he’d ever seen…and he considered himself a good judge, as he’d seen his share.
A yellow straw bonnet exited next, to be neatly caught by the footman.
Only then did a young woman put out her second leg and completely show herself, posing on the top step in a butter-yellow gown while steadying her hands against either side of the door as she slowly observed her surroundings.
Her hair was black, without a hint of red or gold as the sun hit it; unbound, gently caressed by the breeze. In profile, she was perfection, from the straight yet intriguingly flared nose, to the clean line of her chin…to the lush curve of her bosom.
And then she turned to look in his direction, and he saw the fullness of her pink lips as they slowly curved in a smile. She had freckles dancing on her slightly golden skin. Her eyes were nearly as black as her hair. And her brows.? How to describe those brows? They were thick, beginning just above the inside edge of her eyes and very nearly straight, only arching down as they met the edges of her brow bone. Dark wings, that’s what they were, and uniquely fascinating.
She could have been a warrior queen. Lord knows in his salad days he would have followed her anywhere, probably spouting an ode to her eyebrows. Good thing he was older now, and wiser.
“Ah, Gabriel, there you are!” his aunt called out, waving a lace-edged handkerchief in his direction. “Come here, come here. Don’t dawdle, Sunny! Look at the surprise I promised you. Thea—wave to Gabriel!”
“That’s it? That’s your surprise? She’s your surprise? The one you said I could have?” Rigby clapped Gabriel on the back hard enough to stagger him. “You’re a true sport, sonny boy—that’s what you are.”
DOROTHEA NEVILLE QUICKLY turned her head and lowered her chin, knowing it wouldn’t be polite to laugh at either the stunned-ox man or the grinning one. Nor should she wonder what words had been exchanged between them as they approached, although she was certain they concerned her.
She shouldn’t have removed her bonnet and taken down her hair. But with the off-window pulled down, the breeze had been too enticing to miss for the sake of propriety.
It was one of her greatest failings—among many, according to her mother—that had ended badly, also always the warning from her mother.
She looked unkempt, windblown, and tossing her bonnet at the footman while calling out, “Catch!” couldn’t be listed among her best ideas.
But who would know there would be witnesses?
And wasn’t it a good thing the duchess had spoken up before Dorothea had leaped down the two remaining folding stairs, just happy to be moving again, rather than sitting confined in the traveling coach, her knees practically glued to her chin.
She stepped down carefully, holding up her gown just enough to see her way on the steps, and stood beside the duchess for a moment before moving a few feet away, as she always felt like a giant when in the woman’s proximity.
That was because the duchess was, although wide, quite small.
No, that wasn’t true. It was because Dorothea knew herself to be that tall. She towered over her own mother, her stepfather and her two half sisters, stuck out (or up) like a towering oak surrounded by saplings.
Not that she rolled her shoulders forward or attempted to stoop when in company, because she was proud of her height. She was her father’s child, and he had been tall, was still tall, curse him…quite possibly as tall as one of the gentlemen now approaching, hats in hand, with the taller one quick to bend over the duchess’s offered hand.
“Aunt,” he said now, “welcome home. The duke is upstairs, dying.”
The woman frowned. “Again? He promised not to do that while I was gone. What is it this time? Is he seeing spots? He hasn’t done that in a while.”
“He hasn’t mentioned spots, no, although I recall hearing something about ill-humors. I’m afraid I wasn’t attending his words all that closely.”
The duchess nodded, the many silken tiers of her bonnet nodding with her. “Don’t apologize, Sunny, we none of us do.”
Dorothea exchanged looks with the second gentleman, obviously not the grandnephew and heir, who was looking as perplexed as she at this lighthearted exchange. But then he smiled, and she decided they would be friends. She smiled back.
“Sonny boy,” the gentleman said, nudging the grandnephew, “have you considered introducing me to the duchess…and company?”
Now it seemed time for the two gentlemen to exchange glances, but nobody smiled. Indeed, they seemed to stare each other down for a brief uncomfortable second, before the nephew turned to the duchess and asked if he might be allowed to introduce his friend, Sir Jeremiah Rigby, baronet.
The duchess murmured something vaguely proper. She offered her hand to be bowed over and then turned back to her grandnephew. “Gabriel, Sir Jeremiah, it would be my great pleasure to introduce to you both my lovely new friend from Virginia, Miss Dorothea Neville. Show off your pretty curtsy for them, my dear, so that we may all go inside and out of this confounding breeze before my bonnet takes to the four winds.”
Thea did as she was bid—she’d found that to be easier than taking anything the duchess said to heart or as an insult—holding out her hand at the same time. The baronet, who was closer in any event, made an elaborate bow over that hand before stepping back to allow Gabriel Sinclair to do the same.
His hand barely grazed hers and he made a rather perfunctory bow, his gaze locking with hers for a moment before he shook his head as if to deny something he’d been thinking. “Miss Neville,” he said before turning to offer his aunt his arm, leaving Rigby to escort her up the marble steps and into the foyer of the impressive edifice that was Cranbrook Chase.
Bit of a prig, isn’t he, she thought, staring at the man’s back. He’s extremely handsome, but I believe I’d much rather he be personable. I’ll have to work on that, if I’m going to be in his company for any length of time.
Once inside, she refused to gape at the impressive foyer and its several stories’ height topped by an enormous oval glass dome that flooded the area with sunlight. Nor would she mention that the area was large enough—granted, if the furniture was removed—to host a cricket match and its assembled audience.
It wasn’t that she was a stranger to either size or beauty of architecture. Virginia was very well populated with mansions of all sorts, many of them built in the tradition of the owners’ grand homes in England.
She simply hadn’t ever before seen at least three dozen gilded birdcages of every shape and size such as those hanging here, situated there, clustered close together in corners, all of them filled with a gorgeous array of exotic birds. Birds of every color, every size. Birds with eyes that looked unreal, birds with beaks as bright as the sun or as long and black as ebony. Oranges and green and shockingly bright blues, birds with long tail feathers or strange feather plumage sticking up from the tops of their heads.
A near forest of vegetation she couldn’t recognize was spread about in enormous brass pots. Plants with drooping fronds the size of elephant ears, tall, single-trunked trees
