The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [28]
So be it. He must have suffered a temporary lapse into madness, only to revert to his title. “I apologize for my misapprehension, Your Grace,” she said, sinking into a deep curtsy.
“I’m surprised that you didn’t recognize him immediately,” Lady Cecily put in cheerfully. “I always think that there’s a sort of squint about the eyes that identifies a Sconce. Even those born on the wrong side of the blanket have just a touch of it.”
The duke’s eyes may not squint, but they were as startling gray-green as Olivia remembered. And cold, with just a trace of condemnation. As if she had tempted him to kiss her. Which she certainly had not. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I do believe I see exactly what you mean, Lady Cecily.”
Georgiana gave a little gasp, which she covered with a cough. “What my sister means, Your Grace, is that you have the unmistakable look of a Sconce.”
“That’s exactly what I said.” Olivia smiled at the duke’s stiff features. “From now on I’ll recognize that squint anywhere.”
“I am happy to welcome you to my house, Miss Lytton,” he said, dismissing the question of the squint as beneath him. Olivia had the feeling that he often ignored trivialities of that sort. “I trust that you, Lady Cecily, and your sister plan to make a long visit. My mother, the dowager duchess, will be most happy to greet you tomorrow morning, as will my cousin, Lord Justin Fiebvre, who is paying us a visit before he returns to Oxford University.”
He had a very deep voice, deeper than her father’s. It made him sound . . . it was very manly, Olivia thought, before she jerked her mind away from the subject.
Georgiana deserted Lady Cecily and trotted over to Olivia’s side, giving her a little pinch. “What on earth are you doing, making fun of the duke?” she whispered. “He hasn’t a squint!”
“Our driver was found in the ditch quite uninjured,” Lady Cecily said, “and my dear, he reeked of gin. Reeked! A knavish type he must be, soaked in drink. If it had been up to him, we could have died right in the carriage and been eaten by vultures.”
“Eaten while still in the carriage?” the duke remarked. “That would be quite unusual.”
“It’s a wonder we didn’t drive straight into a river! Or into a mail coach. We should have examined his fingernails before we entered the carriage. Were you aware that a man who has a slightly longer fingernail on the little finger is invariably an inebriate?”
“The duke was remarkably surprising,” Olivia whispered back. “He just—I’ll tell you later.”
“You didn’t say something unladylike already,” Georgiana groaned.
“No! Well, I did, but I’ll tell you later. But are you feeling quite all right, Georgie? I think Lady Cecily landed on top of you.”
“Five more minutes in that carriage alone with Lady C, and I’d have been a candidate for Bedlam,” Georgiana breathed, so quietly that she could scarcely be heard.
Olivia squeezed her hand. Olivia and Georgiana had survived the past five days in the carriage by reverting to the games they’d played as children: betting on the number of times that Lady Cecily mentioned her “dearest friend”—Lady Jersey, one of the patronesses of Almack’s—just as they used to bet on their mother’s references to The Mirror of Compliments.
“I was not aware of any parallel between a man’s character and his fingernails,” the duke said now, to Lady Cecily. Olivia could have told him that his aunt was a treasure trove of odd theories, mostly to do with the digestion. Olivia didn’t believe a single one.
“Oh, it’s very true,” Lady Cecily assured the duke. “I expect it’s the very first thing Bow Street Runners look for when they apprehend a criminal.”
“I always heard the telltale sign was a squint, myself,” Olivia remarked. For some reason the duke’s implacable expression made her long to tweak his nose, although she didn’t quite dare look to see how he took her comment. So she added hastily, “Have the carriages with our maids and trunks made an appearance?”
“I had a new gown in one of my trunks,” Lady Cecily said instantly. “And although you haven’t