They call him the Devil Earl-a scoundrel and accused murderer who grew up on the violent London streets. A proper young lady risks more than her reputation when consorting with the roguishly handsome Hero Fiennes Tiffin , but Lady Josephine Langford...
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"It's so monstrously difficult to decide," the Duchess of Avendale said. "I don't know which one would be best."
Looking across the small table in her garden, she caught Josephine in the midst of an embarrassing yawn, not that the duchess seemed to notice. She pushed the selections across the table. "Which do you favor?"
"Amelia, you're selecting parchment for invitations," Josephine told her. "Great Britain will not fall because of your decision. Which one do you like best?"
Amelia gnawed on her lower lip. "I don't know. I think I like the look of the cream, but it's more expensive. Is it worth it?"
"If it pleases you then it's worth the extra expense."
"It's not I who has to be pleased, it's my husband. The stationer is expecting me this afternoon. Will you come with me to make sure I do the invitations properly?"
Amelia had been Josephine's dearest friend since they were small girls. It bothered Josephine immeasurably to see Amelia's confidence waning. "You've given balls before. You know how to properly order invitations."
"But Avendale is always disappointed in some aspect of the affair. I want everything to be perfect."
Josephine couldn't believe there were many men in London who truly gave a fig about ball preparations. It was Amelia's misfortune that she'd married one of them. Always striving for perfection, he made her life miserable and took the joy out of every task.
"There's no such thing as perfection, and even if there were, I think it'd be rather boring. Still, let's go with the cream color," Josephine said. "I think it looks a bit more elegant and I'll purchase the invitations."
"That's not necessary."
"It's the least I can do. You're letting me host the ball with you, at your lovely home, since Father's ill and it wouldn't be proper to have a ball in mine. So I'll see to the invitations."
"If you're sure you don't mind."
"I don't mind at all."
Amelia released a deep breath. "Thank you. That's one less thing to worry about."
"I'll stop by the stationers on my way home."
"You're such a dear."
Josephine yawned again. "Sorry."
"I don't recall there being any balls last night, and yet since the moment you arrived, I've had the distinct impression you were out rather late," Amelia said.
"I simply didn't sleep well."
"Is it your father? Has his condition worsened?"
It should have been her father keeping her from sleep. It had been almost a year since his last bout with apoplexy had left him a bed-ridden invalid. Now he was little more than a shell of a man. She spent her afternoons and often her evenings reading to him, trying to bring him what comfort she could. She'd hired nurses to see after him when she couldn't be there, because she'd known he'd feel guilty if he thought she was devoting all her time to him. She was young. He'd want her to enjoy life. But of late, that was very difficult to accomplish.
