My Unfair Lady (12 page)

   The Duke of Monchester groaned. "Will you please stop calling him by his first name?"

   Maria tossed her hair. "I can't help it if I can't get used to y'all's silly rules about what to call who."

   "Well, you'd better get used to it," he threatened, while gently disengaging the little rat-dog from the hem of his trousers. "We're almost there, and you'd best remember to address the man as Lord Balkett." He handed Chi-chi back to Summer with a scowl. "Did you have to bring along your menagerie?"

   She tucked the sweet little dog into the deep pocket of her skirts and smiled, continuing to ignore the both of them. Really, Byron had shown enormous restraint already, for he'd only responded to Maria's constant complaints on this very last day of the journey. Since Maria had met Lord Balkett, her adoration of Byron had cooled, and Summer almost wished her friend would go back to idolizing the duke. Almost.

   "I'm sure Hugh will be there," mumbled Maria.

   "Good grief, woman. It's Lord Balkett!" Byron ran strong fingers through his already tousled hair. He glared at Summer. "I agreed to teach you how to be a lady, not your gypsy friend here."

   "Pshaw! I ain't a gypsy. I'm part Mexican and part… something else."

   His brow rose in that superior way he had. "You don't know what else you are?"

   "Listen, Mister. Just 'cause ya' can track yore ances tors all the way back to the Stone Age don't make ya' any better'n…"

   Summer turned to Maria and whispered, "I know it's been a long journey, but… enough."

   Maria's mouth pursed, and she threw a hateful look at Byron. "He's just so stuffy," she whispered back. "Someone needs to loosen him up."

   "I like him just the way he is. Now leave the man alone."

   Maria shrugged. "I will, if he will."

   Byron watched the two of them with amazement. "Don't you two know it's rude to whisper when another is present?"

   Summer smiled at him. Not an ordinary one, mind you, but the kind that lit up her face and made her look like a mischievous elf. Byron couldn't help grinning back and wondered what he'd been so irritated at her friend about. Ah yes. Summer had still been mad at him when they'd started this trip and had blatantly ignored him the entire time. Maria had whined about Hugh until he'd thought he'd gleefully strangle her, and the monkey kept shoulder-hopping, and that little dog had turned the hems of both legs of his trousers wet with slobber.

   And all it took was one smile from her to make all his irritations fade away, and he realized that her eyes looked a dark gold, and that her amber gown brought out the highlights in her hair, and her companions couldn't be that annoying, not with her presence filling the carriage.

   
It was unnerving what her smile could do to him
, thought Byron. He'd best get her accepted into society and back onto a ship to New York before he was in danger of… he didn't know what. Just that within that smile laid his own doom.

   "Landsakes," gasped Maria as the imposing structure of Sandringham came into view. "The man said it was a house, but it ain't… It's a castle!"

   Summer's eyes unlocked from Byron's, and she gaped out the window along with her friend. Maria spoke truly; it looked like a castle. Three stories high, with peaks over the top windows, balustrades, and a domed section… She didn't know the words to describe the architecture she saw, just that it stood grand and ornamental.

   "Don't worry," murmured Byron. "They're very relaxed here, unlike the protocol at Windsor Castle or Buckingham Palace."

   Summer swallowed and nodded, frowning at her little monkey and dog. Whatever had possessed her to bring them along? They'd be miserable if forced to stay with the servants in their rooms, and yet what if Chi-chi tried to play hide-and-seek under ladies' gowns and India went scavenging for food? A summer home just hadn't sounded so grand.

   Fortunately, due to their tardiness, they were shown directly to their adjoining rooms, and India froze like a statue on Maria's shoulder and Chi-chi barely stuck her nose out of her pocket. Maria had just finished instructing the servants in the unpacking (although Summer thought they'd have finished in half the time without Maria's help) when the bell for dinner sounded, and then followed a flurry of activity to dress in the best gowns they'd brought.

   Maria opened the door and peeked down the hallway. "Do ya' remember which way we came in?"

   "I'm hoping they either send someone for us or His Grace will remember to fetch us. I'm not moving from this room until they do, or we'll get lost in these mazes of hallways and never find our way out."

   Both girls looked at each other and shivered, remembering shared horror stories from their youth, while the servants giggled behind their hands. The very young one, Meg, had already offered to keep India and Chi-chi with her for the evening, while the older servant had just shaken her head, lips pinched in a frown, obviously disapproving of her prince's choice of guests.

   The duke did come to fetch them for dinner, his eyes never leaving Summer's face as he escorted them to the drawing room. He admired the way the light made her hair glow, the way it cast shadows across her generously exposed bosom and shimmered in the folds of her cloth-of-gold gown. He kept noticing little things about her more and more often.

   At some point the Baron of Hanover joined their group. Byron could vaguely hear Maria and the man's whispered conversation, the plucky girl intimidated enough by her surroundings to lower her voice to the pitch of a lady, for which he felt exceedingly grateful. It allowed him to gaze on the perfection of the tiny woman in front of him without distraction.

   "Your Grace," inquired Summer. "What's wrong? Shouldn't you be introducing me to everyone?"

   Byron nodded distractedly.

   "Not that I'm anxious to talk to strangers. I grew up with only myself for company, and I'm afraid I rather got used to it."

   Byron nodded again. He hadn't been alone with her since they'd left London and for some reason he didn't relish sharing her with anyone at present. Having her full attention directed at him alone, being allowed to gaze at her lips and fantasize about what he'd like to do to them without having to hide his thoughts, sent a shiver of joy through him. He couldn't imagine what it'd be like to allow himself to do this for the rest of his life. Probably kill him before his time… but he thought it might be a pleasant way to die.

   After glancing nervously around the room, Summer made the mistake of looking into the duke's eyes. They'd gone all unfocused again, drawing her in and allowing her to see into his soul. He wanted to kiss her, she thought, and felt her legs go weak. Right here in the drawing room of the prince's house, he thought about kissing her, she knew it. And also knew she'd willingly let him if he tried. She'd never understand why so many of the aristocracy were terrified of him, for although his words could be vicious, his eyes allowed one to see the kindness of his soul. Or could it be that only she could see it?

   "Your Grace," said a soft voice. "How nice to see you again."

   They both started, Summer recovering first and turning to see the most lovely woman she'd ever met staring at them with barely disguised jealousy. The woman smiled, a mere baring of her even white teeth, and appraised Summer from beneath her elegantly slanted nose. Summer gawked, like the graceless bumpkin she felt herself to be. Fine blonde hair swept artfully away from a face with skin the color of new-fallen snow, a mouth full and tinged the faintest rose pouted prettily at her, eyes of dark lavender glittered with hostile intent. "I apologize if I've interrupted…"

   Byron shook himself like a dog, trying to throw off the spell of Summer's attention, trying to shake the feeling of his brain being buried in sand while he fumbled for the woman's name. Ah yes. "Good evening, Lady Banfour. May I introduce Miss Summer Lee?"

   The lavender eyes blinked hostility away and left behind only a gracious interest toward the duke. She barely glanced at Summer again. "How do you do? So this is the American I've been hearing so much about. Tell me, Your Grace, is it true she can do tricks?"

   Byron stiffened. "Tricks?"

   The lady laughed. "Oh, pardon me. I don't know what else to call them. I've heard she travels with a monkey and a rather large rat, and can shoot and ride like a cowboy… or isn't that what they're called?"

   "Cowgirl," blurted Summer, caught off guard by the woman's lethal tone. Goodness, the woman's looks certainly didn't match her personality.

   The duke stared at the woman for several seconds, not saying a word, until the English rose began to squirm. "Summer doesn't do tricks," he finally said. "She doesn't have to resort to them, unlike some women who criticize others so that they can feel as if their own stature is elevated by doing so."

   The woman's mouth opened, then closed. Tears sprang into the lavender eyes, and with a mutter she turned and fled.

   Summer brushed her fingertips lightly across the sleeve of his coat. "That was very bad of you. Now I know where you got your reputation for a wicked tongue."

   Byron froze, feeling that light touch burn through the fabric of his sleeve. "If she can't accept a rebuke, she shouldn't have allowed herself to be in a position to deserve one."

   "Oh, I'm not complaining. I just wish I could think of such remarks myself; then I wouldn't feel so fright ened when I'm around all these elegant people."

   The Duke of Monchester threw back his head and laughed, a hearty sound that drew all eyes in the room to them and made Summer feel a surge of happiness, and realize with surprise that every time she made him laugh, it caused her to be ridiculously happy.

   Prince Albert entered the room at this opportune time and made directly for them, ignoring the bows and curtsies that created a wave before him. He held out his arm to Summer. "Allow me the pleasure of showing you in to dinner."

   She nodded her head and gently laid her hand on his arm, every person in the room noting her graceful walk as he led her into a cavernous dining room, a glittering table down the length of it, elegantly dressed footmen behind every chair. The rest of the aristocracy proceeded in order of rank behind them, Byron stifling a smile as he realized that had His Royal Highness not taken Summer by the arm, she'd have been last to enter the room. He had placed the woman ahead of titled nobles, a higher tribute than Byron could have hoped for.

   Fortunately, his own rank allowed him to be seated not far from Summer, and the duke could barely concentrate on the chatter of Lady Banfour, who had, as usual, managed to get herself seated beside him. He strained to overhear the conversation between Summer and His Highness but only managed to catch the laughter of the prince at something she said.

   Summer tried to concentrate on not slopping food down her chin or otherwise disgracing herself, half-aware that the prince asked her an awful lot of questions about her and the duke. Some of them made him laugh, and afterward she wished she could remember all that she'd told him. But this time His Royal Highness behaved as she'd always thought he might: kind and sophisticated and with absolute charm, even formally apologizing for the absence of his wife, Princess Alexandra, because of a minor ailment. Summer felt dazed.

   A startled oath from far down that long table enabled her to forget her nervousness and break the spell of the man next to her. It sounded like Maria, and sure enough she could still hear her friend's shouting over the eruption that had started at the end of the table and was flowing toward her and the prince as a wave of bobbing heads, spilled glasses, and startled oaths.

   Halfway toward them, Summer could make out the tiny form of India, scampering over china and crystal and snatching an occasional tidbit here and there. Lord Balkett, who'd somehow managed to be seated next to Maria, had a firm grip on her friend's arm, and when India realized he was no longer being chased, he slowed down, wiggling his eyebrows at many of the guests, managing to turn the oaths into surprised laughs of delight.

   "What is it?" asked the elderly lord next to Summer.

   "I say, isn't that a monkey?" commented someone else.

   "Look there, what's it doing now?"

   India had completely gotten over his fright and now employed one of his finest begging tricks. He scampered over to his victim, pointed at an inviting morsel on their plate, clasped his hands together, and shook them as if in fervent prayer. The victim laughed in delight and handed over the tidbit.

   Summer realized that if India kept it up, he'd have a bellyache by the time he reached her end of the table.

   "Would you excuse me, Your Highness?" she asked as she swiftly rose and headed for the monkey. "Come here, you scamp," she commanded. Maria he might ignore, but never Summer. Although India didn't look contrite as he hopped to her shoulder. He just continued to munch at the handful of grapes he'd managed to get, a look of supreme satisfaction on his furry face.