When Miss Mansfield smiled he noticed that it made her unusual eyes prettier.
‘I should like that very much.’
Perhaps Bennett was imagining it, but she definitely greeted them with more enthusiasm than she had him—although why he was put out by that he could not quite fathom. Uncle George was instantly smitten with her and had no problem in showing it. ‘I am positively charmed already, Miss Mansfield, and would be thrilled if you sit with me at dinner. It has been far too long since I have enjoyed the company of such a delightful creature over a meal.’
‘Be wary, Miss Mansfield,’ his mother cautioned, smiling affectionately at the man who had been a surrogate father to Bennett for so many years. ‘I am afraid George still thinks that he is in his prime. He will spend the entire meal flirting with you outrageously or telling you scandalous stories that are completely unsuitable for your delicate young ears.’
‘You wound me, Octavia!’ His uncle pretended to be affronted by this suggestion, which made all of the ladies laugh instantly. Bennett had always envied his uncle’s easy way with the female sex, but this time he found that talent irritating. Unfortunately, judging by the charmed expression on her pretty face, Miss Mansfield was similarly smitten with Uncle George.
‘I shall look forward to it.’ She positively grinned at the old rogue in return. It was like being blindsided by a sunbeam; everything about her lit up. Her rosebud mouth curved mischievously, transforming her face into a thing of complete beauty, two adorable dimples appeared on her perfect cheeks and those big brown eyes grew warm and inviting. ‘It has been far too long since I heard a genuinely scandalous story over dinner.’
A dinner that would be severely delayed at this rate unless Bennett intervened and put an immediate stop to all of this nonsense. He snapped open his pocket watch again and frowned to make the point. ‘I will get Lovett to show you straight to your rooms as dinner is in less than an hour.’ Which gave him enough time to conquer the small mountain of paperwork lying unattended on his desk. ‘If you will all excuse me.’
To his own ears his voice sounded a bit clipped, yet for some reason he was decidedly out of sorts. Bennett forced a polite smile before turning on his heel and heading purposefully back to his study. He felt the oddest tickle of awareness, which instantly raised his hackles and made him glance around. He caught Miss Mansfield openly staring at him again and not in a good way.
Bennett was not prone to vanity—he did not have the time required to dedicate to such an endeavour—but he knew that he was considered quite handsome by most women. He was used to female admiration and, on occasion, even blatant flirting. He was a duke, after all, and a very eligible one at that. However, Miss Mansfield was regarding him as if he was some sort of scientific specimen that she did not fully understand. People just did not do that. Not to him. If they did, basic good manners dictated that it was done covertly and he was blissfully unaware of their scrutiny. It was most disconcerting. Bennett scowled as he marched onward towards his study, for the first time in as long as he could remember feeling very uncomfortable in his own skin and ever so slightly offended.
* * *
Amelia had two good frocks that were passable to wear to dinner. Neither filled her with enthusiasm. Out of sheer defiance she picked the one with the lowest neckline, grabbed her finest shawl and pinched some colour into her cheeks and lips to give herself some confidence. The Aveley residence on Berkeley Square was the grandest house she had ever set foot in and she hated the fact that she found it more than a little bit intimidating. From the moment she had walked up the marble steps towards the imposing black double front doors, the sheer opulence of the place had taken her breath away. But inside? Well, that was a completely different level of exquisite altogether.
The floor in the hallway was a striking chessboard of black and white marble. An ornate and sweeping staircase drew the eye upwards to a painted ceiling that had literally left her awed by its beauty. The artist had turned it into a window to Heaven. Cherubs floated amongst clouds, gazing down at the viewer below in angelic serenity. Amelia had really never seen anything like it. If the shock of her new surroundings was not enough, she had blinked in surprise when she had first glimpsed the owner of all of that splendour. The Duke of Aveley looked nothing like the haughty, beady-eyed and paunchy aristocrat she had imagined him to be.
Like the angels suspended above her, this man appeared to have been created from the brush of the most talented of artists. He was broad-shouldered and golden. That was the only word for him...golden. Over six feet of manly magnificence had stood in front of her, completely at odds with the arrogant pomposity that had apparently spewed from his pen. Aveley had thick, slightly wayward blond hair, weaved with threads of wheat and bronze, intelligent cobalt eyes and a tempting mouth that drew her eye just as effectively as his wonderful ceiling did. The female part of her, which she always tried to ignore, had reacted in the most peculiar way. Her pulse began to race, nervous butterflies began to flap in her stomach and her knees felt decidedly weak. If she did not know better, Amelia would have said that she was all aquiver, which was a ludicrous but apt description for the way she’d suddenly felt. He was a square-jawed, straight-nosed delight to behold. Exactly the sort of fairy-tale man she had once dreamed she would live with happily ever after before the harsh realities of life had taught her that there were no such things as fairy tales.
And then he had looked at her as if she was exactly what she was—little more than a servant and nothing of any consequence—bringing her crashing soundly back to earth with a thud. For the briefest of moments Amelia had felt a rush of pure, unadulterated disappointment before she’d shaken herself and reminded herself that she was a fool to have expected anything less. She knew better than to judge a book by its cover, no matter how splendid that cover might first seem, and she was not usually prone to silly fluttering or even sillier ideas that involved a titled man in her future.
At the time, her uncharacteristic reaction to him had bothered her immensely but, after a small period of reflection in her luxurious new bedchamber, she now understood that she had simply been completely overwhelmed. Not just by the handsome, pompous Duke, but by her surroundings and the prospect of being amongst proper society again for such a prolonged period of time. It had been a long journey and she was quite tired. It was hardly surprising that she was a little out of sorts and she had been surprised that the pompous Duke had not looked anything like she had imagined. It was rare that a title did not immediately disappoint. She had not been expecting someone who resembled Adonis, therefore she could forgive herself for her brief moment of disbelief and the understandable nervous reaction that followed. Equilibrium restored, she stiffened her spine and walked with purpose.
A footman directed her down a long corridor to a formal dining room at the end, where she was seated in the middle of a grand table set for five. Sir George was the first to arrive and plonked himself down in the chair opposite her and instructed a servant to fill up both of their wine glasses with a flick of his hand.
‘How splendid, Miss Mansfield, that I have you all to myself. I dare say you are burning with curiosity and have a hundred questions about this house and its family that you want to have answered. Unfortunately for you—’ he took a healthy glug of his wine and grinned conspiratorially ‘—I have a very loose tongue when under the influence of even the merest drop of alcohol; therefore I suggest you grasp the opportunity to take advantage of that fact before the others arrive and I have to behave myself.’
Already he was her favourite person here and she had known him less than a few minutes in total. ‘The house is very impressive. Has it always been in the family?’
Sir George rolled his eyes in irritation at the apparent banality of her question. ‘It was designed for the fourteenth Duke by none other than Robert Adam himself. It is also the biggest house on Berkeley Square. Surely that is not the best thing you could
