Chapter Twelve
After the duchess had finally finished her chronicling of the anticipated guest list, she swirled into action and swept from the room, claiming she needed to confer once more with the housekeeper and cook. In her wake, there was a short silence amongst her three doting offspring while they considered all she had said. Alanna was the first to break the silence with a tinkle of laughter.
“Well, my dear brothers, it is apparent I am not the only one she is anxious to marry off. The guests this evening are an interesting mélange of eligible mates for each of us. We can say one thing for the duchess, if nothing else—she is certainly not boring. And this dinner party of hers shan’t be boring either. Even if we cannot find a suitable marriage partner, we shall not lack for good conversation.”
“And she is delightedly bourgeois in her lack of nobility,” commented Bryghton.
“True, but she is remarkably greedy despite the state of our own coffers,” Drake observed. “I believe not a single guest could claim an income of less than ten thousand.”
Bryghton teased, “That is no doubt for your benefit, for as the younger brother, your pockets are decidedly more to let than mine.”
Drake tried for an expression of nonchalance, but could not maintain it as he remarked with a dour face, “Especially of late.”
Immediately contrite, the duke hastened to lighten the mood. “How cruel would it be if we were to each select a likely candidate and let our mother think her ploy is working?”
They grinned at the thought before Alanna sobered and pointed out, “Decidedly cruel if we were to raise unwanted hopes in someone, especially in your case, my lord the duke.”
He had to concede her point. “Was there no one on the list who might not want to be wed to a duke? Someone quite comfortable with their own state of affairs that I could enjoy a light-hearted flirtation with for the evening without raising expectations in anyone but the duchess?”
“No,” answered Drake rather baldly. “Our mother is no fool.”
With a resigned sigh, Bryghton had to acknowledge their mother’s expertise in the art of attempted matchmaking. “Well, at least, as Alanna said, we shan’t be bored this evening.”
Drake laughed. “And, too, Mother’s cook is remarkably skilled.”
A commotion could be heard at the door, and the three siblings rose in good humour and unity to greet their mother’s guests. It would seem everyone was arriving at once. Within a short space of time the evening was under way.
Despite the siblings’ jesting, not every guest was on the Marriage Mart, so Bryghton eased into the evening’s entertainment by striking up a conversation with the gregarious Dowager Countess of Chorley. Despite being nearly seventy, she loved to dress in the latest stare of fashion and it amused the duke to have to avoid the ridiculously large feather she had protruding from her elaborate hairstyle.
“How are things at Chorley Park, my lady?” he inquired politely.
“Oh, things there are quite lovely, thank you for asking, your grace. That irresponsible son of mine has managed not to burn it down for another year, so that is a blessing to be sure. The only sensible thing he ever did in his life was to marry himself a good woman. Pamela is a wonderful addition to the Chorley family. Not only did she have the sense to have three strapping boys so there is no concern for the succession, but she has the organizational skills of an army general. She has taken over many of the duties that my dearly departed husband cared for but that my rapscallion of a son cannot trouble himself about.”
Bryghton, unsure of how to reply, made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement. The lady needed no prompting to continue.
“You cannot get him out of his workshop for the life of him. Always experimenting, he is. Nothing has come of it yet, and the boy is nearing his fiftieth birthday. Would you not say it is time for him to put such things aside and see to the estates?”
Bryghton was dismayed to realize that the dowager countess appeared to want him to comment. Feeling slightly harried, he came up with what he thought was a reasonable answer. “It would seem that he has seen to his estates. Did you not say Lady Chorley is seeing to things in quite an exceptional way? And of course, if you are still in residence, your expertise no doubt goes a long way to adding to her success. It seems to me that Chorley Park is in excellent hands.” He accompanied this with a charming smile and waited for her response.
The dowager countess stared at him for a moment before barking with laughter. “You certainly are a clever one, aren’t you, Wychwood? You are, of course, perfectly correct. Between us, Pamela and I do an excellent job of running the estates. But I still think he should at least pay some attention.”
“You are no doubt correct, my lady,” he answered. “Have they come up for the Season?”
“No, the indolent rat could not tear himself away, and poor Pamela does not think it seemly to come without him, especially not while the children are still in school. It might actually be a shame they did not have a daughter. At least then Pamela would have a good excuse to come to Town. Surely she would have to provide a daughter with a Season.” Lady Chorley must have realized that this really was not the type of conversation she should be having with the young duke. Giving her head a slight shake that sent her feather bobbing around haphazardly, she changed the subject.
“What about you, Duke? Are you looking forward to the Season? Should we be expecting any exciting developments amongst your family this year?”
Bryghton grinned at her in good humour. “Did my mother put you up to asking that?”
His companion chortled. “It is every mother’s desire to have her offspring happily married off. Then her job is finally done. Your poor mama has you, the duke, still on her hands. Surely it is a worry for the dear lady. Especially with your father gone and you already having the title, she no doubt feels it her responsibility to secure the succession.”
“Mayhap you are right, my lady. However, I feel I must point out the fact that I am merely thirty. Surely I am nowhere near the grave. There is plenty of time for me to concern myself with filling my nursery,” the duke protested mildly.
“That would be more true if you were still the heir. Now that your father has passed on, there needs to be another heir.”
Bryghton realized there was a sliver of truth to this statement, and he offered a benign smile. “Well, you had best get a good seat, m’lady, as it would appear this year the Season is going to be a good show.”
This prompted another delighted chortle from Lady Chorley before she advised him, “You had best get on with the show then, my boy. What are you doing talking to an old bird like me? Go get yourself one of those lovely young misses your mama has invited for you to inspect.”
Bryghton could not contain his grin over the elderly lady’s choice of words. She was right—it was as though his mother was trotting out a group of young ladies and misses for him and Drake to look over. And lords for Alanna, of course. But that was what the Marriage Mart and the Season were all about—those doing the inspecting and everyone else watching the show. Gritting his teeth over the ridiculousness of it all, Bryghton turned to survey the crowd that had grown considerably while he had chatted with Lady Chorley.
The Duchess of Wychwood had outdone herself. There was a wide variety of guests from varying levels of high Society milling about the duchess’ receiving room and the rumble of polite conversation was at sufficient volume to assure the hostess that everyone was engaged. The duchess had clearly given a great deal of thought to this evening, choosing intelligent, articulate ladies and gentlemen as her guests, knowing that her children would not be interested in anything less. Even if her own offspring did not find mates this evening, there were many potential matches amongst the well-born crowd, and the duchess would be able to proudly claim some responsibility for whatever unions might follow.
Despite the interesting choices for conversation before him, however, Bryghton could not prevent himself from wishing rat
her wistfully that the lovely Lady Victoria Bartley were present. He could just imagine the sparkle of amusement in her eye if she were to see Lady Chorley’s bobbing headdress.
With a soft sigh and a rueful shake of his head the duke fixed a congenial smile onto his handsome face and turned to survey the gathered throng once more. His eye was quickly caught by a buxom woman wearing a daringly cut gown in a hue to match the necklace of large matching rubies that hung heavily around her neck. She was laughing graciously at something her companion was saying and the duke could not help smiling in response. Despite her rather homely face and figure, her openness seemed to invite one to enjoy her presence. He stepped forward to make their acquaintance.
“Good evening, I am Alcott, and welcome to my mother’s home,” he introduced himself with a perfect blend of formality and familiarity.
“Of course, your grace, we know who you are,” the lady answered before blushing over stating the obvious. She quickly recovered, introducing herself and her companion. “I am Miss Melinda Lambert and this is my brother, Robert, the Baron of Shelton. This is our first Season, although as you can see we are not the usual age for making one’s debut.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Is this your first time in London?” he asked politely.
The brother and sister smiled amusedly. Robert maintained his silence but his sister answered in her tinkling melodic voice. “Lud, your grace, we are well out of the schoolroom. We have made the journey up to your fair city a time or two. We just have not come to join the social whirl until now.” Melinda glanced at her brother and continued. “To be honest, your grace, my brother has decided he ought to go into politics, so he needs to make some connections, meet people, and all that. And he decided he might also need a hostess for certain endeavours, so I have joined him in this adventure.”
The duke tried to keep his astonishment from showing. In his experience, politicians could hardly be kept quiet. This young man had yet to open his mouth. Bryghton searched his mind for something to say. “Shelton, you said? Is that in the north?”
Melinda let out a tinkling laugh once more, smiling indulgently at the duke. “Your grace, we are in London. Nearly everything is north of here. I would say that is cheating.”
Delighted by her teasing, Bryghton joined her in a brief laugh but regarded her steadily with an upward quirk to his eyebrow. He was not applying the full power of his aristocracy, but Melinda, unused to the haughty ways of the ton, quaked at his stare. Blushing to her roots, she launched into speech, “Yes, m’lord, it is north. It took us two days of travelling all day to get here, which I would say is probably fairly average.” Regaining her equilibrium and her cheek, she asked the duke, “Did you have to travel far to come up to Town, your grace?”
“Not terribly,” he answered uninformatively, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I must say, Miss Lambert, I think you are going to have a very successful Season. Lord Shelton, I wish you good fortune in your chosen career. We shall no doubt meet again throughout the coming weeks.” With that he excused himself and moved on to speak with others.
Seeing Drake not far away, the duke joined him for a moment. “How are you enjoying our mother’s efforts thus far, young cub?” he teased.
Drake gave a mock shudder. “I must say, it would seem the ladies are rather aggressive in their attentions. I do not have the cloak of impenetrable importance that you seem to be able to don whenever someone becomes a bit de trop. Such a useful skill that seems to have come with the title.”
Bryghton looked at his brother assessingly. “Are you saying you are getting too much attention from the ladies?” he demanded, sarcasm dripping.
Drake blushed like a schoolgirl. “You see, it is that exact tone that can suppress pretention in a heartbeat. Where did you learn to talk like that?”
“I have no idea what you are blathering about,” Bryghton replied with boredom now colouring his every note but amusement evident in the glint in his eyes.
Drake gave up his protests, realizing that his brother was in on the joke. Looking back at their mother’s guests, Drake gave a careless shrug. “I am actually having a rather enjoyable time thus far, in answer to your original question. Everyone here seems to be very amusing and easy-going. It shall be an interesting evening.”
“Indeed,” said the duke. “Shall we return to the fray?”
While his brother was speaking, Drake had been looking about his mother’s receiving room when his eyes landed upon a most unwelcome sight. Bryghton was perplexed to see his brother’s face flush with bright colour before becoming pasty white.
“What ails you, cub?” he demanded, his voice no longer displaying boredom, but an urgent sense of concern as he too scanned the crowd searchingly.
“Dalton is here,” Drake croaked through his suddenly dry lips as he made an effort to recover his composure.
The duke’s face darkened slightly at this news but he maintained a brilliantly inscrutable façade. “Have no fears, cub. Dalton may be many things we should not express in our mother’s receiving room, but he is a gentleman. He will not shame you. Really, how could he? As I have told you innumerable times, you have naught of which to be ashamed. Now buck up and go delight the ladies.”
Drake threw his brother a rather harried look but did as he was told, plastering a seemingly unconcerned look onto his face and turning back to rejoin the social whirl. He failed to notice the hard look that had settled upon Bryghton’s own features as he turned to go in search of Lord Anthony Dalton.
“Dalton, how surprising to see you amongst my mother’s assembled guests,” Alcott began in silky tones, his inscrutable face hiding his anger well.
“Wychwood. It was a pleasure to receive her invitation,” he replied noncommittally, his eyes alert for any threat from the duke.
Bryghton smiled without pleasure as he perceived the other man’s discomfort. He admonished the other man in an undertone, “Have no fear, Dalton. I am not about to cause a scene to discomfit the duchess.”
The other man relaxed imperceptibly at the logic of this but did not turn away, continuing to eye the duke uneasily. Alcott felt his irritation with the other man increase. “For heaven’s sake, my lord, pull yourself together. I am appalled at your gall to enter this house, but if you stay away from Drake you shan’t have anything to worry about from me. We can meet to discuss anything we need to air out at another, more appropriate time.”
Lord Dalton visibly put the steel back into his backbone, raising his chin to a haughtier level and quirking a supercilious eyebrow to the Duke. “Indeed, Wychwood. We could meet any time you wish.”
The duke stared at his mother’s guest coldly, wondering if he had just uttered a veiled threat. Bryghton decided he did not much care if it was. He answered in a hard tone, “It would be a pleasure.”
The two noblemen stared coldly at one another for the length of another heartbeat. Dalton was the first to blink. Without fully backing down, he bowed slightly to the duke and said, “Until we meet again, your grace.” He then turned and waved to someone on the other side of the room and walked away, leaving Bryghton feeling the tinny taste of dissatisfaction in his mouth. He maintained his façade of pleasantness, and was relieved when it was finally announced that dinner would be served.
Offering his elbow to his mother, he escorted her to her elegant and perfectly arranged dining room. Bryghton was taken aback by his mother’s piercing look as they stopped at her chair. “Is everything all right between you and Drake?” she asked in a low tone, not to be overheard by any of the guests.
“Of course, your grace, why do you ask?”
“The two of you seemed to be in a rather intense conversation not long before dinner was announced,” she answered, awaiting his response.
The duke managed a negligent shrug before answering her in all honesty. “Drake and I are better than ever. There is naught to worry your beautiful head about, my dear mother. Now enjoy your guests.”
The d
uchess continued to eye him askance, causing her firstborn to laugh good naturedly.
“I promise, your grace,” he vowed, solemnly placing his hand over his heart. “I adore my little brother and there is nothing amiss between us.”
His mother looked unconvinced for a moment, searching his eyes seriously, but then she smiled and took the seat he was holding for her. “Well, then, since that is settled, let us eat.” She dimpled at her son.
There was a contented buzz of conversation as the assembled guests enjoyed the duchess’ hospitality and the skills of her well-trained kitchen staff.
Bryghton took his seat at the foot of his mother’s table, admiring her elegance at its head. He glanced around at the assembled guests and was appalled to see that Alanna had been seated next to Lord Dalton and was busily striking up a flirtation with the handsome viscount. He was dismayed to see that Drake had also noticed the turn of events and was glaring hotly at the pair. Bryghton could not blame him for the sentiment, but wished his brother could better control his thoughts and reactions.
Just before the steam began to pour from his ears, Drake glanced around the assembled diners and saw his brother looking his way. Accurately interpreting the pointed look the duke was discreetly shooting him, the young lord blushed mildly and pulled himself together, turning hastily to the lady sitting on his left so he could no longer see his sister flirting with one of his enemies. He had no idea what she was talking about, but having been trained by the Duchess of Wychwood he had no problem going through the appropriate motions of polite Society.
Bryghton, watching from his end of the table as his little brother gathered the shreds of his composure and displayed a maturity he had yet to witness, could not suppress the grin of pride that briefly creased his face. His eyes strayed to the head of the table and briefly caught those of his mother. He was surprised at the knowing smile on the duchess’ face and just barely managed to hide his astonishment as she winked at him. He covered his shocked grin by turning to converse with his dinner companions.
The Reluctant Debutante: A Sweet, Regency Romance (Ladies of Mayfair Book 4) Page 10
