little fingers had plucked at his heart-strings—a sensation that afflicted all of Lily’s beaux at some point in time. She was a lovely pea-goose, the duke sternly admonished himself; she had admitted herself to be on the hang-out for a fortune; she was young enough to be his child. But her lovely mouth was