After glancing at Robin, Maxie said, "I accept with pleasure, your grace, though I warn you, I have only one dress with me, and it will be considerably the worse for travel."
"My maid can brush and press it for you." The duchess's gaze fell on the fragments of broken china, and her face lit up. "How splendid! You broke that ghastly replica of the Laocoon."
Maxie's face flamed. "I'm sorry. It was entirely my fault. I will replace it as soon as I can."
"Don't you dare!" The duchess smiled impishly. "It was a wedding present from one of the Whitbourne cousins who disapproved of Rafe marrying me. Three people being eaten by snakes is hardly an amiable gift, don't you agree? I've been leaving it on the edge of the table, hoping one of the maids would accidentally knock it off, but with no success."
Maxie chuckled. It took a real lady to make a guilty guest believe she was doing her hostess a favor. "If you have anything else you wish broken, I shall be happy to oblige."
"Done!" The duchess turned. "Shall I take you to your room now? There is time for a bath or a nap if you wish."
Expression set, Maxie followed the duchess upstairs. It had been hard enough to imagine that she and Robin could resolve the personal issues that separated them. Now she had been plunged into an alien world where few would welcome her. The sooner she learned whether she could live in it, the better.
Chapter 27
After Maxie emerged from a luxurious bath, the duchess sent her own French maid to assist. The welltrained maid, Lavalle, did not betray disapproval of such an irregular guest by so much as a single twitch, though there was a pained expression on her face as she handed over the newly pressed gown. However, Maxie's fluent, if Canadian accented, French soon won Lavalle over.
Maxie donned her plain white muslin gown, then sat patiently while the maid twisted her dark hair into an elegant chignon. The result was presentable. Nonetheless, Maxie took a nervous glance at the mirror when a footman came to summon her. Then, head high, she followed him downstairs to the small salon.
Robin and the duchess were talking casually, their golden heads close together. His clothing had also been refurbished in the last hour, and a fresh shirt and cravat had been conjured up from somewhere, probably the duke's own wardrobe. He looked so perfectly at ease that Maxie's qualms returned. He might belong in a duke's house, but what the devil was she doing here?
Robin glanced up and stared, his azure eyes glowing. As he rose and came forward, he said softly, "You look absolutely delectable."
Maxie colored, but his admiring gaze warmed her right down to her toes. "It's good of you to say so, but this dress would not be fashionable even in Boston, much less London."
"Believe me, men are much less interested in fashion than in the total effect, which in your case is ravishing." He took her arm and guided her to a seat between himself and the duchess. "Mind you, I may be prejudiced because that is the first real dress I've seen you wear."
Robin's appreciation and nonsense relaxed her to the point where she could join the conversation without selfconsciousness. The duchess was wearing a dress as simple as Maxie's own, another example of the other woman's exquisite tact. Robin had also given warning of Maxie's drinking habits, because she was offered lemonade, even though her two companions were drinking sherry.
The duchess was frowning at the mantel clock when the door opened. Maxie knew instantly that it was the Duke of Candover who entered. While Robin was a chameleon, capable of playing a thousand roles, the duke was unmistakably an aristocrat, incapable of ever being anything else. He was also quite staggeringly handsome, a fit mate for the glorious Maggie.
"Sorry to be late, my dear," the newcomer said, "but Castlereagh waylaid me just as I was leaving." Seeing the visitors, he paused, a broad smile spreading across his face. "Robin, you rogue. What brings you to London?"
The two men shook hands warmly. Then Robin introduced the duke to Maxie. As Candover bowed over Maxie's hand, she saw that his hair and complexion were as dark as her own, but his eyes were a cool northern gray, with humor and friendly speculation lurking in the depths.
"Collins," the duke said as he straightened. "Are you related to the Collins of Chanleigh?"
"The present Lord Collingwood is my uncle, your grace."
"Then we're some sort of cousins, the second or third degree." Candover gave her a smile that for pure, paralyzing impact almost equaled Robin's. "It's always a pleasure to meet a new cousin, especially an attractive one." Offering his arm, he added, "Since I'm unfashionably famished, perhaps we can go right into dinner. I'm a great deal more amiable when I've been fed."
She smiled and accepted his arm, thinking that on the contrary, the duke could hardly have been more congenial. Perhaps Robin had been right to bring them here.
As the duchess had promised, it was a simple family dinner by British standards, though there was ample food, all of it superbly cooked. Maxie was grateful not to have to deal with the endless courses considered essential at Chanleigh. She had feared there might be some beastly London dining customs that would show her for an ignorant provincial, but her concern was unfounded. She had seen more forks and spoons in Boston.
Conversation was also easy as the three Britons unobtrusively made sure that the American would not feel excluded. Maxie was touched at the consideration, and a bit amused as well. Had she been so obviously overpowered by Candover House when she had first arrived? Apparently so, though not necessarily for the reasons that the duchess thought.
The men passed up the pleasures of port to join the women for coffee in the drawing room. Maxie was glad; even though the duchess had been everything amiable, Maxie was not quite ready for a tete-a-tete with Robin's mistress. Former mistress.
When the Candovers became involved in a discussion of an impending trip to the country, the guests drifted over to the French doors with their coffee cups. Behind the house was a garden so lush that it was hard to believe they were in the heart of one of the greatest cities in the world.
Maxie studied their hosts. There was a bond between the duke and duchess so powerful that it was nearly tangible. "Even if she married him for his money," she murmured, "there is a good deal more than that between them now."
Robin gave her a quizzical glance: "Where on earth did you get the idea that Maggie married Rafe for his fortune?"
"From you, that morning at the Drover Inn. You said that your Maggie had gone to a man who could give her more than you could." She gestured expressively at their surroundings. "All this, and a ducal title as well. It is rather a lot. Still, it doesn't ring quite true. The duchess doesn't seem especially mercenary, and by your own admission you are also a wealthy man."
"Another case of me accidentally misleading you. Your instincts are quite correct. Maggie is not a woman who can be bought, only won." He turned and looked out the glass doors. "When I said that she went to someone who could give her more, I meant emotionally, not financially. Money and position were never the issues."
"Is it still so painful, Robin?" she asked quietly. "Now that I've met her, I understand why she is so hard to forget."
"The pain is in the past." He gave Maxie an oblique glance. "Now I'm thinking about the future."
It was Maxie's turn to stare outside. They seemed to be moving in a complex emotional minuet. One of them would find and share an insight, then they would swing apart and absorb what had been said before coming together again. Then there would be another moment of revelation, and another stepping back. But each time they moved together, they came a little closer.