“None of Them Will Be My Mother!” the Duke’s Son Declared — Until the Cook Brought an Apple Pie

“None of Them Will Be My Mother!” the Duke’s Son Declared — Until the Cook Brought an Apple Pie

Chapter 16

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The Duke stared at her. "How do you know that?""Mrs. Hollis writes very thorough letters," said Rosamund. "I shall attend.""In what capacity?""As myself."There was a pause."I shall hold your cloak," said the Duke of Ashborne gravely.And behind him, in the rising wind, his son grinned for the first time in a fortnight.A ballroom is only a theater with better lighting.By the last Saturday in May, the great gilded rooms of Pelham House in Brook Street had filled with 300 of the finest names in London, all of them waiting with pleasant faces and sharpened ears for an announcement.Lady Honoria stood at the head of the stairs in plum satin and diamonds, with Lord Pelham gray and silent at her elbow, and the Earl of Fenwick, a heavy, prosperous man of 50, beaming at her side. Lady Cordelia Fenwick, a sweet, bewildered girl of 19, stood between them like a parcel being passed.The Duke of Ashborne had arrived late, with his heir at his side, and had said nothing to anyone."My dear friends," said Lady Honoria, when the music had been hushed, with a glass raised and her carrying voice at its full strength. "It is my very great joy to announce an understanding between my nephew, the Duke of Ashborne, and Lady Cordelia, daughter of my dear friend Lord Fenwick." She smiled upon the room. "It is a match that will heal an unhappy family. For, as I need hardly remind you, my nephew has suffered a grievous lapse in judgment of late. London has heard how he made a nursery of his kitchen, and permitted a creature of the lowest station to run his household and corrupt his son."A rustle went round the room like wind through dry wheat."I am sorry to speak so plainly, but a duchess is not made of flour and impertinence.""Aunt Honoria," said the Duke in a voice that carried to the farthest chandelier. "I have given my consent to no such understanding."There was a gasp. Lord Fenwick's smile faltered."Theodore, do not make a scene," said Lady Honoria with a thin, brittle brightness. "Your consent was given. I have your letters.""You have letters that you wrote," said Theodore, "in my name."The room dropped ten degrees. The Earl of Fenwick turned his head very slowly toward his hostess, and Lady Cordelia, in her white muslin, drew her first free breath in a month.It was at that moment that the great double doors at the end of the ballroom opened again, and a woman in a plain dove-gray gown with a white collar walked in. She wore no jewels; her honey-brown hair was dressed simply, and her hands were bare. At her side walked a boy of ten in a velvet jacket, who held her hand with the proud, fierce air of an escort at a royal wedding. A footman at the door, stricken, reached out and then thought better of it.The crowd parted before her in a long, silent, whispering wave, and Rosamund Vale walked down the length of Pelham House's ballroom with 300 of London's finest watching her, and she counted not a single step. She did not need to.

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“None of Them Will Be My Mother!” the Duke’s Son Declared — Until the Cook Brought an Apple Pie

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