Claire elbowed him and muttered something like, Pay attention.
James straightened and introduced his sisters, awkwardly aware that there was probably some protocol he didn’t know for this situation, and thus he was probably doing it wrong and everyone would laugh about it later, behind his back.
The duchess then performed introductions to the staff.
There was the butler, Pendleton, who appeared to be approximately six hundred years of age. Down the line they went, and James was introduced to the gray-haired housekeeper, a French cook, upstairs maids and downstairs maids, footmen and groomsmen.
Each and every one curtsied or bowed and murmured something about being honored to serve His Grace. He mumbled a reply, hoping it was the right thing to say. Not only had James no training in How To Be A Duke, his father had rarely spoken of upbringing in England and the ducal household. He was at a disadvantage from the start.
But James did his best to focus on the people speaking to him and not the one woman who did her very utmost to avoid meeting his eye. There was no trace of the coy gaze, sweet smile, or laughter from the other night. Today she refused to even look at him.
Why wouldn’t she look at him?
Meanwhile, he was waiting for an introduction to her, the Just A Girl who had made love to him and left him to wake up alone.
She hovered behind the duchess like a shadow.
They were all about to enter the house when James couldn’t let this continue.
“Wait. You missed someone.”
He didn’t miss the flash in her eyes.
“Oh, but of course,” the duchess replied. “This is my companion, Miss Meredith Green.”
Bloody hell . . .
Their entire house in Maryland could fit in the damned foyer of this place—James hesitated to call it a house when castle or gilded fortress might be more appropriate. It was obviously designed to impress and intimidate, what with masses of marble and gold covering every available surface. It worked; this all belonged to James now, but even he felt like a small boy with his mother nearby hissing, don’t you dare touch anything.
The drawing room was just as bad, or grand. It was a large, airy room with windows overlooking a garden, delicate bits of furniture scattered about, massive paintings hanging on the way, and delicate, fragile breakable things on every available surface. Excess was the theme—everything was patterned, engraved, or gilded, or all of the above.
James had never felt so huge and hulking, like he would inadvertently break one of those chairs or accidentally knock over a precious porcelain vase.
And he was supposed to live here. Ha.
But none of all that could hold his attention for long because she was here. It was some miracle to have found her again—and so soon and so close. He would have taken it as a sign if he believed in those sorts of things. Perhaps he would start.
The duchess indicated that they should all sit.
Miss Green sat by the duchess, behind her slightly. When he last saw her, her honey-hued hair was spread out on the pillow; now it was parted in the middle and pulled back. Her complexion looked just as lovely in the light of day as by candlelight. But her mouth was set in a firm, discouraging line. She now boldly met his gaze with those doe eyes and ever so slightly shook her head no.
Then she resolutely looked away.
The message couldn’t be clearer.
We never happened.
I don’t know you.
We will never happen.
Forget about me.
But that no was an acknowledgment that he wasn’t imagining things. She had been real. What they had shared had been real. James felt his breath still, his heartbeat slow, his brain getting stuck on one thought: But . . . why?
He knew his reasons for that night, but what of hers? He knew he was a duke now, and probably had vastly more important matters to attend to than the matter of a woman, but tell that to something deep inside that craved her and wanted to know the mystery of her. She hadn’t seemed like the sort of woman who dallied with strangers in taverns, and this all but assured it.
“How was your journey?” the duchess inquired.
“It was quite long,” Claire said.
“I found it very hard,” Amelia added.
“The motion of the ocean had me quite . . . overset at times,” Bridget said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the duchess murmured. “But I am so glad that you have all arrived here safely.”
“We are also glad to have arrived safely.” Leave it to Claire to be diplomatic. In truth, they all had mixed feelings about leaving home and embarking on this journey. James now had the sense that the crossing wasn’t even the half of it. That’d been merely an interlude and now, now, the real journey was truly beginning.
“Do we call you Josephine?” Amelia asked.