I swallowed the lump from my throat. “Please excuse me, Lucy. I’ve a few things to attend to before we leave.” With a heavy heart, I trudged to my chamber and fell backward across the bed.
Most fortunate, indeed. At that moment, I couldn’t have felt any less fortunate, nor more alone than if I resided in a hermit’s cave. My best friend was avoiding me. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Cate since returning from the bakehouse. Julian despised me. Henry would be gone for three more days. And thanks to Princess Amelia, I had been designated the foremost social outcast in London. Perhaps all of England.
Quite unexpectedly, supper with the duke didn’t seem so bad anymore.
*
We arrived outside the Fitzalan residence at seven sharp.
“Remember,” Cate said when the carriage came to a halt. “Do not lose your temper like you did with the king. Richard Fitzalan may be an amiable gentleman on the outside, but only a fool would forget the ruthless fighter hidden beneath the manners and trim. He’s not called the dragon for nothing.”
“The dragon?” I said, the words breaking unnaturally. “You can’t be serious.” Why hadn’t Henry told me about this?
“The nickname originated during his navy days, and from what I’ve heard, it is by no means a misnomer.”
I tried to respond, but my mouth had turned inexplicably dry.
Cate winked at me, then rapped on the window. “Now, let’s see what the dragon has in store.”
The door swung open. A handful of footmen appeared to assist us from the carriage, bedecked in powdered wigs and the Fitzalan gold and black livery. Cate walked ahead as Lucy and I stood side-by-side, momentarily transfixed by the massive gray stone structure that must have comprised an entire city block. Even in the diminished light, I could tell it was the largest residence I had ever seen other than Kensington Palace, and the two were a close tie at that.
“A bit large for a widower and his son, if you ask me,” Lucy said in a hushed voice. “There must be space enough to house all of Hopewell for the night.”
I nodded. “With room to spare.”
Lanterns blazed along the steps and on either side of the front door. We passed two more footmen on the way into a foyer which looked to be about the size of Brighmor Hall. Following yet another footman, we were shown to the grandest drawing room I had ever seen. At least a hundred candles flamed in free-standing holders and from a large crystal chandelier overhead. For first impressions, this one was undeniably stunning.
My eyes skimmed over the room, taking in the abundance of gilt trim, dark silks and marble, before coming to rest on a man near the hearth. He stood angled away from us, one hand resting on the mantel, and his head bowed in thought.
Cate whispered to the footman, who then cleared his throat. “Lady Dinley, Lucy Goodwin, and Miss Kilbrid, Your Grace.
Lifting his head, the man turned, and I was struck at once by the physical similarity to Henry. Like the son, Richard Fitzalan was a tall man, standing well over six feet, with broad shoulders, and despite the advanced years, a trimness to rival any lad of twenty. Also like his son, he didn’t wear a periwig as so many other gentlemen were wont to do. Instead, his thick hair had been lightly powdered and tied back, simulating the latest fashion, while avoiding the superfluous hairpiece.
He remained still as he surveyed our little group, his eyes coming to rest on me for several seconds. I met his stare straight on, refusing to look away despite a sudden fit of nerves. A smile pulled at his mouth, and my heart skipped from the same expression I had seen a hundred times on Henry, usually on the heels of some amusing or sardonic comment.
Not until the duke took a few steps did I notice the cane and pronounced limp on his left side. Henry told me of his father being wounded in battle, but for some reason, I had never envisioned the man with any type of physical ailment. Cate moved toward him, and in a wave of silk skirts, we met somewhere in the middle of the room.
“So good to see you, my lady.” He bowed gracefully, and taking Cate’s hand, brushed a kiss on the back of her cream satin glove.
“And you, Your Grace,” Cate said, her eyes twinkling with the usual merriment. “Please let me introduce my friends.” She gestured to us in turn. “This is Lucy Goodwin and Miss Selah Kilbrid.”