Frederica in Fashion Read Online Free Page A

shall be employed … elsewhere.’
    ‘But you do plan to marry?’
    ‘No, your grace.’
    ‘Your parents have need of you at home?’
    ‘No, your grace. My mother is dead and my father has servants enough.’
    ‘You do not like men?’
    ‘I fear, your grace, I have decided that gentlemen do not like me. I am not well-favoured.’
    ‘Stuff,’ he snapped. ‘You have all the makings. You have simply not yet learned how to use them.’
    All at once appalled at the intimacy of the conversation and sobered by fresh air and lemonade , Frederica rose to her feet. He punctiliously stood up, his tall figure looming over her in the sunny garden.
    ‘Forgive me,’ said Frederica. ‘I must leave.’
    He bowed.
    Frederica swept him a low curtsy. Frederica’s curtsies were a miracle of grace and deportment, and one of her many social talents.
    The duke stood watching her as she left the garden. He had a sudden impulse to call her back. The strange colourless little thing had enlivened the tedium of his existence. It would have been amusing to make her smile again, and see how that enchanting smile of hers turned her briefly from a plain school miss into something beautiful and elusive.
    He sat down again, reminding himself that he had already behaved far out of character by talking to her for so long.
    Frederica retired to her room and sat for a long time, deep in thought. She would stay the night at the inn, and travel to Hatton Abbey in the morning. It was as well that great personages such as dukes did not employ their servants themselves.
    The Duke of Pembury finished his meal in the garden and then called for his carriage.
    He recollected with some irritation that he had invited a great number of guests who were all due to arrive at the end of the week, and that, for once, he had forgotten to warn his staff.
    When he arrived at Hatton Abbey, he promptly sent for his butler, Mr Anderson, his housekeeper, Mrs Bradley, and his groom of the chambers, Mr Smiles.
    He informed them of the forthcoming house party, looking at their expressionless faces and wondering for the first time what they thought. But his well-trained servants merely murmured woodenly , ‘Yes, your grace. Certainly, your grace.’
    ‘If you need more staff, hire local people,’ said the duke, dismissing them.
    He sat down at his desk and ran through the guest list which his deferential secretary had laid in front of him.
    ‘Lady Godolphin,’ said the duke, twisting about and staring at his secretary. ‘Why is that Mrs Malaprop, that old rip, included? I do not recall inviting her.’
    ‘I beg to remind your grace,’ said his secretary, Mr Hugh Grant, ‘that Lady Godolphin invited you to supper a year ago, an invitation which you accepted. You told me to return the hospitality only when there was to be a large number of other guests present since you did not think you could bear much of her ladyship’s company undiluted. I thought this house party would be an excellent occasion.’
    ‘Very well, I suppose you have the right of it. Lady Caroline James. My dear Grant. My dear, dear Grant. That is yesterday’s mutton you are serving.’
    ‘I invited Lady James on your instructions,’ said Mr Grant plaintively. He was a chubby young man, very much in awe of his master. ‘I did not know the situation had changed. You did not inform me of any change, your grace.’
    The duke scowled. ‘I am sure … never mind, Mr Grant. I am surprised she accepted the invitation.’
    Lady James was his ex-mistress. She had taken her dismissal with her usual sophisticated ease of manner and he had given her a very generous settlement.
    He would have thought, however, that the experienced Lady James would have realized his secretary must have made a mistake.
    He ticked off the other names, and, as he did so, he found his thoughts wandering back to that odd little girl at the inn. Perhaps he might send a servant over in the morning to find out if her father had arrived.