Evidently, however, Teddie’s hair was not quite intact. Mother’s first remark when she bled away from the throng, as ever, too able to locate her errant daughter, was, “Whatever did you do to your curls?”
It must have been the running, not the kissing, for as regrettable as it was, Sir Thorn had not touched her hair.
“There was a breeze.”
She was not completely inexperienced in the matter of kissing, but she had not kissed a total stranger. She wondered what Emma would make of it. If she ever got the chance to tell her sister. There would have to be privacy, and Teddie would have to have the nerve. Emma was not judgmental, but it was just possible that even in light of her own temperament and Teddie’s many odd escapades—many more befitting of a boy, probably, as ludicrous as it was—Emma would speak only words of caution.
And she has no reason not to, thought Teddie.
Sir Thorn had been kind. He’d let her flee. Other men might not be. Her sister would have every right to take her to task, never mind voice dismay.
He even let you hit him. Hard. Fighting courageously to keep a wince out of her expression, she tried not to fret over who she had hit.
It was one thing to be known as argumentative, and quite a separate matter to run about London slapping members of the peerage.
She thought about how fine his clothing was. He must have been, at the very, very least, quite wealthy. It was odd that he hadn’t declared who he was, but then, neither had she. They were two people who’d wanted anonymity, it seemed.
“A breeze?” Mother’s eyes skeptically ranged along her hairline.
Too many guests were present for anyone to take much notice of either of them, but Teddie gestured toward a butler holding a tray of drinks, at least some of which she hoped contained spirits. “Shall we take to a side?”
Still trying to work out what, truly, was going on, Mother nodded. She knew enough of Teddie’s predilections to be suspicious. “If you wish.”
It was not fair, Teddie felt, because she had never been an ill-tempered or malicious child. She was unruly, but more out of boisterousness than anything else. Her adventures were harmless and generally involved animals, climbing trees that were too high, or frolicking in what later turned out to be poison oak.
And swimming. She loved swimming.
But when you were older, Teddie reminded herself, you also liked to dress as a boy and try to sneak into—
Her thought was fully interrupted by a passing, simpering young lady with ash-blonde hair and wide eyes. “Why, Miss Driffield!”
Teddie could not remember this woman’s name, but she had a feeling it most likely started with “Lady”—most of them did. The stranger saved her from having to recall, though, by continuing, “I just heard tell of something most interesting.”
A second young woman joined them and Teddie knew this one. Lady Olivia.
During Teddie’s very first ball, the ethereal creature had, simply because she could, Teddie was convinced, spilled half a glass of ratafia down the front of Teddie’s dress. Well, perhaps not down, exactly, because Teddie stood over her by about a head.
But the ratafia had made its way all over the dress.
“Do tell us who that charming young man was, Miss Driffield,” said Lady Olivia. It told Teddy two things: one, that she had been seen, and two, that the man might be older than he looked if Lady Olivia did not know him by sight. She knew anyone near their own age, anyone important, and anyone worth knowing. Or so she said. It was difficult to say if she was correct, as Teddie did have a low opinion of her.
Immediately, Teddie knew she had to lie. “Young man?” she asked. Her mother was nearly vibrating with displeasure. “Lady Olivia, are you quite certain that you have not had too much to drink?”
“How kind of you to be concerned about my habits. No, I am quite sure I saw you in the garden with a most handsome man.”
“You must have been mistaken.”
“Do not be modest, Miss Driffield, for you cut quite a distinctive figure.”
Lady Olivia’s friend tittered.
“I did retire to the garden for some air, but I met no one,” said Teddie, smiling so tightly she was surprised that her eyes did not pop out of her head.
“He was quite noble in his features—there is no call to be ashamed if you are engaged to him.” It had a double meaning, certainly, for Lady Olivia was right: there wasn’t really any shame if one was seen with their intended.
The alternative, though, was deeply stigmatized.
“I cannot be engaged to a fictional man. I assure you that if I were to be married, all the world would know it.”
Lady Olivia’s violet eyes narrowed. Teddie knew that she’d seen something and just had no way of proving it. No matter, it would be all over the gossip sheets nonetheless.
Too bad she couldn’t just hit Lady Olivia like she’d hit Sir Thorn. The petite thing would surely go flying into the crowd and it would be most gratifying.
“I’m sure it would,” said Lady Olivia, sneaking a glance at Mrs. Driffield. Teddie did not need to look at her mother to know that she was both dying to know what had transpired and ready to fight about it, whatever it was.
It was very rude for Lady Olivia not to make conversation with both Teddie and her mother, but then, that was pointed. They were beneath a lady and, by implication, beneath the vast majority of guests here. Teddie sighed. She was so tired of these games.
“Well, good evening, Miss Driffield.”
“Good evening, Lady Olivia.”
No more than half a second passed before Mrs. Driffield cornered Teddie, nearly taking her by the ear—and without saying ten words collectively, had managed to get the entire family to the carriage.
Mr. Driffield, bewildered but accommodating of his wife’s fancies, waited for her to explain herself in the relative privacy. Teddie knew why Mother had not dared speak of anything until then. Anyone could hear until they were away.
“Theodora.”
“Mother.”
“What was Lady Olivia referring to?”
In this instance, Teddie knew she shouldn’t and, more accurately, couldn’t lie. Her parents would find out the truth unless she missed her guess. “When I went outside, I was approached by a man to whom I have not been introduced.”
Mrs. Driffield’s eyebrows shot up. “Have not been introduced? Do you mean had not been?”
Teddie opened her mouth, but hesitated too long.
“You do not even know this man, Theodora?”
“I—”
“What, exactly, did you do?”
“Nothing!”
All right, so she could lie about that. If there was anything, anywhere, about Miss Driffield kissing in the garden, she could maintain that was the lie. Her mother and father, at least, would believe her. Maybe.
Enough to lament only the impropriety of what she would admit to having done, anyway.
“Nothing? Be quite certain.”
“You know that nothing is as incriminating as something,” said Theodora, looking pointedly out of the window.
Her father, as he often was, was silent. Mrs. Driffield said, with her mind apparently on the most important thing, “There is only one solution.”
“Suicide?” Theodora said. She did not mean it.
“How dare you say such a thing! Naturally not!”
“What, then?”
“You shall have to marry this man.”
“I don’t even know who he is!”
“No matter. We shall find him.”
That, thought Teddie, was the most ominous declaration ever uttered in the English language.
*
Instead of going home as he’d planned, he went to the Albany out of some mad thought to speak to Paul, who was the only person he knew who wouldn’t call him hopeless. He’d considered lingering around The Wilted Rose and speaking to some of his other friends. But the problem was, they didn’t know that he was now a duke.
&nb
sp; His challenge had largely that context to thank.
Bloomfield, Paul’s normally faultless valet, answered the door to his employer’s set. Lee stared at the slight man, whose shirt was creased, coat rumpled. “Bloomfield.”
“My lord?” he said, seeming quite harried.
It was a great relief not to be called Your Grace, so Lee did not bother to correct Bloomfield. This was one of the final times he would be called such, and he did not want to ruin it. “Is Lord Paul present?”
“He is.”
“Will you tell him I’m here, please?”
“Lord Paul is…” Bloomfield sighed. “Very well, my lord, I shall tell him, but I do not know if he can receive visitors at the moment. Wait here, please.”
Lee waited at the threshold, knowing without being told that he was most likely interrupting something verboten. Women were not allowed in the Albany. Not officially, at any rate. Perhaps Bloomfield had been enlisted to serve as a lookout. Lee was envious of Paul’s nerve. He didn’t think that he himself had ever pushed the rules so far. That was saying something—he was not a timid man.
When Bloomfield reappeared, he was possibly even more embarrassed than he had been moments ago. “Come through to the drawing room, my lord.”
Expecting there to be a young lady present, Lee nodded and came inside, going slow to give his friend more time. It was not, though, the scene he anticipated. Paul was adjusting his cravat, alone. Although there was color in his cheeks and his hair was mussed, there was no accompanying woman.
“Have I interrupted you?” Lee asked, looking around for Paul’s companion. Perhaps she’d ghosted away, already.
He couldn’t think of how it might happen, but also wouldn’t put it past any acquaintance of Paul’s to know how to escape unseen.
“Oh, no,” Paul said. He flashed a winning smile.
Unconvinced, Lee said, “Bloomfield seemed rather…”
“He’s getting easily flustered in his old age, and this is later than I receive visitors.” In the space of a moment, Paul had assessed his friend’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Blast. Has it gone a color already?” Lee touched his fingertips under his eye.
“No. It will. Bit swollen, though. Drink?”
“Please.”
Collapsing into a tufted, leather chair, Lee shook his head. “I shouldn’t have gone.”
“Nonsense. You look so well turned out that it would have been a waste for you to stay home.” Paul poured him a little wine and he accepted the glass most gratefully.
Thinking of Theodora, he brought the glass to his lips and sipped, then gulped. “Thank you.”
“Who hit you?” After pouring himself a glass, Paul sat opposite him. “I shall—well, I don’t hit people, generally, but I could arrange for someone to be hit. Jeremy always did more of the hitting than me, but I don’t think his situation would be helped if he started to earn a name as a scrapper.”
“Not this person, you couldn’t.”
“No?”
Lee bit his lower lip and shook his head once. “A woman hit me.”
Without missing a second to reply, Paul said, “Oh, dear. Did you deserve it?”
“I don’t think so?” I don’t think I deserved it. I think she hit me because she was surprised.
Lee considered what had happened. He’d be the first to agree with anyone decent that if he’d forced a woman, she had every right to retaliate. There were plenty of men who did not agree with that but, on the whole, he would not want to be associated with them. He knew that both he and Paul had their share of lovers, yet neither of them had relied upon coercion or violence.
And Paul must be teasing, because he knew Lee better than anyone.
“Tell me what happened.”
“You’re certain you have the time.”
“Yes.”
Just as Paul said it, Lee thought he heard the soft click of a door opening, then closing, from within the set. It must have been the lady’s escape.
Paul gave no overt sign that he’d noticed, save for a small twitch of the eyes. Rather than heckle him, Lee simply did not remark upon it.
“Very well.” Unflinching, Lee forced himself to recount events in thorough detail. They arrived at the point where Theodora had dragged him behind the enormous shrubs, and Paul couldn’t keep from beaming in amusement.
“I believe I see where things are going.”
Glumly, Lee said, “I don’t know why she—”
“At a guess, she was startled.”
“I didn’t force myself on her!”
“No, no,” said Paul. “I assume that she was startled by her own response. And from what you’ve described, a woman like that might direct her considerable energy outward rather than inward… even if it is her own feelings that have disgruntled her.”
Glowering, Lee admitted that what Paul said made sense. “I thought something like that might be the case.”
“And she had no idea who you were.”
“None. She called me Sir Thorn.”
“Well, Sir Thorn, you’re in luck.”
“Why?”
“I know who Theodora is.”
Why Lee felt any surprise at all, he couldn’t tell. Paul knew everyone who was anyone. It was one of his signature skills. “Is there anyone you don’t know?”
“What’s more, you found your heiress without even trying.”
“I… what?” The wine was gone, but he tried to drink some without glancing at the glass’ lack of contents.
“Oh, yes,” said Paul, apparently enjoying the moment. “As soon as you described her looks, I wondered, and when you named her, I knew.”
“Knew?”
In much the same way that Paul knew his way around society, Lee could name just about every theater manager, actor and flame eater in London, whether affiliated with a licensed theater or not.
In and of itself, it didn’t seem like an unbelievable coincidence. Lee was only having some difficulty believing his luck and, more to the point, he flinched at the idea that Theodora was an heiress—he’d decided to find one, but he assumed she would be less sympathetic than the woman whose mother he’d overheard berating her.
“Your Theodora is Miss Theodora Driffield. Her father has made quite a fortune in textiles.”
So, she wasn’t titled. It didn’t make a difference to Lee, but her mother’s words—harsh as they were—made more sense. It was probable that they wanted her to marry well and had to confront a host of biases for it to happen. He was under no misconceptions that the ton always welcomed people like the Driffields who, even if they were accepted, would still be viewed as outsiders. He set his glass down carefully on a side table and rubbed his face.
Pain bloomed where he’d been hit. “Oh.” He let his hand fall to his lap, but kept his eyes closed tightly. “You understand that when I committed to this plan, I wasn’t expecting to feel any empathy for the heiress?”
“Why would empathy stop you from courting her? If anything, I should think that’s important to a marriage. Well, if you want it to be a happy one.”
“Yes, I do. But what woman will, first of all, want a penniless duke? Secondly, if I obscure the fact from her to court her successfully, there’s bound to be acrimony later on.” Lee opened his eyes and looked at his friend with a conflicted expression. He was certain he could charm any woman into marrying him. Acting was, by now, in his blood. The question was if it was moral to do so.
He hadn’t been lying in the garden.
That, whatever it was, was genuine.
This all felt completely obvious to him, but so did the urgency of his situation. Feeling all of this at once was exhausting. For what felt like the sixtieth time that evening, he wished he was just Judd, the tragic and docile stagehand who happened to be excellent at painting scenic backdrops and managing all the props. For all intents and purposes, Judd was dead and the Duke of Welburn had taken his place.
Not without sympathy,
Paul considered his words. He stood from his chair and began to pace the room. Due to their familiarity, Lee understood that he was neither nervous nor exasperated. He just moved about while he was thinking. “You might not have to keep it from her.”
“Her parents, then?”
“Oh, yes. You shall naturally need to keep it from them.”
“But she’ll expect a duke to have money!”
“Of course she will. That can work in your favor, for a while. Until you get better acquainted.”
“I shall still be lying if I don’t declare it at the outset, won’t I?”
Paul turned back to him. “Withholding information? It is only lying in the most technical sense. I think you should regard it more as a strategy. Lee, do you like this woman?”
“Yes,” he said, without any hesitation.
“Then perhaps you have found the best and most elegant solution to your problems, after all.”
Lee could not see how that was. “How?”
“Charm her. Seduce her. Let her get to know you. Propose marriage. You needn’t lie to do those things.” Paul raised his eyebrows. “You can do all of that on your own.”
“Then?”
“If it really doesn’t sit well with you to never discuss your finances until after marriage—and then, unless you have created a marriage contract that you cannot meet—”
“It doesn’t.” Lee crossed his arms. “And I don’t think it would sit well with you, either, Paul. You can’t fool me. You’re not a cold man.”
“No, but I don’t have to marry the way that you do.”
“Why are you talking this way, then?” Usually, Paul was poetic and fanciful when it came to the topics of love, bed sport, and even marriage. He loved pleasure and sensuality.
Honestly, they both did, with the difference being that Lee had turned it more toward the stage rather than bedrooms. Or drawing rooms. Any rooms.
“I’m trying to help you and, ordinarily, I think a romantic mind is an advantage when it comes to wooing. But at the moment, you need to think materially.”
Brushing aside concern for his friend’s now slightly stiff expression, so subtle that only a friend would have noticed it, Lee said, “That’s all well and good, but what if my brother’s reputation clouds mine?”
Duke of Misfortune Page 9
