An Innocent Maid for the Duke by Ann Lethbridge

Author:Ann Lethbridge
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: 0
Published: 2017-11-09T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

To Rose’s relief, Jake had seen her and his grandmother into the town coach and had ridden on ahead. She wasn’t quite sure how she would have managed if he had travelled with them in the carriage. Awkward did not begin to describe the way she felt. It wasn’t that she regretted their lovemaking, exactly. It had been something beyond her girlish imaginations. Quite wonderful, in truth. But she did feel as if she had let herself down. She had always assumed she was far too smart to let her attraction for a man overcome her good sense. That she was no better than the mother she had blamed for her situation came as a disappointment.

In addition, she did not like the feeling of keeping secrets from his grandmother, who was regarding her intently. Not in an unfriendly way, more a sort of knowing glance, as if at any moment she might wink. Imagination, surely? Or a guilty conscience. Her Grace would probably toss her out on her ear if she so much as guessed what Rose and Jake had been up to.

Not Jake. His Grace. Using his name would be a terrible slip in public. Besides, it had all ended rather badly, so it wasn’t as if it would continue. If only she hadn’t made such a stupid comment. Of course he hadn’t dreamed of being a duke. Still, there was no reason for him to get so stuffy about it. She hadn’t meant anything by it. She could only hope he wasn’t regretting offering her this position.

A feeling of excitement took up residence in her stomach as the carriage turned into the drive. Her Grace had tried to explain what a Venetian Breakfast entailed and it sounded like it might be fun. She would just have to be careful what she said and did and not make any more silly mistakes where Jake was concerned.

He was waiting to greet them when the carriage set them down at the front door and escorted them around the side of the house. The Marquis and Marchioness of Dearbourne met them on the terrace and directed them to lawns that sloped down to the River Thames at the back of the house where the guests were assembling.

The scent of late-summer roses swirled around them. Bunting fluttered from bushes and poles in the light breeze on what had turned out to be a day of blue skies and a few puffy clouds.

The drive had been a scant five miles from the ducal town house to Dearbourne Villa, but Rose, despite her misgivings, had enjoyed every moment. It was the first time in her life she had been what she thought of as out in the country, though Her Grace had assured her this was, by most, considered as an extension of London. Why, the old lady had exclaimed, they were going nowhere near as far as Windsor.

The villa was not as grand as the Duke’s mansion, but it was no paltry affair, either.

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