Chapter Thirty-three
London residence of the Duke of Montague
September 14, 1784
"Your Grace," the Duchess of Montague said, bestowing a measured smile on the man who, in a matter of two days, would become her son-in-law. "I suppose you would like to see Eleanor. She is in the morning room, and I shall allow you to go there on your own."
The duchess's visitors, Lady Festle and Mrs. Quinkhardt, smiled at the duke and then sighed at the look in his eye.
He was almost out the door when the duchess called after him. "My daughter tells me that you plan to bring her yet another betrothal gift."
The Duke of Villiers bowed, with a great deal of address. "I did promise. And I have it with me this morning, Your Grace."
The duchess must be forgiven if her smile was a trifle gloating. For, as she explained to her bosom companions, the Duke of Villiers was courting her daughter in a manner that was truly above reproach. "He never engages in the slightest indiscretion," she told them. "They say there's nothing as prudish as a reformed rake, and though I wouldn't have believed it myself, I believe it now! He doesn't even dance with her more than twice or at most three times." She lowered her voice. "One can sense if a young couple engages in inappropriate behavior, and I can assure you...they never do!"
All of London was discussing the ring, naturally, and the duchess's chest swelled with pride as she confirmed to Lady Festle that her dearest daughter Eleanor was indeed wearing a diamond ring that had previously been worn by Queen Elizabeth. "I am most curious about that betrothal gift," she told them. "I'll give them ten minutes... more than enough. Perhaps there is a diadem to match the ring!"
Eleanor looked up from a note she was writing to Lisette, commiserating over the fact the orphanage was being moved to Hampshire, when Villiers entered the room and closed the door behind him.
Since their betrothal, he had settled on a style somewhere between himself and Mr. Ormston. "You needn't," she had said, laughing, when he first appeared without a wig—but still clad in subdued black velvet. Magnificent black velvet, but without even a touch of embroidery, and certainly no gold buttons.
"I don't do it for you," he had said, imperturbable as ever. "It's the children. They are so wildly disrespectful when I appear in full court dress that I have adopted the path of least resistance."
Now he walked forward with that little secret smile of his.
"Leopold," she said, dancing into his arms and then, because he was so very well-behaved, pulling his head down and demanding a kiss. One of his kisses. One of those that sent them both into a spin of heat and pleasure and desire.
"I have brought you a betrothal present," he said, catching his breath and starting to unbutton his very proper coat.
"You mustn't! My—" But her voice broke off.
For Leopold had pulled back his coat and there...there...
Eleanor reached out her hands. "How beautiful!"
With the kind of smile that she never saw on his face—let alone in his eyes—before their betrothal, he pulled a very small, sleeping puppy from his inside pocket. It was a pug...probably. It didn't even open its eyes, just gave a little sleeping snore.
Eleanor took the puppy in her arms, whispering so she didn't wake it. "I've never seen anything so wonderful! Look at its little round tummy." She lifted the tiny dog up to her cheek. "Its fur feels like black velvet. And it smells just like milky puppy... Oh Leopold, you couldn't have given me a present that I would love more."
"Her name is Lettuce," her betrothed observed. "A number of different names were bandied about, but Lucinda's choice won. Of course you may prefer a more elegant name."
"Lettuce," Eleanor breathed. "It's perfect for her."
"You see, Lucinda said that her little ears are as soft as pieces of lettuce," Leopold said, holding up the tiniest scrap of velvet Eleanor had ever seen.
"One can hardly call that an ear," she said, giggling. "She's such a darling."
"I'm afraid her nap will give you a false impression of that puppy," Leo said, curling his hand around Eleanor's cheek. Lettuce yawned, showing needle-sharp little teeth, and opened her eyes.
"My personal name of choice was Cassandra."
"Cassandra?" Eleanor held a suddenly wiggling bundle of fur up to her face so she could look into Lettuce's bright eyes. "Why such a long name for a tiny dog? You don't have bad news to tell us, do you, Lettuce?"
"Yap!" Lettuce said, struggling to lick Eleanor's chin. "Yap, yap, yap, yap, yap!"
"Oh my goodness," Eleanor said. "You do have a lotto say."