The Duke's Messenger Read Online Free

manfully-to her unspoken regret.
    *
    Nell, bursting with her secret, and excessively anxious to share with her aunt dear Rowland’s intentions, was not best pleased when she was requested to make room for Darnford in their carriage.
    But, when the marquess gave every indication of making a long visit, even at that late hour, Nell gave in with good grace. In truth, she was not reluctant to hold her delicious news to herself for a little while yet. She had not fully savored the incredible fact that Lord Foxhall would, in the morning, make a formal offer for her hand.
    She went to bed, but not at once to sleep. Rowland’s classic features slid from her wakeful thoughts into her dreams, and she slept at last with a smile on her lips.
     

 
    Chapter Three
     
    Nell wakened when young Polly timidly set down her early morning tea tray. Nell watched the maid cross to the windows and open the curtains.
    “Polly,” she murmured, emerging slowly from sleep, “what kind of day is it?”
    “Dreary, miss,” Polly reported. “Gloomy, like. Begun raining in the night it did, and dark you can’t see the street.”
    Nell came fully awake. With a rush she remembered the astonishing event of the evening before. “Oh, Polly, you must be wrong. It’s the most glorious day since I’ve been in London!”
    The maid cast a cautious eye in the direction of her young mistress. “Very good, miss,” she said quickly, and scuttled out of the room.
    Nell leaped out of bed and went to the window. To an ordinary eye, she conceded, it might be gray, damp, and dispiriting. How many unfortunates looked out this very morning and saw only dreariness!
    Nell considered herself the most fortunate of creatures. She alone was the recipient of Lord Foxhall’s attentions.
    He was coming to call — and Lady Sanford did not yet know!
    She scarcely felt the stairs beneath her feet as she descended to take breakfast with her aunt. In fact, she was hardly aware that her aunt Phrynie was scarcely in a mood to receive confidences, being hollow-eyed from lack of sleep and with a tongue excessively furred.
    Whitcomb the butler had every sympathy for his lady. With deft and silent motions he placed black coffee before her and forbore to offer ham or eggs. He considered toast and honey, but with a second sidelong glance at his suffering mistress, he decided against them.
    When Nell breezily entered the breakfast room, Lady Sanford closed her eyes. Whitcomb winced in sympathy and favored his mistress’s niece with a cold eye of warning. Nell, caught up in her own rosy euphoria, did not notice.
    “Dear aunt!” she exclaimed as she paused to drop a kiss on Lady Sanford’s soft cheek. “Wasn’t it a perfectly splendid ball!”
    Lady Sanford’s response was more moan than articulate agreement. “I do not know quite what the duchess put in that punch,” she said severely when she reached the bottom of her second cup of strong coffee. “Ratafia, she said it was, but I warrant you I will never again believe her.”
    Whitcomb reflected upon the empty bottle of brandy that had met his eyes that morning in the salon. Lady Sanford, having entertained her solitary guest somewhat lavishly after her return home, had no need to blame the duchess for her splitting headache.
    Nell gradually became aware that her aunt was indeed suffering. Her own pleasure at the ball had taken place far removed from the scene at the punch bowl. But she was possessed of a kindly nature and lowered her voice at once. She heaped her plate with feather-light scrambled eggs and the most delicately flavored pink ham, brought especially from the Sanford country estate in Essex, and proceeded to indulge her hearty appetite.
    Not until she saw her aunt reaching tentatively for a biscuit did she dare to engage her attention. “Aunt, I must tell you — “
    “My dear child, must you? I confess I do not wish to hear anything this morning. Not even the juiciest titbit of gossip. Unless, of course,