“Shehas a name,” he growled back.
“But she hasn’t given me leave to use it. Not really.”
Trevor frowned. Hadn’t she? Damnation, why was the conversation so hard?
“You have my leave,” Mellie said woodenly, which was even more worrisome.
Meanwhile, the duke was apparently trying to keep things moving. “So you’d like her to live here, and then the two of you would go to parties and such.”
“Yes, exactly,” Eleanor answered.
Meanwhile, the duchess entwined her fingers with her husband’s. “I expect it will take a great deal of Eleanor’s time and attention.”
The duke frowned as he thought. “Keeping her busy, you mean? So she can cease nattering at us?”
His wife smiled. “Well, I doubt that will ever truly stop.”
“Truly spoken.” But he did smile. “I should like a little less of Eleanor’s attention.”
Eleanor released a puff of disdain. “If you would but listen closer when I speak, I would be happy to instruct you less.”
The duke proved Eleanor’s point by roundly ignoring her. “There are plenty of rooms in this house. We could put her next to Eleanor’s bedroom.”
His wife’s expression turned indecently intimate. “And if you are not called upon to chaperone all the time—”
“Sold!”
The duchess grinned, but Trevor did not like the tone of the conversation. “Mellie is not at auction!” he snapped.
“No,” the duchess agreed, “but we have a bargain. Miss Smithson, it is my greatest pleasure to welcome you to our home. Eleanor, pray make sure to keep yourself and her well occupied. And in the meantime,” she said as she pushed to her feet, “I should very much like to eat.” She looked over their shoulders at the butler. “Seelye, that is why you are here, is it not? Is dinner served?”
The man bowed in a most proper form. “It is indeed.”
The duke was also on his feet. “Excellent! My lady?” he said, extending his arm to his wife.
“My lord,” she answered as she touched her fingers to his forearm.
Eleanor stood as well, though her expression was sour. “You are ‘graces,’ not lord and lady.” Then she turned to Trevor as she waited for his arm. “They make an effort in public, but at home everything scatters to the wind.”
Trevor had been busy helping Mellie to stand. She was clearly still angry, but there was more to it than that. Panic seemed to rest on her shoulders like an ugly cloak, but there was no time to address the problem. Propriety demanded that he lead Lady Eleanor to the table.
“Mellie—” he began, but Eleanor cut him off.
“Begin as you mean to end, Mr. Anaedsley.” Then when he still hesitated, her voice became sharper. “Trevor, you came to me for a reason. Trust me to know how to polish a raw girl.”
“She’s not a raw—”
“In this she is.” She glanced at Mellie. “You understand precedence? Who goes in to dine in what order?”
“Yes, my lady.”
She nodded. “Excellent. Come along, Trevor.” Then she grabbed his arm, sank in her talons, and began pulling him toward the door.
He had to go or appear completely rude, not to mention gauche and ridiculous. One did not fight with a lady, and certainly not with Lady Eleanor. So he turned his back on his fiancée, feeling like the lowest heel. He listened as they walked, every cell in his body attuned to Mellie, trying to discern her thoughts, her emotions, her…anything. But she was as blank to him as a darkened room.
Meanwhile, Eleanor began to prattle. “Now here is what I plan…”
And so began the most bizarre dinner of his life.