Free Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke by Wendy Soliman Page A

aside. “I am now quite established as an aging widow.”
    Zach turned a laugh into a cough, drawing the ladies’ attention to him.
    “Miss Trafford,” Vince said. “May I introduce my brother, Zachary Sheridan, the Duke of Winchester?”
    Zach was his usual urbane self as he stepped forward and offered Miss Trafford his hand, effortlessly raising her from her curtsey.
    “Miss Trafford, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
    “And I yours, Your Grace.”
    “I hope you and your nephews will be regular visitors to the Park during your sojourn in Compton.”
    “That is very kind of you, but Lord Amos might argue that point when he has spent a little time in my nephews’ company.”
    Zach laughed. “It will be good practice for him.”
    Vince introduced everyone else in turn—his mother, his brother Nate and sister Portia and, of course, Amos’s wife, Crista. Miss Trafford appeared particularly taken with Zach’s wolfhounds, Phantom and Phineas. When she offered them her gloved hand for inspection and then tickled their ears, the pampered beasts clearly recognised a soft touch and settled themselves at Miss Trafford’s feet the moment she took a seat. Zach was watching her closely and Vince knew her instinctive reaction to his dogs would meet with his approval. He told Vince once that he didn’t completely trust anyone who disliked animals.
    “I hear your nephews have a dog, Miss Trafford,” Zach said, “which was how you came across my brother.”
    “He did rescue the boys from a rather awkward situation,” she replied biting her lower lip, presumably to contain a giggle.
    “I don’t suppose you will remember who we all are,” Portia remarked cheerfully after a short pause in the conversation. “There are rather a lot of us. I expect it’s a bit daunting.”
    “I am fairly good with names and faces, Lady Portia. My grandfather has met so many people over the years, you see. Recently it has become my responsibility to remember who they all are and where we were introduced.”
    “Oh, poor you,” Portia replied. “I should make a hopeless muddle of such a task.”
    “It must have been an interesting time,” the duchess remarked with a kindly smile. “Travelling around Europe, I mean, and meeting so many different people. But was it not dangerous?”
    “Not really, Your Grace. We avoided close proximity with battlegrounds.”
    “Very wise. But I must say, I admire your ability to remember who people are. I myself have a terrible memory for names but never forget a face.”
    “That is what my grandfather used to say, but then he is an artist, and so he recalls people by the shape of their heads. If they happen to have unfortunate features, well…that just makes them more memorable and fills him with an urgent need to capture their likeness. Or rather filled,” she amended with a sad shake of her head.
    Miss Trafford’s willingness to speak without any signs of inhibition, albeit without volunteering any information he didn’t already possess about her circumstances, eased the tension Vince hadn’t been aware afflicted him. He accepted a cup of tea from his sister’s hand and, standing beside Zach, observed Miss Trafford as she conversed with his mother and the other ladies. She looked perfectly at home in their drawing room, rather as Crista had done when she first entered it as, of all things, a jeweller’s assistant. It transpired she was a great deal more than that. She was responsible for the design and manufacture of some incredibly intricate jewellery but, as a woman, could not claim credit for her skill.
    Zach showed no inclination to embrace matrimony and had named Amos, as the brother closest to him in age, as his heir, with Vince and Nate following thereafter. That being the case, Vince had wondered about his mother’s reaction to Amos’s obvious infatuation with Crista. A jeweller as possible mother of the next duke? Was that feasible?
    Vince ought to have known better.