Lady of Shame

It really was not his place to ask, but Lord Giles kept a firm hand on the purse strings for his father, according to the duke’s steward.

Her colour heightened. ‘I do this at His Grace’s request.’

Something in her voice did not quite ring true, but it was not his place to question the duke’s sister. He might, however, enquire of Madame Stratton. Or Smithins.

‘How many events are you planning?’ he asked. ‘And who are the guests? Are the same people to be invited more than once?’

She picked up a piece of paper from the table where she had placed her book. ‘There are to be three dinners in all, the first next week. I am hoping His Grace will attend, but it will depend on his health.’

Elation began a slow build inside him. This was the chance he’d been waiting for. It would be better if the duke attended, and he could quite see why she would want to hold out his presence as an inducement. Very few people would turn down an invitation from a duke.

‘The Reverend Seagrove will be present for all of the dinners as well as myself, and perhaps his daughter. And if Lord Giles should return, the duke would expect him to attend also.’ She consulted her paper. ‘The first dinner will include Mr Dyer and his mother. At the second I expect Sir Nathan Samuelson. And at the third, Mr Carstairs and Miss Carstairs.’

Small intimate dinners. He could do them with one hand tied behind his back.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘and the dowager marchioness is to be invited too.’

Interesting. For the most part, Lady Hatherton had been kept at arm’s length. Servants’ gossip said there was doubt about the validity of her claim. It seemed those doubts were past.

The other guests Madame Holte named were from prominent families in the neighbourhood. Gentlemen and ladies who travelled to Town for the Season. People who would speak of his skill, if he pleased them. Yes, this was just what he had hoped for when he’d accepted this contract. A chance to grow his reputation as a chef among members of the ton. To move his own plans forward. The fact that he would do so for Madame Holte made it doubly rewarding. Saints save him, he was grinning from ear to ear. He pulled himself together. ‘How many courses do you wish to serve?’

‘Enough to appear generous, but not so many as to seem ostentatious. I would be grateful for your suggestions.’ She cast him a brief smile. It held shyness and hope and a shred of wariness. It was that last that caught at something in his chest.