by Gill, Tamara
Her body was becoming a traitor to her. She didn’t want to feel anything other than bored amusement that he was present. Mary certainly didn’t want images and thoughts bombarding her mind as to what he might be like to kiss. Was he so very wicked as all the gossips had painted him these past days? There was a rumor that he’d once bedded Lady Hectorville, and if her ladyship’s glances toward the duke when she assumed no one was looking were anything to go by, Mary certainly could believe that tidbit of information as fact.
“Very well, I shall agree with you on that, but even so, he is just a man who’ll eventually marry a woman to warm his bed and fill his nursery with heirs for his great title. Whomever the duke marries it’ll be a monetary and status alliance, not a love match.”
“And to be a power in the ton. A duchess that all other women strive to imitate, do not forget,” Louise added.
Mary stumbled to a halt. Louise gasped as the duke, whom they’d not seen sitting on the steps of the terrace stood, and bowed before them.
Heat bloomed on Mary’s cheeks and her stomach did that stupid little fluttering again. She glared at him. What was wrong with her?
She cleared her throat, clasping her hands tight within her fur muff. “Your grace, we did not see you there.”
One ducal eyebrow rose in agreement. “No, you did not. I can only assume that had you known I was sitting here you wouldn’t have said such things about my character.”
Mary chanced a glance at Louise and sighed at her friend’s abject horror of them being caught. If her friend’s eyes went any wider her eyeballs would pop out.
She smiled the sweetest smile she could muster for someone who was obviously used to no one talking about him at all. Certainly not to his face. “You would be mistaken, your grace. I never shy away from what I believe in or think. If I have an opinion on a subject or person, whatever it may be, you can always be assured I’ll speak the truth.”
His too-intelligent eyes inspected her, and Mary shivered. How was it that his mere gaze could make her react so? She fought not to roll her eyes at her own idiocy. Maybe a trip to Town for another Season wasn’t such a bad idea after all. This shivering and fluttering whenever she was about the duke would never do. If she had to marry as her parents ordained, then it would be to a man she respected and loved, not to mention a man who allowed her to carry on with all the hobbies she currently enjoyed. She eyed the duke. What kind of man are you?
“Perhaps it’s the spectacles that make you so forward with your opinion.” The duke reached out and slid them off her face. His buckskin-gloved fingers touched her temples and she gasped at his presumption.
“Excuse me, your grace, but just what do you think you’re doing?”
She looked up at him, and although she could see perfectly well without glasses, they did help her see objects that were at a distance.
He stared at her for the oddest time before he said, “just seeing what you look like behind your spectacles.”
“And do you always do what you want, your grace?” Mary asked, suspecting that he did. The man oozed authority and she doubted there wasn’t much that he did not get his way with.
“Always,” he said, before turning on his heel and striding toward the terrace doors.
“Well, how odd,” Mary said. Louise sighed, a dreamy expression on her face as she watched the duke head back indoors. He closed the terrace doors with a decided click, leaving them alone once again.
Louise caught Mary’s gaze. “He still has your spectacles.”
After his odd departure Mary had completely forgotten the fact that he’d walked off with her spectacles. She ground her teeth, not wanting to seek him out to get them back again. She huffed out an annoyed breath, supposing she would have to. And after that, it was probably best that she did not seek him out again while he was here. Her body needed to learn that the Duke of Carlton, no matter his attractiveness, was not for her. She had a Season to find a gentleman who would suit her and she would not allow a pretty face to steer her off-course.
Dale shut the terrace doors and leaned against the wooden frame a moment. Feeling something in his hand he looked down and cursed. What the devil was he still doing with Lady Mary’s spectacles? And why in hell had he taken them off of her in the first place?
The moment he’d seen her glance up at him, her eyes wide and clear and the prettiest green he’d ever beheld he knew he was in trouble. He didn’t need to think her eyes pretty, or anything about her appealing. She was his best friend’s sister. A woman who spoke her mind without restraint and obviously was so very used to doing as she pleased. She was certainly not duchess material. Not the type of obedient and placid woman he was looking for.
His mother had been opinionated, often arguing differences of opinion with his father. He didn’t want a wife with similar characteristics. He wanted only peace in his marriage, something that he never enjoyed as a child.
Her rebuttal that she would only ever speak the truth whether the person was present or not was proof of that. Even if the ton was full of lies and deceit, her frankness was not a character trait he wanted in a wife. There were plenty of gentlemen who did not care if their wives were opinionated. Dale was not one of them.
That she’d not shied away from his sometimes overbearing self, had been welcome however. But then his friend Peter had never been scared off by his title either, and it was one of the reasons they were friends. He could tell Peter anything and know he would give him the absolute truth in his opinions.
Not just agree with him all the time simply because he was a duke.
Lady Hectorville sidled next to him and placed her arm around his own. He smiled down at her out of politeness while swearing inwardly at her affront. “Lady Hectorville, are you enjoying the gathering here in Derbyshire?” The question was benign, and he hoped soon enough she would find more amusing sports. Her reported lover was present so why she was hanging off his arm was beyond him.
“Oh, indeed I am. Lord and Lady Lancaster have been the most wonderful hosts these past few days and I’m looking very much toward the coming month here, and Christmas of course. Are you staying for the festivities, the Mistletoe Ball, your grace?”
He had thought of staying, but with her ladyship’s presence the entire time, maybe Dale would have to rethink his decision. “My obligations are not fixed on any one place in particular. I did say I would stay for a time, but I’m unsure if that will incorporate Christmas.”
Lady Hectorville pouted and he turned his attention to the few guests that were taking tea in the parlor. “And your sister, Lady Georgianna? Where is she to spend Christmas this year?”
Dale smiled at the mention of his sibling. He missed the chit and hoped she would be home soon. “She’s spending Christmas in Spain with our aunt who’s traveling abroad. She’ll return to Town in the spring.”
“Oh, Spain. How diverting. The warm Spanish sun, the hot nights and even hotter days. Sounds positively divine,” she cooed up at him.
He nodded, not entirely sure that the direction in which her ladyship spoke didn’t have an altogether different meaning to that of the weather. The terrace doors behind him opened and Lady Mary and her friend, Miss Grant, entered the room. Dale watched their progress as they joined Peter near the pianoforte.
Her ladyship lent out a long-suffering sigh. “Poor Lady Mary, I do worry for her. She’s so very bookish and the spectacles she’s often sporting do nothing to improve her appearance. I worry that she’ll remain a spinster, be placed up on the shelf to collect dust like an unwanted ornament.”
Dale bit his tongue in reminding Lady Hectorville that to speak about someone in such a manner was not befitting of her ladyship’s status. He thanked a footman for a glass of wine and took a fortifying sip to cool his ire. “Really? Do enlighten me?” he asked, his curiosity to see just how far her ladyship was willing to go further to cast doubt on Mary who was the daughter of a supposedly close friend of hers.
“Well, she does
not draw or paint or take any time in needlework from all accounts. Instead she’s a dab hand at fishing. Fishing! Of all things and is a better shot than her brother from what Lady Lancaster tells me. The young woman will never make a match with such qualities.”
Stranger and stranger. Dale’s attention strayed to where Lady Mary stood and he took in her gown, her features and demeanor. She was quite animated and loud, but then she was in her own home and among friends, so one did tend to let their guard down.
Her ebony hair shone as dark as the midnight sky, even when tied up in a severe knot. But with her spectacles missing, one could see the promise of an emerging beauty if one looked hard enough. Her green eyes were certainly one of her best features, and upon meeting her had given a hint to a woman of intelligence.
“I’m sure in time Lady Mary will marry. No matter how society views her as possibly lacking in refinement. There are other qualities that recommend her.” Dale shut his mouth with a snap, not knowing why he was defending the woman. Probably because she was Peter’s sibling and Peter was his closest friend.
Lady Hectorville clasped her chest. “Oh, I do hope you don’t think I meant any slight against Lady Mary. I love her as if she were my own child, but I do like to think that if I were a mother, I too could see the faults in my own children. No matter how disappointing such a thing may be.”
“Of course,” he said bowing. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Hectorville.” He started toward Lady Mary and coming up to Peter, pulled the spectacles from his waistcoat pocket.
“Lady Mary, I do believe these belong to you.” He handed them to her and she cast a quick glance at her brother who stood silent, watching them with a warning glint in his eyes.
Dale straightened and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Thank you, your grace.”
“What is Carlton doing with your spectacles, Mary?” Peter asked, his tone one of suspicion.
“Lady Mary had been taking the air with Miss Grant and had misplaced the spectacles on the terrace railing. I was merely returning them.” Total bollocks, but he didn’t need Peter to imagine that there was anything at all between him and his sister for there was not, nor ever would be. She was much too independent, and he had a sneaking suspicion she was a bluestocking as well as a wallflower. His wife would be a demure, quiet type of woman, suited to the role of duchess and all the responsibilities that came with it.
Not to mention he would never jeopardize his friendship with Peter. They had shared many a night out on the town in London, and he doubted Peter would want his sister marrying a man known for his rakish ways.
Peter clasped him on the back, smiling. “Well then, you’re a good man. Thank you for giving them back to Mary. She’s often doing that, leaving them here and there. Aren’t you Mary?” Peter said, turning to her.
“I’m terribly forgetful with those sorts of matters. Thank you, your grace, for returning them to me,” she said, before she touched her friend’s hand. “Shall we head upstairs, Louise. I wish to read for a time before dinner.”
Both ladies left without another word and Peter smiled after them. “What do you think about Miss Grant? She’s grown most pretty since I’ve been away at school. She is Mary’s companion and been with us since she was a child.”
Dale took another glass of wine from a passing footman thinking over Miss Grant. “Do you care for her? Remember that marriage is a lifelong commitment. I doubt there would be anything worse in the world than to be partnered with a woman who after six months of marriage turned into a shrew and stopped all wifely duties once you’d begotten an heir.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Hold up old boy. I only asked what you thought of her. I’m not planning to marry at all at present.”
Dale chuckled to break the small tension between them. “You know my thoughts on marriage. It is a decision to be thought over with great care. My parents’ match was not a union I would wish upon anyone else, and so I simply do not wish for you to make the same mistake.
The memory of his parents arguing could still, to this day, make his blood run cold. Both were high-handed and never at fault. When both parties refused to give way, let a disagreement go, fireworks were often what resulted. Although Dale never witnessed any physical injury, he had his suspicions that such had taken place behind closed doors.
“Your parents however seem to have a happy and affectionate marriage. Let them guide you and I’m sure they’ll do you no wrong.”
Peter mumbled something under his breath and Dale thought about what Lady Hectorville had said about staying. Perhaps he ought to return to his own estate before the snow became too thick underfoot for travel. But he did enjoy being with Peter and his family who were jovial and welcoming, even his sister, as odd as she was.
He would think on it some more.
“You missed the announcement at breakfast about our annual Mistletoe Ball; it is to be held again this year. Although really it’s just a guise to try and advertise that my sister is still open to marriage and courting if anyone should be interested. Even so, it’s always good, jolly fun. What say you?”
“When is this to take place?” Dale asked, not entirely sure he wished to be part of such entertainment. He would have enough of society, all the balls and trappings next year in Town.
“A few days before Christmas. Do say you’ll attend. My parents will be sorely disappointed if you leave. Just like myself, we do not wish for you to be alone at Christmas.”
That was true, Dale also didn’t wish to be alone at such a festive time. Not really. With Georgianna away in Spain, Carlton Hall was large and very empty, almost like a crypt. Not a place to enjoy the holiday season when alone.
“Very well, I shall stay until after Christmas as planned. I suppose I shall be able to stomach a ball well enough.”
“Excellent,” Peter said. “Now come, let’s go play some billiards. I think we’ve done the pretty by my mother and given the guests here today enough fodder to keep them happy for an afternoon or so.”
Dale liked the thought of that. “Lead the way.” Escaping the afternoon at home sounded right up his alley.
Just then the door to the parlor opened and in walked Henry Ryley, Lord Weston. New to the title of Viscount, the young buck had made a debutante cry during her first ball. He was as obnoxious as he was stupid. Dale sighed, wondering why in the hell Lord Lancaster had invited such a dandy.
The viscount strolled into the room, greeting his hosts and looking about as if he owned the place. He was all blond, his golden locks and height made him most agreeable to the ladies present if their tittering and simpering smiles were anything to go by.
Dale looked about the room and fought not to roll his eyes as some of the younger women giggled and blushed.
“Weston,” Peter yelled out, catching the young man’s attention. He strolled over.
“Kensley,” his lordship said, shaking Peter’s hand. “It’s good to see you. How have you been? I’ve not seen you in Town of late.”
“No,” Peter said, smiling. “I’ve been traveling in the country for some weeks.” Peter turned to Dale. “Your grace, this is Viscount Weston. Lord Weston, this is his grace, the Duke of Carlton.”
Dale bowed slightly.
“Pleasure, your grace. In fact, I’ve just come from the stables and been admiring your gray stallion. Beautiful beast if ever there was one,” Lord Weston said jovially.
Dale narrowed his eyes. “He’s a good horse,” was all he was able to manage while also trying to remember what debutante it was that this popinjay insulted and what that insult had been about.
“Is Mary home? I should like to see her again. I’ve been so busy in Town this past Season that I did not get to see her much.”
Peter smiled at the mention of his sister. Dale arched a brow. Lord Weston was on a first-name basis with Lady Mary? He studied the man with a disinterested air. As little as he knew Lady Mary, it would be a shame indeed if she set her cap for someone like Lord
Weston.
“She’s gone upstairs to read before dinner, but you’ll see her later. She’ll be so excited to see you again too. I know how close you were as children.”
“You’ve known the family for some time then, Lord Weston?” Dale asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
The young viscount glanced at Dale with annoyance and there was something in his gaze that gave Dale pause. If he were a betting man, he would lay money on the fact that his lordship had a nasty streak in his blood. He’d seen glances like the one his lordship just bestowed on him, his father had thrown them often toward his mother before all hell broke loose. Here, Dale supposed he could not cause any mischief, even if the question had annoyed the gentleman.
“Lord Weston and our family are neighbors, your grace,” Peter said, answering the question quickly.
He took a sip of his wine, glad to hear this was how they were acquainted, not by some other means such as Weston’s courtship of Lady Mary. “Are you staying or merely visiting, Lord Weston?” Dale asked. Normally a good judge of character, there was something about this man that he didn’t like. Finally, the memory came back to him as to why he disapproved of the viscount. The young debutante he’d made cry had been courted by his lordship for weeks, so much so that the family had expected an offer of marriage. Instead, he’d ceased all contact with the chit and refused to stand up with her at balls and parties. She became the target of censure and amusement for her friends. The young woman had returned to the country and Dale wondered if she would return next year and try again. Something told him she would not.
“I’m staying,” the gentleman said, raising his brow and holding Dale’s gaze.
Dale narrowed his eyes. “I see.”
The young viscount spied another guest he wished to speak to, and he made his farewells.
“Shall we?” Peter said, gesturing toward the door.
Dale nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”
