Undercover Duke

have to arrange it, however, so that it only happened after he’d gained from her mother what he needed for their investigation.
She tipped up her chin. “All right then. I agree to your proposal. With one caveat. That if Mr. Juncker does show an interest in marrying me, you will bow out gracefully.”
“Of course.” But Sheridan would wager any amount of money that Juncker would never do so. Sheridan knew his type. They didn’t marry—not for love or money.
The sound of applause came to his ears, signaling the end of the second act.
“Oh, dear,” Vanessa said. “We must hurry if I’m to catch Miss Younger before she and Lady Whitmarsh leave the box.”
She started off in the direction she’d been heading before, and Sheridan hurried to follow. “Wait,” he said. “Do you mean there really is a Miss Younger?”
“Certainly. What kind of ninny do you take me for? I could hardly invent a friend when it would be very easy to check if such a person existed.”
He had to admit there was no escaping her logic. Did that mean she hadn’t been heading off to search for Juncker? That they’d really only encountered the man by chance?
Somehow he doubted that.
Vanessa watched uneasily as Sheridan went out of his way to charm her friend Flora Younger. Not that Vanessa was surprised. Flora wasn’t pretty so much as she was arresting. Unlike most tall women Vanessa knew, she didn’t try to play down her height. Then there was Flora’s dark blond hair, which lay in elegant waves in her coiffure, and Flora’s eyes, an unusual amber color that shone golden in candlelight.
Vanessa fought not to be jealous of her, but it was difficult since Sheridan had never shown her such warm congeniality. He was certainly capable of it. Vanessa had seen glimpses of it in his behavior toward his half sister and his cousin Beatrice. But after having been kissed by him so thoroughly and then dismissed like a . . . a maidservant, Vanessa couldn’t bear that he still couldn’t show her such warmth.
The only thing that kept her from resenting her friend was Flora’s complete lack of guile. Flora knew that the Duke of Armitage was as unlikely to marry her as the king himself.
“Don’t you think so, Vanessa?” Flora said.
Vanessa blinked. “Um . . .”
“Pay her no mind,” Sheridan told Flora, nodding to Vanessa. “Your friend there has a tendency to woolgather.”
“How would you know?” Vanessa asked. “Why, you’ve seen me in society only a handful of times—scarcely enough to form an opinion of my character.”
“On the contrary, I think I know your character very well,” he quipped, eyes gleaming. “You love fashion, frolics, and folderol.”
Vanessa scowled, but Flora burst into laughter. “Clearly, you don’t know her at all, Your Grace.”
“And you know her better, I suppose,” he teased Flora.
“I should hope so. I’ve been attending the same balls as Vanessa since her debut. Her mother is related to my employer.”
Sheridan raised an eyebrow at Vanessa. “Employer?”
“You didn’t give me a chance to explain earlier,” Vanessa said. “Flora is the companion of Lady Whitmarsh.” Who presently sat chatting with a friend in the corner. “Flora is also two years older than I.”
That seemed to stymie Sheridan. But only for a moment. “So her post as companion is why she hasn’t had a debut,” Sheridan said smoothly. “Ah. That makes sense.”
To Vanessa’s pleasure, Sheridan in no way showed what he had to have surmised—that Flora had little money and no rank in society. Only the kindness of Lady Whitmarsh allowed Flora to do such things as attend plays and go to balls. Vanessa could have kissed him for not changing his manner one jot now that he knew.
Vanessa cast her friend a smug smile. “His Grace assumed you to be much younger than I. He thought you some blushing schoolgirl. Didn’t you, Sheridan?”
“Pray do not drag me into such a conversation. A man speculating on women’s ages can never get out of it without scars.”
Flora and Vanessa laughed together.
Then Flora winked at Vanessa. “Your Grace has not yet allowed me to correct your impressions about my friend’s character. The fashion part, I’ll grant you. Vanessa’s attire is always flattering and in good taste—she works hard to make it so.”
“By her judicious shopping, you mean,” he said, with annoying condescension.
“No, indeed. Vanessa spends quite some time reworking her gowns and retrimming her bonnets and hats. That sparkling net overdress on her present gown? She took it off of one of her mother’s old dresses and put it onto her plainest claret evening gown from last season. And that trim on her white satin turban? She embroidered it of gold silk thread. Once she added the dyed claret feathers, her suit of clothing was complete, with only the cost of some thread and a couple of feathers.”
Vanessa blushed at being thus unmasked. So to speak. “Heavens, Flora, don’t give away all my secrets.”
“He’s a man,” Flora said. “He probably doesn’t understand half of what I just said.”
“I beg to differ,” he put in, leveling his intent gaze on Vanessa. “My sister used to do such things. Probably still does.”
“My point is,” Flora went on, “while I will admit that Vanessa enjoys frolics and folderol as much as the next young lady, she also has hidden depths.”
“Don’t waste your breath, Flora,” Vanessa said. “He thinks me merely a frivolous fribble, and nothing you say will alter that impression.”
“I never called you a fribble,” he pointed out.
“Perhaps not, but admit it—you think me foolish, frittering my days away in featherbrained fun.”
At Vanessa’s unconscious alliteration, Flora cocked her head. “Have you ever noticed how many words there are that begin with an F and mean something silly or useless? Especially things often attributed to ladies. Why, we’ve already mentioned frolic, frivolous, fribble, foolish, fritter, featherbrained, fun, and folderol. Then there’s flibbertigibbet and—”
“Fashion,” Vanessa said. “Men think fashion is the utmost in silly. Unless, of course, they’re talking to their tailors, at which point they all