The duke’s jaw was clenched and his narrowed eyes pinned Clarehaven with unblinking fury. Charlotte noted the white line around his mouth as he obviously kept his anger in check. Still, the public apology left him no alternative other than a stiff nod of his head or the call for a challenge that would create a greater scandal. She could see he didn’t believe for one moment that the dance had been a simple mistake of understanding. She doubted anyone else did either.
"I am sure you would not show my sister any calculated disrespect, or knowingly expose her to scandal." Lucien responded. His voice dripped with icy restraint. He sent Anne a look that clearly said she should have known better than to engage in such a pose. "But I must make clear I cannot allow my sister to participate in such a demonstration again."
Anne blanched. Then took a breath and said, "I, too, ask my brother and our hosts to forgive any perceived forwardness in following the Marquess's lead in the style." She curtsied to Lord and Lady Swathmore. "I believed it would be rude to refuse after accepting his request to dance."
Lady Swathmore looked to her husband who flicked a look at Lucien, then said, "I am sure no permanent harm has been done. Though, in future, we would prefer our guests to follow the traditional mode."
At his nod, the musicians struck up Sir Roger de Coverley to signal the end of the evening's entertainment. At least, Charlotte thought, the end of the dancing. The entertainment of gossip had only begun. By morning, every household in Mayfair– and she was sure, a good many other neighborhoods – would know Anne had danced the scandalous dance from the continent.
As they collected their shawls to leave the Hall, Lady Ridley approached Anne. "Oh, my dear, you've set the cat among the pigeons tonight."
"I am sorry if I embarrassed–"
"Don't be silly, child." She turned to her nephew whose jaw was still clenched and told him, “Don’t take her to task for this little rebellion, Lucien. The Marquess told the truth, you know. They have been dancing that form of the waltz on the continent for years."
"That may be true, Aunt, but Anne's reputation will suffer for–"
"Balderdash!" The older woman thumped him on the arm with her fan. "You are in danger of becoming priggish. Come see me tomorrow at two. We need to talk."
CHAPTER 16
The damp air and threatening weather matched Lucien’s mood when his aunt’s butler admitted him into her townhouse the next afternoon. He strode up the stairs to the drawing room, ready to defend his stance against Anne’s flagrant behavior the night before. He’d been both shocked and a little hurt when she’d defended Anne the way she had. She should have supported him as head of the family.
Yet Lucien remembered how she’d stood up to the gossips when his father brought Tristan home, so he shouldn’t be surprised that she’d shielded Anne from his displeasure. His stepmother, too, had subtly restrained him from pulling his sister from the dance floor before the dance was complete. Both understood his fears for Anne’s reputation, yet had discouraged his protective reaction.
He crossed the room to where Aunt Ridley sat beside the fireplace. Above the mantle hung a painting of her and Lord Ridley that his late great uncle had commissioned shortly after they married. Her natural hair now was as silver-white as the wig she’d worn so many years ago, though her posture was as erect as ever. On the mantle were miniatures of various family members. Among them were his father, Lucien’s stepmother, and each of his siblings. All of them.
"Good afternoon, Aunt,” Lucien bent to kiss his aunt on the cheek. "I hope you are not going to call me a prig again." He smiled as he straightened.
"Indeed, I am,” Lady Ridley retorted briskly. She pointed to the chair opposite her and ordered. "Sit down, my boy. It is time you learned that our family history is not so pristine as you think it is."
Lucien chose a seat opposite her and stated, "I believe Tristan is proof of that."
"I'm not talking about Tristan, though it is past time you forgave your father for being human. Ah, here is the tea."
A maid entered with a tea tray that she put on the table beside Lady Ridley. When they were alone, she poured out two cups and handed one to him. She added a teaspoon of sugar to her own cup, then sat back and took a sip.
"I do so love Oolong,” she said. "It is so soothing in times of stress." She cocked her head to the side and smiled at him. "And I can see my criticism has upset you. Good. Now, perhaps you will pay attention to what I have to say."
"I accepted Tristan years ago." Her comment irritated him. "And I have never thought Father anything less than human."
She took another sip of the tea before correcting him. "You thought your father a saint until the day he brought Tristan home. Learning that he was not, hurt you." She set her cup down and leveled a look of compassion that made him uncomfortably aware of how well she knew him. "As a boy you were a mischievous imp who kept everyone on their toes and charmed us whenever you were caught playing tricks.” A smile touched her lips before she frowned. “But since inheriting the title you've become an overly proper prig who takes life far too seriously."
He wanted to protest, but she held up her hand to halt his objection. "I've gathered, over the years, you think your father's indiscretion was the only irregularity ever committed in our family and that it is your responsibility to see that there is never another." She shook her head with a rueful smile. "None of them were saints, myself included, and it's time you were told a few family secrets."
"Secrets?" Lucien eyed her warily.
"Secrets." She nodded firmly. "For example, how do you think the first duke was granted the title?
"He uncovered a plot to poison Princess Elizabeth while she was in the tower. She thanked him by granting him the title when she came to power." Lucien stated without hesitation.
"True... so far as it goes, and so far as society believes," his aunt said. "However, he learned of the plot when hiding in an antechamber where he'd almost been caught in a tryst with the plotter's wife. Once Elizabeth became queen, she knighted him and made him a member of her inner circle as thanks." She raised an eyebrow and said, "The duchy was awarded after he kept her secrets for the next thirty years."
Lucien stared and his aunt nodded with a wicked smile. "Had he been a man of impeccable integrity he would not have taken up with a married woman, the Princess might never have become queen, and you would not now be a duke."
"How do you know this?"
"There is a collection of family diaries in a trunk with the old clothes we used for masquerades and theatrics when we were children." She took a nibbling bite of a scone. "I was a curious child. I read them." She looked him in the eye. "And I kept them. Lest you think that is the end of the irregularities, the first duke's diaries weren't the only ones packed away in those trunks."
Lucien eyed his aunt with a sense of dread. "I take it that was not the only story altered over time."
"Of course not. Gaining power and influence is not the result of happenstance. Nor is it always neat and tidy."
"Another way of saying my forefathers did not always act with honor?"
She smiled wryly. "They always acted with honor... but what may be honorable to some is treason to his enemy. One thing you may be sure of is that every one of them believed they were maintaining their honor when they acted."
“Whether they were or not? That doesn’t sound particularly honorable. So, what other secrets should I know?" Lucien asked. "I take it several of my ancestors acted upon some inexplicable need to record their deepest secrets?"
"Some were quite frank." His aunt agreed. "Others used personal codes that could be worked out if one read between the lines. The men and women of our family have often been ambitious and extremely human. Fortunately, they were also discreet, despite the diaries... which is why you, and all but those involved, know nothing of their indiscretions."
"So far as the other secrets I know,” Lady Ridley continued, “The diaries are now in a chest of their own which I am sending
with you today. You can read them yourself if you choose or keep them to edify future generations once you fulfill your duty and establish your nursery.” She wagged her finger. “Do not think to destroy them in an attempt to alter history, either. That would be dishonorable."
She leaned forward and removed the now cold teacup from his hands and placed it on the table. “You are too young to live like a monk. I encourage you to take advantage of your youth. You need not become a libertine to be human. Simply enjoy yourself and do something for the fun of it, like dancing in the continental style with that Longborough miss you are always watching." She grinned at his start of surprise. "If it shocks Sally Jersey or Emily Cowper, so be it. They wouldn’t dare cut you or me.” She chuckled. “I know a few of their secrets as well."
She stood, indicating their audience was done. "You are a duke, my boy, and dukes rise above petty rules set by gossip mongers."
LUCIEN CLOSED HIMSELF into his study upon returning from his aunt's house. If he opened the chest his aunt insisted he bring home, he feared he’d release a Pandora's Box of facts about which he‘d prefer to remain ignorant. On the other hand, he acknowledged as he gave in and located the first duke’s journal, he knew he could not ignore the challenge his aunt had thrown down. The deeds in these diaries were long past and of less personal impact than those revealed when he'd accidentally come across his father's diary and given in to curiosity when he was sixteen.
Nor was he the frustrated and angry youth who'd acted with immature defiance to the sentiments written by his father so many years ago. The result had made him determined never to keep a diary of his own, or to read one again. His father’s diary had caused Lucien's still smoldering humiliation over Tristan's presence to flame into anger and revenge that had altered everything... and cost his father his life. Wary, but resigned, he settled into his chair and began reading.
It was late when Lucien returned his great-great grandfather's diary to the chest. The third duke had been a close friend to Charles the second and acted as procurer for tryst occasions and locations for the king's many mistresses. That revelation left Lucien shaking his head as he firmly locked the diary away. Definitely not a saint.
In his defense, it was clear Lucien's relative had believed himself honor-bound to comply with the king's need for life affirming celebrations now that he had power and no need for asylum. The duke had written of his friend and liege's need to live life to the fullest in the light of his father's execution.
Before settling in on the third duke's revelations, Lucien had thumbed through the first and second dukes' diaries, and acknowledged that the chest was, indeed, a Pandora's Box of scandal and intrigue. His ancestors were a collection of rakes and schemers who knew how to cover their indiscretions and bluff their way through the social and political maze with brazen unconcern for anything other than loyalty and a warped form of honor.
He had not perused those of his female relations, though he saw several of those in the chest as well. It relieved him that none of the diaries belonged to his Aunt Ridley. Still, he did not think he would ever be ready to pry into feminine secrets.
His male relatives had recorded commentary indicating his female relatives had not been particularly docile or compliant with the dictates of society, either. He conceded that they, too, were less than perfect though he preferred not to know exactly how imperfect.
Nor did he want anyone else exploring his family secrets. He stood and stepped to the bookcase flanking the right side of the fireplace where he removed a thick tome from the fourth shelf. Pressing firmly, he slid the upright side of the shelf forward, then reached up into the corner to release a catch. Silently, the bookcase to the left of the fireplace released, and Lucien carried the chest into the secret landing behind it. As he did, he smiled grimly. He should have known that the secret passage leading to the duke's chambers had not been the only secret his family harbored... just as the passage from his study was not the only passage in Wolverton House.
After closing the passage panel and securing the secret latch, Lucien climbed the front stairs to his room to change for the evening. Though he could have continued up the hidden stairs to his rooms, Jennings would be laying out his clothes and Lucien preferred to keep the passage secret, especially as it now held a trove of family secrets as well.
After Anne's flagrant behavior at the Swathmore’s the night before, Lucien knew they could not miss the Sinclair's ball, or the incident would escalate the gossip. So, they would attend the ball and all other scheduled events that would undoubtedly test his great aunt’s assurance that dukes had the power to ignore what they chose, and thus, cause others to do the same.
He was halfway up the stairs when Harry trotted quickly past him, something furry in his mouth. Lucien increased his pace, memories of young Sarah's rat query speeding him to reach the beast before he delivered his prize to an unsuspecting member of the household. He caught up with Harry in front of Charlotte's door, took hold of the leather collar and reached for the still moving creature in his mouth. As he did, Harry growled and dodged Lucien's hand. A moment later Lucien heard Charlotte's voice through the door. "Harry? What are you growling at?" The door opened and Charlotte gave a short gasp when she saw Lucien holding Harry's collar.
"He has something in his mouth,” Lucien warned as he reached again for the dog's prize. Again, the dog turned his head away and growled.
Charlotte bent over and held her hand below the dog’s shaggy head, "Drop it."
To Lucien's amazement, Harry turned and dropped a small, slobber-matted kitten into her hand, then slipped past her and into her room. Beyond the doorway Lucien was sure he heard the high-pitched mews of more kittens. Charlotte straightened and Lucien raised his eyebrow in question.
"I, uh... rescued a bag of orphaned kittens from a man who dropped them into the Serpentine last week,” Charlotte confessed. Her gray eyes widened, and she pleaded with him "I couldn’t let them drown."
Lucien recognized the futility of resisting her appeal. He didn’t approve of drowning unwanted cats any more than he would condone abandoning a child. Still, he had to point out the obvious. “Dogs and cats are natural enemies, and you already have a dog the size of a small horse.”
A glint of amusement lurked in her eyes. "Harry has adopted them."
"Are you sure?" Lucien asked. "He had it in his mouth."
"That particular kitten escaped the room earlier." Charlotte said. "Harry was bringing him back."
Lucien looked beyond her to where Harry now lay on the floor while a gray kitten with white sock markings stalked his tail before leaping to bat at the shaggy fur. Harry turned to his attacker and washed its face with a single swipe of his tongue before turning back to observe another, gray-striped, furry hunter attack a small ball of paper.
"I begin to see why rumors of witchcraft plague your family,” Lucien said as he took in the scene. "Only magical charms could explain how you could get a male dog to behave like a female mother cat."
"It is not magic." Charlotte explained. "It is the most basic instinct of all...protecting those unable to care for themselves."
He settled his gaze back on hers. "Only you, and perhaps young Sarah and her dreams of odd menageries, would find Harry's behavior normal." He reached out and stroked the line of her jaw with his forefinger. "I have long scoffed at the idea of witches, but I think you wove a charm to protect them." Her breath caught and Lucien knew he had to taste her mouth again.
"Charlotte, have you seen my–” Elizabeth stepped out of her room across the hall and stopped abruptly.
Lucien dropped his hand and Charlotte quickly bobbed a curtsey and said, "Thank you for removing the smudge, Your Grace." Then she turned to her sister and asked, “Did you lose something, Elizabeth?"
Lucien turned as well, bowed, and retreated to his room.
CHAPTER 17
"How good of you to come,” Lady Sinclair greeted Lucien and his party with a wide smile and twinkling eyes. "She looke
d directly at Lucien before adding, “I hope you don't mind, Your Grace, that I have arranged for a dancing master to demonstrate the steps of the continental waltz with our daughter, Cassandra, after the supper dance. Everyone is so excited to have finally witnessed the continental waltz about which we had only heard gossip. Following his instructions, we intend to invite those who wish, to attempt it before the end of the evening."
Lucien returned her gaze and realized that her announcement offered him a chance to lessen any criticism of Anne's behavior. It was also clear that she gave him the opportunity to leave early if he did not wish to allow Anne to dance in that style again.
"I am sure that we shall find it most diverting once a dancing master has provided guidance." He said with an ironic smile. "How thoughtful of you to think of it."
Lady Sinclair nodded her head. "Lady Ridley assured me you would agree."
He should have expected his aunt to set things in motion after her disclosures earlier in the day. Family privilege and a steady gaze would get them past the shocked whispers and speculations. He’d perfected that distant demeanor long ago.
They passed into the ballroom itself and Lucien noted that his great aunt stood with Lady Jersey and several other ladies whose approval was deemed a necessary part of the social Season. Lady Jersey had seen Anne’s dance at the Swathmore’s but neither she nor the other Almack’s patronesses had yet pulled Anne’s vouchers... for which he suspected he owed his aunt his thanks. He assumed they’d move on to another ball venue before the supper dance. What they didn’t witness, they could ignore.
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