Never Deny a Duke

by Hunter, Madeline

  A fan smacked his chest as soon as he stepped close. Langford, good to his role, stepped quickly so no one else saw.

  “You deceived me,” the duchess said.

  “I did not lie to you.”

  “I did not say lie. I said deceive. Do you think you are too clever for me, Brentworth? You knew the whole story, but you kept the best part from me when you asked for your favor.”

  “I do not agree my involvement is the best part. Rather it is the worst. However, it was my hope no one else would ever know of it.”

  Langford edged into their conversation with one shoulder. “You look too ravishing to bear tonight, Duchess.” He flashed his seductive smile. His new position meant that Eric could no longer see Miss MacCallum out of the corner of his eye.

  Clara speared him one impatient glance. “Go away, Langford.”

  Yes, go away. At least move. It is Miss MacCallum who looks ravishing tonight and you are now in the way of my seeing her. She wore blue tonight. Pale blue, like an iced pond. Not primrose, but it still flattered her.

  The duchess aimed her dark gaze back on Eric. “Imagine my astonishment, Brentworth, when a friend confided to me the very information I had promised you to keep silent about. Only she knew more than I.”

  “I expect that in the competition for gossip, such a development would be disheartening.”

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “Not at all, Clara.” Langford finally shifted enough for Eric to see beyond him. A young man who looked fresh out of university had engaged Miss MacCallum in conversation while he expertly blocked the other swains from intruding. You go away too, boy. He hoped Hume had apoplexy when he learned how the suitors were lining up. Served him right for feeding the beast of gossip.

  Clara was saying something. He saw her mouth move, but he heard nothing other than Miss MacCallum’s laughter.

  “Duchess, send for me at your pleasure and I promise to come so that you can upbraid me to your heart’s content. Langford, do whatever it is you do to make vexed women smile. Now, excuse me, please.” He pivoted and walked the few paces that took him to Miss MacCallum. The young man noticed him first. The pup flushed, as if he had been doing something wrong. Which he had. Eric just looked at him until he took his leave.

  “That was an interesting display of silent power, Your Grace.” Miss MacCallum’s lips pursed. “At my age, it is not usual to have men warned off like that.”

  “He is a fortune hunter. They all are.”

  She laughed, and her eyes turned to sparkling gemstones. “I have no fortune.”

  “They hope for the best on the question. Eventually, one will propose and take the big gamble. When disappointment comes, you will pay a bigger price than the fool you married.”

  “I do not see how. I never had a fortune and will not miss the one I don’t have.”

  “You will be married forever to a man who planned to receive that which he never did. And you will be at his mercy.”

  “Unpleasant, to be sure. How good of you to look out for me again.” She turned and flashed a few smiles at gentlemen hanging back but looking hopeful. “If I promise not to marry any of them tonight, will you allow them to amuse me?”

  No. “Yes, of course.”

  “Thank you. It is a rare treat to be the object of all this attention.” She gazed past him again and flashed another smile. He all but heard her mind think Go away, Duke.

  He took his leave. Langford intercepted him as he went to the box’s door. “That seemed to go well,” Langford said, sardonically. “It is understandable that she can’t stand the sight of you. I half-expected you to get the cut direct.”

  “She would never give me the cut direct.”

  “She wouldn’t dare, you mean. A pity, though. If she had tonight, I could have dined on the story for a month.”

  “Shouldn’t you be attending to your wife? You have left her alone for a long time.”

  “She won’t mind, because I’ll have stories to tell when I return.”

  “I am so glad I could be your entertainment tonight.” He aimed for his own box, hoping the music would provide the distraction he had sought when he came here tonight. More likely, he would mostly hear the music of a woman’s laughter.

  Please meet me in Russell Square at three o’clock.

  To receive such a note was odd enough. She was not the kind of woman to receive requests for assignations.

  The signature made it stranger yet. The letter had come from Mr. Haversham.

  Davina did not know what to make of it. Should he want to speak with her, would he not ask her to come to St. James’s? She doubted he only sought to save her the time of traveling across town.

  At three o’clock, she entered the square. Rather than search for him, she decided to sit on a bench and let him find her. He did so five minutes later.

  “Would you like to take a turn?” he asked after they shared greetings.

  She stood and strolled beside him. He appeared even more gaunt in the full light of day. Shadows formed in his hollow cheeks and the light made him squint. His mouth still reminded her of a frog.

  “I thought this would be more convenient for you,” he said. “Also less formal.”

  “How thoughtful. And here I assumed the peculiar place you chose meant you are not speaking for the king.”

  “You are perceptive. And correct. I am not speaking for His Majesty. I am only conveying my own view of how things stand.”

  “And how is that, sir?”

  “Not good. Not good at all. His Majesty is most displeased that the matter is being bandied about. I explained that you had no cause to do that. In fact, you lose a useful weapon in its happening. He insisted on knowing the source, and was even more displeased to discover it was your employer, Angus Hume. Now he thinks the whole thing is a Jacobite plot to discredit him.” He laughed lightly. “Nonsense, of course.”

  “Of course. Utter nonsense.”

  They paced on.

  “And yet,” Haversham said. “Once he gets a notion in his head, well . . .”

  “If you know of some way I can end the gossip or turn this around, I will endeavor to do so. However, I can hardly silence people if he and the duke cannot. I am the least influential party.”

  He slid a gaze over at her. “The only way to silence them is for you to withdraw your request. For now, that is. Allow it to die down, and in a year or two—”

  “In a year or two, you say. Then in another year or two. It has already been one year or two. A few, in fact. I am determined to settle this now, Mr. Haversham. I would never have come all this way otherwise.”

  He stopped walking. He covered his mouth with his hands and frowned in thought. “It might help your case if you were allied with someone the king trusted. The involvement of Hume has him agitated, you see. Suspicious.”

  “Is not the Duchess of Stratton esteemed enough to be someone he trusts?”

  “He thinks she will publish a damning article in that journal if given the chance. No, she is not the alliance I meant. I speak of a more permanent one. You are still of marriageable age. If you had a husband, a man the king trusted, it would probably do much to aid your case.”

  She managed to keep walking, but this suggestion, put out as calmly as a comment on the weather, stunned her. What did the king expect? That she stand on a street corner with a sign around her neck, offering to marry any man acceptable to the king?

  “It would be necessary for the man to be English, of course,” Haversham added.

  “Why is that?”

  “So you are not unduly influenced, and instead are correctly influenced.”

  “I see.”

  “There are some sons of peers who would most likely apply for the position. Younger sons, of course. The heirs would need more assurance of a fortune than can be given.”

  “Of course.”

  “I could arrange some introductions. It would be subtle.”

  She pictured all those subtle arra
ngements and assurances, and the romantic pursuits that were anything but heartfelt, and the proposals. She could see herself getting caught up in it, much as she had at the theater. What woman would not enjoy the flattery and attention, especially after years of having none?

  What had the duke said? That if she inherited nothing, she would still be stuck with this man forever. No matter how honest she was, no matter how blunt, he would blame her and feel he had been trapped.

  Of course, the duke had not put it that way. He had said when she inherited nothing, not if.

  “I ask that you do not arrange any introductions,” she said. “I am not interested in marriage under such conditions.”

  He accepted it, but his lips thinned. “I understand. It was my duty to try, because it seemed one solution to me. I believe that if you had such a marriage, your claim would be accepted, you see.”

  “Because such a husband would control me and the land, you mean.”

  He did not respond, which meant she was right.

  “If you reconsider, please let me know. It truly is the fastest way to finish this. You would get what you want and His Majesty would be relieved of this worry he has now.”

  “It may be the fastest way, but not the only way. I trust you are looking into the claim. You are likely to find something, and that would also finish this.”

  “Of course. Of course.” He gazed up at the sun. “I must go now. Allow me to escort you back to your home.”

  “I think I will stay here for a while longer, thank you.”

  He gazed around the square, assessing it. She imagined him thinking, Not Mayfair, but she should be safe enough in daylight. After he left her, she walked the short distance to Bedford Square, found a private chair in the club’s library, and did some hard thinking.

  Chapter Nine

  Eric prided himself on equanimity and discretion. He was known for both, and it went far in gaining him access to the confidences of the most senior ministers in government. On many a day he sat with one of them in his study and they pondered the realm’s response to a threat or diplomatic problem. Like the Brentworths before him, he never served in a government position, but his influence was not small.

  On this particular afternoon, he did not sit with a minister. He did not contemplate a diplomatic problem. Rather, his guests were Stratton and Langford, and he gazed at a gossip sheet that Langford had just placed ceremoniously in front of him.

  “I thought you should see it,” Stratton said.

  “We thought you should,” Langford said.

  Eric picked up the paper and immediately found the reason why. “What in hell is this?”

  “It is a very curious writer who has a nose for scandal,” Langford said. “I have had a few dealings with him. Or rather, my name has.”

  Langford was no stranger to scandal. He mostly ignored when his name became fodder for the gossips. There had been a few times when Eric envied his friend his ability to never give a damn. But then, just as Brentworths were discreet, Langfords had, down through the ages, been scandal prone. After a few generations such traditions probably invaded one’s blood. After a few generations of numerous inoculations, the blood probably becomes immune.

  “Amanda buys a few of those scandal sheets,” Langford explained. “She brought this one to my attention today.”

  “If it were anyone except you, the fellow probably would not poke so hard, but you are a good story due to so rarely being the subject of one,” Stratton said.

  “Are you suggesting that if I flaunted every mistress and engaged in drunken brawls like Langford here, I would now be spared?”

  “I rarely brawl and never when drunk,” Langford said. Then he shrugged. “Well, perhaps once or twice I was foxed.”

  “Yes, I am saying just that,” Stratton said.

  The article indeed poked. Since its writer had no facts, he resorted to innuendo. Why was a certain peer so obstinate in refusing to hear the claim against some lands he held? It was not as if said peer visited them often or needed the income. Indeed it was said the manor house was a ruin and uninhabitable, so said peer could not even be bothered to maintain the property. Had the means by which his family acquired those lands been in some way irregular? Were there family secrets attached to that spot of Scotland? Etcetera.

  “He claims my coachman said he has never taken me there in the seven years he has served me.”

  “Has he?” Langford asked.

  “No, but I am disappointed if Napier spoke to this man. He knows I will not like it.”

  “Do not do anything rash regarding Napier,” Langford said. “Napier may not even know to whom he spoke. He surely did not understand the importance of it.”

  Eric threw down the paper. “What importance would that be?”

  Langford chose that moment to groom some lint off his coat sleeve. Eric turned to Stratton instead.

  “If this writer does not retreat, and truly pokes, is there anything about that land that would be better unknown?” Stratton asked. “All families have their secrets.”

  “Nothing at all. Let him poke away for all the good it will do him.” He stood and looked out the window. “It is too fine a day to spend in here. I think I will ride along the river for a few hours. Join me if you like.”

  “I have another engagement,” Langford said.

  “I am free, however,” Stratton said.

  They thought he had not seen the meaningful look they shared before answering. He led the way out, assuming Stratton would be doing some poking now too.

  * * *

  He could not gallop forever, so he eventually slowed his horse to a walk. On one side, the Thames flowed rapidly. On the other, Stratton fell into place beside him while they passed the string of low buildings that flanked the river outside London.

  “Have you decided what to do about Miss MacCallum? You seem to be holding your fire. Langford thinks it is because of the fascination he attributes to you.”

  “Langford’s head might get turned fast by any passing pretty face, but Brentworths are made of sterner stuff.”

  “Then you find her pretty?”

  He shot Stratton a glance in time to see his grin.

  “Attractive enough.”

  Another grin. “If I were Langford, I would ask enough for what?”

  “Thank God you are not he, then.”

  They paced on. Stratton surveyed the scenery. Eric watched him do so.

  “You may as well say now whatever it is you are going to say eventually, Stratton.”

  “I thought to let some time pass first, so it does not appear I am—”

  “Poking? Well, you are, so get it over with.”

  “As I said, you seem to be holding your fire. I will leave that observation there, and suggest that if you do not want to engage in battle with the woman, perhaps you should seek a truce.”

  “A truce requires compromise. Even if I were willing, she is not.”

  “You do not know that. The thinking is that perhaps half a loaf will satisfy her. Half the lands, for example. Or a settlement for half the value.”

  “Pay her off, you mean, to be rid of the nuisance. That is the thinking. Can I ask whose thinking?”

  “Langford’s and mine.”

  “And?”

  “Fine. The ladies have weighed in as well. Do not give me that Teutonic look of yours. Clara thinks as clearly as any man and is excellent at strategy, and Amanda brings special skills to any such discussion.”

  “They are her friends. Their opinions are not objective.”

  “And yours are? How big is this property that you are allowing your name to be dragged through the gossip mill and are risking your influence in government? What are the rents? Do you even know? Have you ever been there?”

  “It consists of about a thousand hectares. The tenants mostly raise sheep, so the rents vary but are respectable.”

  Silence greeted that. It stretched. They approached a tavern and Eric considered whether he fanci
ed a pint.

  “So you do know something about this land,” Stratton said.

  “It is my obligation to.”

  “Is it true the house is a ruin? Have you ever seen it?”

  Eric decided a pint would be a good idea. He stopped his horse, swung off, and tied it to a post. He entered the tavern and took a place next to the window that overlooked the river.

  Stratton followed a few minutes later. He regarded Eric with his dark, curious eyes while they waited for the ale to arrive.

  “So?” he said after a good swallow. “Have you ever been there?”

  Eric gazed out at the river and the road beside it. Stratton just waited. That was why it was Stratton who came. Langford would never be able to wait it out.

  “I have not been there in many years, but I was there when my father was alive.”

  Silence from Stratton. Eric eventually turned his attention to his friend. Stratton’s expression said there would be no more questions because Stratton had drawn some conclusions. Possibly erroneous ones.

  “It was my inheritance, after all,” Eric added.

  “Of course. Only you must have been quite young, because your current coachman does not remember. And I could not help but remember that time after university when you retreated from friends for almost a year. You were not in town for some of that period. Is that when you went north?”

  Stratton was so amiable and smooth that men often underestimated him. Two had done so to their eternal regret. Eric respected this friend, especially his mind, but he wished at the moment that Stratton were not quite so sharp in his wits.

  He looked out the window again. Sheep dotting the hills to the horizon. A bewitching madness. “Yes.”

  “But you aren’t going to tell me about it, are you?”

  Fire burning the heavy clouds. “No.”

  Stratton drained his ale. “So be it. I believe the advice I shared is even better than I guessed. Unless you want half the world investigating that place and that time, come to terms with this woman one way or another.”

  “The king wants me to marry her. That is a hellish solution.”

  Stratton did not laugh. “If you are hiding something, that may be the best solution. Now, I am riding back. Are you joining me or wandering farther?”