“Actually, I don’t,” Anna said bluntly. “I’ve never met one in my life, and neither had you, until a week ago.”
Evie felt inexplicably defensive. “That’s not true. You know full well my step-uncle is a baron, and that I’ve known the duke’s cousin for several years. And,” she added, impelled for reasons she couldn’t quite identify to embellish her list of titled acquaintances, “I met the daughters of several peers when I was at finishing school.”
“And have any of these acquaintances ever provided you with pâté and champagne?”
Evie, thankfully, was given no chance to reply.
“Is this a private party? Or can anyone join?”
Relieved, she turned her head, but when she saw the object of their conversation standing in the doorway, looking as handsome and debonair as ever in his white tie and tails, her heart skipped a beat, and her relief at the interruption vanished as quickly as it had come.
Still, she couldn’t just sit here, staring at him, even if he was a treat to look at. “Duke,” she greeted, setting down her glass and rising to her feet. “I didn’t know you were coming this evening, too,” she added, moving toward where he stood, Anna in tow.
“I didn’t want to waste my tickets,” he told her. “Like Delia, I have a box.”
“Of course you do,” she replied, laughing as she touched a hand to her forehead. “What was I thinking?”
Turning, she gestured to Anna, who had halted beside her. “Duke, may I present my friend, Mrs. Banks, to you? Anna, the Duke of Westbourne.”
“Your Grace.” Anna gave a deep curtsy, but Evie didn’t miss the look her friend shot in her direction as the duke bowed to her in return, a meaningful look of raised eyebrows more eloquent than any words.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Banks.” He straightened and nodded to the table behind them. “Your refreshments arrived, I’m glad to see.”
“It was very kind of you to send them,” Evie replied. “Thank you.”
“Not at all. The tiny salmon sandwiches they serve in the intervals here are never enough to stave off hunger pangs, and since this is Wagner, an opera supper is hours away yet. Besides, I heard a rumor you are very fond of pâté.” He paused, a glint of humor appearing in his eyes, creasing the corners. “Even though it’s liver.”
“But it’s not liver,” she corrected, smiling back at him. “It’s pâté.”
He chuckled and bowed his head in concession. “I stand corrected. And you, Mrs. Banks?” he added, transferring his attention to Anna. “Are you fond of pâté?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” she replied. “I haven’t yet had the chance to find out.” She glanced from the duke to Evie, a tiny frown knitting her brow. “But since both of you seem to love it so much, it’s clear I must try it. If you will excuse me?”
With another short curtsy, she picked up one of the canapés and returned to her seat, turning her face discreetly away from them to study the stage below.
Evie frowned, watching her, sensing that something was bothering her friend, though she was given no time to ponder the topic.
“New dress?” the duke asked, regaining her attention, and when she nodded, he leaned back to study her, tilting his head to one side. As his gaze traveled over her in a slow perusal, all the newfound poise the gown had brought her disintegrated, her throat went dry, and by the time he looked up again, her heart was thudding in her chest like a mad thing.
“Well?” she asked lightly, forcing a laugh. “Do I pass ducal approval?”
“Freddie and his friends shall be eating their words.”
Those words were a compliment, and yet, the light, careless tone of his voice as he said them hurt somehow. She ducked her head at once, hiding it. “Yes, well,” she mumbled, smoothing her hand over the plush velvet of her skirt, “that dressmaker you sent me to is a marvel.”
“I’m glad you like her. All my sisters adore her, too—that is, if the amount they spent on clothes while living in my household was any indication.” His gaze lifted to her hair. “I like the hat, too, by the way.”
The only thing a self-respecting girl could do was return raillery with raillery. “It’s not a hat, Duke. It’s a fascinator.” She touched a hand to the silk and feather confection tucked into the crown of her hair, giving him a frown of mock severity. “I thought you said you knew all about women’s clothes.”
The moment those words were out of her mouth, she remembered his implied reasons for such knowledge and wanted to bite her tongue off, especially when he laughed and murmured, “Only from the neck down, Evie.”
Her heart skipped a beat, but she’d have died rather than show it. “Yes, well, I wish I had your vast knowledge on the topic,” she joked. “That way, this dress might not have been so tricky to get into.”
“Tricky?” He frowned at the word, clearly puzzled. “Why should it have been? Didn’t you ring for your maid?”
She shifted her weight, hating to admit she’d been too shy to call on a complete stranger to help her dress. It would sound so gauche to someone like him. “There wasn’t...um...enough time,” she muttered, tugging at her ear, aware of how lame an excuse that was. “So...um...I just thought I’d do it myself.”
“Evie, you’re hopeless. Have you not enlisted the services of your maid at all? Not even once? Have you even met the girl yet?” he added as she shook her head.
