Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

He tipped his head in contemplation. “I confess I have no idea what’s required to run a draper’s shop. I imagine it’s a great deal of effort, though. When my sisters descend upon the shop in Dorchester they are gone for hours, and one can only pity the poor proprietor, worn out from being sent back and forth for ribbons and lace and bolts of every sort of fabric sold in England.” He grimaced as Cleo almost choked on her laughter.

“It’s never that dreadful,” she protested. “Many aspects are quite enjoyable. Every year I travel to London to visit the warehouses and order the latest fabrics before anyone else has seen them. Nothing is more satisfying than spotting a beautiful piece of silk and knowing exactly which customer it will suit. My clerks do most of the fetching in the shop, but I quite like helping ladies choose the right colors and trimmings. A fine gown is a significant expense and ought to please the wearer for years to come. Most ladies are very grateful to have another woman’s approval before making the purchase. Men should understand; I know perfectly well most of the gentlemen here have spent a great deal of time in the stables admiring a carriage.” He gave her a sideways glance, and she grinned. “That, and drinking the many bottles of port I saw a footman carrying to the stables.”

Wessex coughed. “And a new gown is like a carriage?”

“To most ladies, a new gown is far, far more important than any carriage,” she confirmed.

The duke chuckled. “You have illuminated one of the great mysteries of life. I begin to see why Alexandra was reduced to tears when Bridget mocked her bonnet.”

“Well, mocking is never kind. She might have suggested a different ribbon, or less trimming.”

“Bridget’s way is rarely diplomatic,” he said in resignation.

Cleo, who rather liked the impetuous girl, waved one hand. “She has time to learn. I was very like her when I was younger, and we all endure difficult ages only to come out the better for them.”

“That is very encouraging,” he said. “Bridget is … a challenge.”

“Lady Alexandra and Lady Serena are very poised young ladies. I’m sure Lady Bridget will grow into it.” She paused, remembering the disputes and heartfelt conversations with her own sister when they were girls. Without Helen, she didn’t know what she would have done. “They are fortunate to have each other. They seem quite close, your sisters.”

“Devilishly.” He stopped and turned. “In fact … Serena?” he called.

First one girl, then another, and so on until no fewer than five young ladies emerged from behind a nearby hedge, looking guilty. “Yes, Wessex?” asked the eldest, a girl with auburn hair and the same intense dark eyes as the duke.

“You’re far from the house,” he remarked.

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” blurted out Bridget Cavendish. “It’s that horrid pest Henry—”

“Shh!” hissed Charlotte Ascot—sister to the horrid pest, if Cleo remembered correctly. “I swear he can hear his name from a mile away.”

“We’re just out for a walk,” said Serena with a bright smile. “As are you, I see.” She curtseyed to Cleo. “I hope you are enjoying your visit to Kingstag, Mrs. Barrows.”

“Very much so,” she replied warmly. “I simply had to see more of it and walked out in search of adventure.”

“Capital!” declared Bridget with a beaming smile. “Would you like to see the grotto? James was supposed to drive us on a tour but he’s disappeared.”

“All the gentlemen have disappeared,” muttered Kate Lacy with a very fetching pout. “They only turn up when there’s a cricket match.”

“Or a game of battledore,” put in Charlotte. “Which is even less entertaining to watch, even if that handsome Mr. Newnham is playing.”

“No, I much prefer to watch Lord Everett play cricket,” said Miss Lacy with a dreamy look on her face.

“They can’t have all disappeared into thin air!” burst out Bridget. “We just have to keep looking—” She froze, looking at her brother in alarm.

Wessex, though, merely grinned. “I can hardly turn traitor on my fellow man, can I?”

“And will you tell Mama?” asked Alexandra cautiously.

“We aren’t doing anything wrong!” cried Bridget again. “We’re just … just—” She glanced at her companions. “—just trying to be good hostesses. What if the gentlemen have disappeared because they’re bored to death of Kingstag and need reviving from their stupors?”

The duke glanced at Cleo, mirth glinting in his gaze. “No one accused you of doing wrong. But I doubt you’ll need to revive anyone from a stupor—not until the ball, that is.”

A chorus of protests went up. “No! The ball is the only worthy event!” “Who could fall into a stupor at a ball?” “The gentlemen wouldn’t dare try to miss the ball, would they, Wessex? Mama would be furious!”

The duke held up his hands. “I’m sure they’ll all be at the ball. Just as I’m sure you ought not to wander too far away. If Mama misses you, nothing I say will save you. It would be a terrible shame to miss the ball as punishment….”