Suddenly, she thought of the ramifications of a season. They were to lead to marriage. A thought that had rarely occurred to her. She had always believed she would be nothing more than a spinster, lucky to have a position with Lady Denton.
Marriage, a family, it seemed impossible.
“P.S.” Lady Denton said, indicating there would be more to the letter. “Miss Winslow, who writes my correspondence for me, sends her prayers as well. We talk of you often and you are always in our thoughts.”
Emily sighed. She couldn’t argue with the words. They did talk of him often and she did pray for his safe return.
“Write it up,” Lady Denton told her. “I would like to get it out in tomorrow's post.”
“Yes, My Lady.”
Lady Denton smiled softly. “I am looking forward to a season. You are going to surprise so many people.”
Emily didn’t really take in the words. Instead, her mind was on the man so far away. All she wanted was for him to come home safely. That was all that was important.
Chapter Four
Major, Lord Duncan Greenville, held back a grimace as he adjusted the sling around his shoulder. Sighing, he took in a deep breath of the night air and sighed. London, nowhere else in the world smelled like this city. That biting aroma of the tidal flats from the Thames mixed with coal smoke and too many horses.
Pulling the curtain back, he yelled up to the driver, “This will do.” As the cab pulled to a stop he turned to Corporal Jones. “You know what to do?”
The corporal obviously fought to not roll his eyes. “Yes Sir, I am to abandon you here and go on to your brother’s house. The Duke of Richmond. You done told me twice, I’m to see his butler Jarvis and inform them that you’ll be arriving later and I’m to make sure your things are placed in your rooms, and put away. Of course, that will take all of ten minutes.”
Duncan nodded. “Inform Jarvis you will be acting as my valet and he is to find a spot for you.”
Corporal Jones tilted his head. “I don’t know, Sir. A Lord’s valet here in London. Surrounded by pretty maids and soft beds. Or, digging trenches in Spain with the Frogs lobbing shells at me. It may be a difficult choice.”
Duncan laughed as he gingerly stepped down from the cab before putting on his hat and tapping it down with his left hand.
“Are you sure this is wise, Major?” Corporal Jones asked with obvious concern. “I didn’t fight them doctors to save your arm only to have you lose it.”
A brief memory flashed into Duncan’s mind of Corporal Jones and his bayonet standing between him and a doctor with a bone saw. He owed this man much. But somethings could not be delayed. He needed to know that his friends were well. That England hadn’t changed.
“I will not be long,” he told his batman before nodding for the cabby to continue. Only after the cab had pulled around the far corner did he take a deep breath and start for his friends. He needed to see Bedford. If not him, then either Oxford or Suffolk. The other members of the Duke’s club. He desperately needed to reestablish that connection.
Too much had been spent in seeing to its continuation. He needed to know that it had been worth it. Besides the thought of facing John and listening to him complain about the privations on the home front set his teeth on edge.
Sighing, he started for his friends. Bedford’s was closest, he would start there. Surely, they were in town. The season was in full swing and parliament in session. Where else would they be?
As he turned onto Bedford’s street he slammed to a halt. The road was lined with carriages. Bright yellow light spilled from the Bedford’s door as it opened to admit a couple dressed in evening wear.
Of course, it was the season. What else would a Duke and Duchess be doing but holding a ball?
Duncan’s stomach turned over. Could he intrude? But both Suffolk and Oxford would be there. No, he must see them. Brock wouldn’t mind. In fact, he’d be upset if he learned that Duncan had not come to him. Besides, there were things he needed to discuss. If not tonight, then soon.
Pulling at the ill-fitting uniform tunic to make sure it was in place, he made his way to the front door. He was not dressed for such an event. His batman Jones would be mortified to know that he was entering a London ball dressed in a borrowed uniform that had not been properly tailored. No sword, no sash. The same uniform he would have worn on the battlefield.
Unfortunately, the rest of his belongings had been destroyed in the very bombardment that had left a rather large hole in his shoulder.
The butler frowned for a moment, then was joined by The Duke’s housekeeper, Mrs. Jensen. She smiled widely, “Lord Greenville?”
Duncan returned her smile, pleased to have been remembered. “I take it His Grace is home?”
Mrs. Jenkins who truly ran the household smiled broadly as she opened the door wider to admit him then turned to call a footman. “Take Lord Greenville to His Grace immediately.”
The footman nodded then indicated His Lordship should follow him.
“Welcome home, My Lord,” she said as she gently laid a hand on his good shoulder. “You were sorely missed.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins.”
She blushed slightly. “It is Mrs. Thompson now, My Lord.”
Duncan frowned. “Don’t tell me, Jack’s man, That old salt, Mr. Thompson?”
Her blush grew even deeper. “We own a pub. I just returned to help Her Grace tonight.”
Duncan’s insides relaxed, the world had moved on. He gave her a quick smile before he nodded for the footman to lead the way.
As they moved to the main room people turned to stare at him, their eyes darting to his arm cradled in a worn sling. Obviously curious, more than one turned their nose up at his appearance. Duncan ignored them as he took in the sights and sounds, the hundreds of candles. The polished wood. The high-pitched laughter of some woman trying too hard. The smells of perfume, the sounds of strings tuning in preparation for a waltz.
England, he thought with a smile to himself. May some things never change.
The main room was crowded with more than a hundred people, each of them deep in conversation. Probably talking about the war, wondering when it would be over and things could return to normal.
He wondered what the conversations would have been years earlier when Napoleon was preparing to invade. It was a given that there had not been near as much laughter or as many smiling faces. The war must be going well for these people to feel this satisfied with themselves.
Duncan paused for a moment to orient himself. He had learned long ago to never attack until he had the lay of the land. However, before he could learn what he needed, a surprised voice called “Duncan?” from off to the side.
Suffolk, Duncan realized with a start. And next to him Bedford and Oxford. His dearest friends. Tall, commanding, each a Duke. Even Jack, the bastard son had been lifted to the lofty title of the Duke of Oxford.
And next to them, three beautiful women, obviously their wives. Duncan’s insides clenched. Things had changed, he realized. It was no longer just the four of them. No, now these men had responsibilities, duties, and new loyalties.
His three friends watched him with wide eyes and large smiles as he made his way through the crowd. People parted for him, briefly he wondered if they were being considerate due to his obvious wounds. Or were they afraid of being contaminated by someone who obviously did not belong in such august company? Perhaps if they knew he was a British Lord, the son of a Duke himself, instead of a mis-dressed major in a soiled uniform.
“My God, man,” Ian, the Duke of Suffolk exclaimed as he stuck out his hand in greeting only to realize his error. An awkward silence fell over the group until Duncan laughed and pulled him into an embrace with his left arm.
So un-British, but Duncan couldn’t stop himself.
It was over. For the first time in years, he felt a sense of safety. As if knowing there was nothing he needed to fear, here in his friend’s home buried deep in the heart of Bri
tain. He was home. No decision he made tonight would result in a man’s death tomorrow.
A cleansing sense of relief washed through him mixed with a deep regret. Other men, his men were still fighting while he stood in a London ballroom surrounded by peace and a semblance of normalcy.
Ian gently patted him on the back, then stepped aside so that first Bedford then Oxford could welcome him.
“You always did know how to make an entrance,” Brock, the Duke of Bedford, said with a laugh.
“I’m surprised he wasn’t preceded by a bugler announcing his arrival,” Jack added.
Duncan sighed. Thank God, some things never changed. Smiling, he glanced at the women next to each man. Each of them had a fierce, curious look that demanded to be answered.
“I should have known,” Duncan said. “You three would monopolize the prettiest woman at the party. Do your wives know?”
A sweet brunette stepped forward holding out her left hand. “Please forgive my husband’s lack of manners. I am Duchess Bedford. And, if you are Lord Greenville, I do hope you will call me Ann.”
Smiling, Duncan bent over her hand, then was quickly introduced to the other two women, both of whom insisted on being called Margaret and Abigail, respectively.
Duncan sighed, he was being accepted by his friend's wives, always a delicate dynamic.
Once the introductions were complete, Ann turned to her husband and tapped him on the chest. “We will leave you for now. But you are not to disappear into your study. You have other guests.”
Brock frowned. She smiled up at him. “At least wait a few minutes.”
“Your Grace,” Duncan interrupted. “I do apologize. It was not …”
“Do not worry, My Lord,” the duchess replied. “I assure you. I know you have much to discuss. My only request is that you not leave before we can arrange a less formal gathering. There are too many questions about my husband’s childhood I need you to answer.”
Brock winced before shooting him a look that told him he had better keep his mouth shut. Duncan smiled to himself. He was going to enjoy embarrassing his friend.
“As do we,” Abigail said, agreeing with her fellow Duchess.
Margaret laughed, “I don’t, Ian has told me everything, I am sure.”
Duncan smiled mischievously, “Including the story about the flour mill, and the tavern owner’s daughter?”
“No, I don’t believe so,” she said as she frowned, then glanced at her husband whose face was beginning to turn red.
Duncan laughed as he watched the three women weave their way into the crowd. Each of them tall, stately. Abigail used her cane easily. Jack had written and explained the entire story of her childhood injury and the revenge he had taken on the man who had caused it.
Three beautiful, graceful women, intelligent, assured. His friends had done well for themselves. Thankfully, something he would never have to worry about. The continuation of the line was John’s responsibility.
“It is nice to be reminded what we are fighting for,” he said.
The three others laughed then Ian’s face grew somber as he nodded to Duncan’s shoulder, “How bad?”
“Nothing serious,” he lied, his friends didn’t need to be burdened with the truth. “A Major only needs one arm after all, to point where the soldiers should attack.”
The three men studied him closely, obviously doubting him.
“So, you plan to return to your regiment?” Ian asked.
“It is where I belong,” Duncan answered as he pushed down the doubt building inside, deep in his gut. Would his arm heal enough so that he would not be a burden? Would his goal change? Some distraction to pull him away from returning to his men?
“And the war,” Brock asked, “I never know what to believe when we are informed by Liverpool and the Generals.”
Duncan nodded to himself. This was why he had come to these men. They each held power in Parliament and would be able to help him find what he needed.
“I actually think we might win,” he told them. “Wellesley is very good. And with Little Bonney’s blunder in Russia. We have a chance. We might be able to finish this blasted thing once and for all. That is what I need to talk to you about.”
Brock frowned as he looked out over the crowd. “Is it vital we discuss it tonight? This might not be the best time nor place.”
Duncan laughed. “Or, is it that your wife hectors you if you ignore your guests too long?”
Both Oxford and Suffolk laughed at the truth of the statement. “No,” Duncan said. “It can wait. At least a day or two. After all, I wouldn’t think of creating disharmony in your household.”
Brock shot him a quick look that let Duncan know that he was walking close to the line. The realization made him smile to himself. Brock had always been sensitive to appearing less than perfect.
“Good, then shall we say tomorrow evening, at White’s?”
The four nodded, confirming the appointment. A feeling of satisfaction washed through Duncan as he realized he would be able to enlist his friend’s help.
Turning, he looked out over the crowd as they mingled. New people arrived, crowding the room even more. Thankfully, the looks and curious whispers had stopped as people returned to gossiping and flirting.
He felt a sense of loss as he thought of his men still in Spain. It seemed so unfair, him, here in the safety of London, in the luxury of this fine home while they slept beneath canvas. Then something caught his eye.
“Is that Grainger?” he asked as his blood began to boil. Even after six years, the man could still instantly anger him. Tall, handsome, blond. And a blaggard if there ever was one.
“Viscount Hawley, now,” Ian informed him. “Do you know him?”
“We served together, early in the war,” Duncan said through gritted teeth as he continued to stare at the man.
“Not a bosom comrade, I take it?” Jack asked with a knowing look.
Duncan snorted, “Let us say, there is a good reason he chose to resign his commission.” He pushed down the anger. One more thing he would have to deal with but for now, he needed to keep the evening light and joyous.
But he was unable to look away from the man. The Viscount’s actions had resulted in too many friends dying for no reason.
As he watched, the group of people with Hawley laughed at something then shifted, exposing a young woman.
His heart lurched. Beautiful, tall, with an angelic heart-shaped face that reminded him of someone. His gut tightened. Another young British Lady surrounded by suitors. Each vying for her attention. Each unaware of the men dying and suffering so that they could enjoy such an easy life.
This one was different for some reason. Her hair was up, but unadorned. So, unlike the other women who possessed artfully placed curls. Others, with a strategically positioned feather. But this woman stood out by her simple look.
“Who is that with Hawley?” he asked Ian.
His friend gave him a strange look then smiled slightly. “That, My Lord Greenville, is the young woman you charged us with keeping an eye on. In case you have forgotten, her name is Miss Emily Winslow. Your ward.”
Chapter Five
Emily laughed, Lord Hawley was so entertaining and obviously interested in her. The thought made her stomach squeeze with joy. Imagine, a Viscount found her interesting. Lady Denton would be ecstatic.
He might be too old for her, but Lady Denton would probably tell her that it was perfectly acceptable. Actually, it was expected for a young woman to marry a man almost thirty. After all, the man needed to be established and wealthy to properly care for a lady.
What was it Lady Carlyle had said? A fifteen-year gap was almost preferred. Twenty if the man was rich or with a very high title.
A sense of disbelief filled her. How could she possibly think about marrying such a man? Her, Emily Winslow? A sergeant’s daughter. It was too unreal to even contemplate. Even in passing fancy.
This was her third ball, and each time, this
sense of un-realness would wash over her, reminding her that she didn’t belong. And each time, the feeling would be pushed aside by some young gentleman pretending she was the most important person in the world and he would absolutely die if she didn’t dance with him.
Smiling to herself, she thought of her dance card, each line filled with a partner. Each one a young handsome man, many of them with titles. It was as if she had woken in a fairy world.
Was it her connection to the Duke of Richmond? Were these men hoping to lift their political connections through her? Perhaps, she thought in all honesty, but then she couldn’t really complain. Rich, powerful men were interested in her. She had come a long way from St. Mary’s orphanage.
Baron Eddying smiled shyly at her. A widower with three young children it was well known he was looking for a wife. Emily’s stomach tightened with worry, could she be a mother to another woman’s children.
Before she could seriously consider the issue, young Charles McIntyre interrupted her internal musings with a question, asking for her opinion on the latest fashion. Did she believe men’s pantaloons were here to stay or would the fashion of the day revert to breeches once the war ended?
Emily began to give him the answer that Lady Denton had taught her when a flash of red from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Shifting, she gasped as the world slammed to a sudden halt.
The Major. Here. Her Major, alive. Her knees wobbled as she reached to grab Mr. McIntyre’s arm for support while she watched the Major approach. How? Every part of her soul shivered with glee at simply knowing he was alive and home. Away from the horrors and dangers of war.
Then she registered his sling. Her heart ached at the thought of him being injured. The man who had rescued her. The man who had cared enough to see to her wellbeing. He should never feel pain, she thought to herself. Never know a day of distress.
A Duke's Decision (The Duke''s Club Book 4) Page 3
