Ellie was her usual composed self now. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved gray dress he’d wager he’d seen at this party last year and perhaps even the year before that. No one would ever guess she might have red silk—
He shifted his gaze quickly to Ash. His poor brother had made a serious tactical error by neglecting to claim one of the two available armchairs and so had got stuck sitting on the sofa next to Lady Heldon. In point of fact, he was almost sitting on the sofa’s arm now; Lady Heldon kept inching closer, and Ash kept inching away.
As Ned watched, Lady Heldon’s hand came to rest on Ash’s thigh, and Ash jumped up, splashing some of his brandy on himself in the process.
“It was very pleasant, my lord.”
“What?” Ned looked back at Lady Juliet; she smiled at him demurely, her head slightly bowed. “Oh, yes. The skating.”
“Though it would have been far more pleasant had you stayed,” she said.
“I apologize.” He smiled. It was time to get back to his wooing, especially given his reaction to Ellie this afternoon. Obviously his body was telling him it required some marital exercise. “I’m afraid I felt rather cold and damp after having lain on the ice.”
Cold and damp did not describe at all how he’d felt. He’d been so angry and aroused it was a wonder the ice hadn’t melted under him.
“I hope you’ll not take a chill, my lord.”
“Oh, have no fear of that. I feel perfectly fine now.” His temper—if not his temperature—had cooled remarkably once he’d found Ellie’s drawers in his room.
Best not to think about that.
“Are you certain?” The space between Lady Juliet’s perfect brows wrinkled in concern. “You suddenly look rather flushed.”
“It must be the heat from the fire.”
She blinked at him. They were seated as far from the fire as possible; Ned would even admit he’d seen his breath once or twice. Lady Juliet shivered, pulled her warm Norwich shawl a little tighter around her shoulders, and looked rather longingly at the hearth.
“Poor Sir Percy,” she said. “I was terribly shocked when her grace announced that he’d fallen down the stairs. At least his injuries weren’t serious enough to require the attentions of a doctor.” She smiled somewhat archly. “And how kind of Lady Ophelia to offer to keep him company in case he needed nursing.”
“Er, yes. Very kind.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“I suspect he just missed a step.” After Ned had left Ellie, he’d calmed down enough to recognize Ash didn’t merit a thrashing. Instead he’d saved all his energy for Percy, dragging him outside shortly after his brother-in-law returned from skating.
Percy would be in much worse shape if he’d put up a fight, but he’d let Ned land any punches he wanted, and then, mopping up his blood with his cravat, had asked him to extend his apologies to Ellie for having threatened her. Apparently her attempt to save Miss Wharton had strongly affected him.
“I hope he’s recovered by the ball.”
“Yes.” There was little chance of that. Ned was fairly certain he hadn’t inflicted any permanent damage—he hadn’t even broken Percy’s nose—but Percy would have two black eyes, a fat lip, and an assortment of cuts and bruises for some time to come.
He racked his brain for another conversational topic. This wooing business was difficult; he hadn’t had to do it with Cicely. Cicely had always rather idolized him.
Lady Juliet just stared back at him politely.
Besides the fact that she was very pretty and the daughter of the Duke of Extley, what did he know about the woman? That she was calm and restful ... except she hadn’t been at all calm or restful while searching for hearts in the dungeon. That she looked like Cicely—but she wasn’t Cicely.
Did she like turtle soup? The color blue? He had no idea.
More to the point, how much did she like Cox?
“Lord Edward, I’ve been meaning to commend you on your quick thinking this afternoon,” Cox said.
Damn, his thoughts must have conjured the man. Cox was at his elbow with Ellie. It looked as if his time alone with Lady Juliet was over. Just as well. His wooing skills definitely needed polishing.
“Thank you,” he said, standing to greet Ellie. From the pointed looks Cox had been throwing him across the dinner table, he’d have expected the fellow to express his disappointment Ned hadn’t fallen through the ice rather than compliment him. “I was very happy no one was hurt.”
“Miss Bowman was quite brave, wasn’t she?” Cox spoke to Ned, but looked at Lady Juliet. Lady Juliet scowled back at him.
“Yes, indeed,” Ned said. There was a recklessness about Cox tonight. Had he had too much wine at dinner?
Ellie laughed. “Oh, don’t perjure yourself, Lord Edward. You considered me more brainless than brave, and you were right. I should have waited for you to assist Miss Wharton.”
“No.” He may have given her the impression he felt that way—all right, he probably had felt that way—but now that he was over the terror of seeing her on the thin, cracking ice, he could admit he was proud of her. “I would have wished you’d let me help Miss Wharton, that’s true, but you were very brave to go to her aid so quickly.”
Ellie flushed and gave him an uncertain, oddly hopeful smile.
“Well, I would have let you save Miss Wharton, Lord Edward,” Lady Juliet said. She gazed up at him, a look of adoration in her eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
He shifted his weight. Perhaps it was the set of her mouth or the way her eyes darted to Cox, but he’d swear there was something false about Lady Juliet’s expression. And even if she was sincere, did he wish to be adored? Cicely had certainly done so, and it had made him feel strong and invincible when he was twenty, but he was almost twenty-eight now. He knew he wasn’t invincible.
He no longer wanted to be cast as the hero of someone else’s story. He’d already failed miserably in that role.
“You were so masterful in the way you took charge,” Lady Juliet was saying. “It quite gave me shivers.”
Cox snorted. “That was probably the cold wind.”
Lady Juliet glared at him. “Oh, no, I assure you it was seeing a real man in action.”
“Oh? Shall I take action, then?” Cox’s voice was sharp and tight. Good God, were he and Lady Juliet going to brawl in Mama’s drawing room?
“Perhaps we should just take our seats. Miss Bowman?” Ned gestured to the empty chair across from him. Cox took the chair closer to Lady Juliet. A bad choice.
“What action would you take, Mr. Cox?” Lady Juliet leaned toward Cox rather flirtatiously. Perhaps she’d been making a bit too free with the spirits as well.
Cox’s eyes dropped to inspect Lady Juliet’s breasts.
Ned’s gaze slid over to Ellie’s bodice. It covered her up to her chin, but there was a delightful swell—
Damn it, he should have hit Percy harder—it was his fault his thoughts were wandering in such an inappropriate direction.
He forced his eyes back to Cox.
“I’d free the princess from her prison,” Cox was saying.
What? Were they speaking of fairytales now?
“How amusing. And what if the princess doesn’t agree that she’s in a prison?”
“Denial is always a prison.”
Lady Juliet laughed, but the sound had a hard edge. “Very prettily said, but you are the one in denial. You’ve convinced yourself your silly dreams are real.”
This was getting rather personal, if obscure. He should say something if for no other reason than to remind these two they had an audience. “Ah, I think you might like to—”
Cox ignored him. “Oh, have I? Perhaps, but at least I have the courage to dream of happiness.”
The man had definitely had too much to drink.
“Happiness?” Lady Juliet dropped her voice to a loud whisper, making her sound like an angry snake. “Do you think I can be happy as a damn vicar’s wife?”
Ned would swear he heard Ellie’s jaw drop. He was certain she’d never before heard “damn” as an adjective for “vicar.”
“But you know I don’t mean to go into the church, Jule. I told you that.”
Lady Juliet rolled her eyes. “Oh, no, you’re going to invest in steam locomotives or some such ridiculous thing. If I hear about Mr. Trevithick’s Catch Me Who Can one more time—” She stopped, and Ned could almost hear her teeth gnash. “Your father should be shot for letting you go see it when you were a boy.”
Cox leaned forward, sounding perfectly sober now. “It’s the future, Jule.”
“The future?” Lady Juliet sniffed derisively. “Who would choose noisy, smelly engines over horses?”
“Some of the mines have. I’ve told you that. Once they solve the problem with the rails breaking—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Harry”—Lady Juliet looked ready to pull Cox’s ears—“it’s still trade. You’re still dirtying your hands.”
Cox leaned back. “That’s the future, too, Jule.” His jaw was set; his eyes, narrowed. “I don’t expect your father to see it, but you—” He pressed his lips together. “You’re not stupid, no matter how much you like to pretend that you are.”
Lady Juliet’s face was equally set. “I’m not willing to throw away who I am and the life I was born to.”
Cox threw up his hands, surging to his feet. “All right then, Jule, you go on. Play your games. Catch yourself a nice, rich, blue-blooded fellow with a country estate”—he threw a disgusted look at Ned—“and be a damn ornament in his home and his bed. I’m done with you.”
“Harry, no.” Lady Juliet grabbed his hand. “We can—”
He shook off her hold. “We can’t. I’ve told you I won’t share—and I doubt Lord Edward wishes to, either.”
Ned heard Ellie gasp.
Cox was almost snarling now. He inclined his head toward Ned. “But why don’t you ask him?”
He turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
“Ah.” Lady Juliet’s face froze as if she just now remembered Ned was sitting next to her. She turned slowly to face him. “Ah.” She smiled weakly.
Ned felt he should be angry or at least insulted, but his main emotion seemed to be relief—and amusement. “Cox is right, you know,” he said. “Steam locomotives are quite likely the future.”
“Ah.” Her face was quite pale.
He smiled. “And I won’t share.”
Chapter 14
Disappointment is sometimes a blessing in disguise.
—Venus’s Love Notes
“And here I thought Reggie was going to be the only source of entertainment during this house party.” The duke offered the duchess a glass of brandy and sat next to her on the overstuffed sofa in their sitting room, draping his arm along its back. “Today’s events have been most exhausting, from Ellie’s rescue to Percy’s, er, accident to the fireworks in the drawing room after dinner.”
Venus grinned. “Yes, things are progressing very well indeed.”
Drew’s brows shot up. “I doubt your guests will agree with that assessment, my dear.”
“Oh, pooh. Maybe they won’t now, but they will later.” She took a sip of brandy and leaned against Drew’s side, laying her head on his shoulder. She loved being close to him like this, talking over the day. “Though poor Percy is quite a mess. I assume Ned did the honors?”
“I assume he did since they were having such a heated discussion on the hill earlier, but neither Percy nor Ned offered that information. At least nothing appears to be broken.”
“Well, that’s good, I suppose. I wonder what it was all about?”
“Usually it’s best not to know.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Venus sighed. “There’s something dark and angry driving that boy.”
“That’s not surprising. His parents were rather nasty.”
“They were, weren’t they?” She’d often been extremely annoyed with Percy when he was young, but she kept reminding herself of what he had to face every day at home. She could avoid the old baronet and his wife—though not as much as she’d like when they were in the country—but Percy couldn’t until he was old enough to go off to London. It would have been a blessing if they’d sent him away to school, but they hadn’t.
She frowned down at her brandy. She’d never understood why Cicely had insisted on coming back to Greycliffe to be close to her mother when it was time to have her baby. If it had been Venus, she would have run as far and as fast from Lady Headley as she could.
No, that wasn’t fair. She must remember that the love between a mother and a daughter was complicated—and some love was more complicated than others.
“I must say, Venus”—Drew brought her attention back to the present—“I was expecting you to be in a dark mood. Here we are, more than halfway through this party, and it seems that all your matches are coming to naught, with the possible exception of Humphrey and Miss Mosely.”
“Oh, Drew, how can you say that?” Venus tilted her head back to look up at him. “This is why no one but me calls you the Duke of Love. You’d never succeed as a matchmaker.”
Drew’s eyes widened and his complexion acquired a vaguely greenish tint. “Good God! Me, a matchmaker? What a horrible thought.”
She giggled. “You know, perhaps you should try it. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of a male matchmaker.”
“For good reason.”
“There are procurers, of course, but that’s not the same thing.”
“Not at all. You are putting me to the blush, my dear duchess.”
Venus laughed again. “And you are telling shocking bouncers, my dear duke.”
“I am not.” He got up and took her glass. “More brandy?”
“Please.”
He strolled over to the cabinet. He was still dressed in his pantaloons, but had shed his coat and waistcoat. Venus admired how his fine lawn shirt pulled tight across his shoulders. He was certainly the duke of her love. She’d been so wise all those years ago when she’d decided to marry him.
She snorted. Or lucky. She’d been all of nineteen and a naïve country girl, but still she’d known when she’d met him that Drew was hers.
“So tell me why you aren’t in despair.” Drew filled her glass and then brought the bottle over to keep near at hand. This time he sat against the arm of the sofa and observed her.
“Because things are going splendidly, of course. Much better than I’d hoped—or even dreamed.”
Drew choked on his brandy. “Cox’s and Lady Juliet’s shockingly public brangle was a good thing? Cox tore out of the room as if all the hounds of hell were after him, and not five minutes later, Lady Juliet dashed out sobbing.”
“Yes, indeed.” Venus could barely contain her delight. She bounced slightly.
Both Drew’s brows rose. “Need I remind you that the spectacle was so upsetting you changed your plans for the evening’s activities?”
“Fiddlesticks! I didn’t change my plans for that reason. With four of the party missing, hide and seek would have been sadly flat, and frankly, I didn’t trust Lady Heldon to behave. Did you see how she was almost hanging on Ash?”
“It was rather hard to miss.” Drew rested his brandy glass on his knee. “I thought you were more concerned about Miss Wharton and Jack.”
Venus shrugged. “I’ve come to think there’s no great harm in Miss Wharton. She’s too enthusiastic, but that stems more from awkwardness than predatory intent. I think she might make Percy a good wife.”
Unfortunately, Drew had just taken a large mouthful of brandy.
“I’m so sorry,” Venus said, handing him her handkerchief. “Did some of it go down the wrong way?”
“And up.” He blew his nose. “Warn me next time you intend to say something outrageous.”
“But there’s nothing outrageous in considering Miss Wharton for Percy.”
Drew blinked at her over her handkerchief before blowin
g his nose once more. “Ophelia may have a different opinion.”
Venus sighed. She always hated to see a couple grow apart, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. “No, I think Ophelia may have finally lost patience with Percy.”
Drew stuffed her handkerchief in his pocket and gave her an assessing look, as if weighing the odds she would say something to send brandy up his nose again, before taking a cautious sip from his glass. “How can you say that? She volunteered to nurse him.”
“Yes, but she seemed annoyed by it.” Venus considered the conversation she’d had with Ophelia before dinner. “Something has changed. She’s always been a bit of a sheep about Percy—which is sad, because she is far too old for that and has known him far too long to be blind to his faults—but today I felt she’d given up on him, at least as a possible husband. She acted as if she were grudgingly helping an old friend, not a lover.”
“Well, hurrah for her,” Drew said. “Percy would try the patience of a saint, and Ophelia is definitely not a saint.” He favored her with a long look. “Nor is Miss Wharton. I hesitate to contemplate your matchmaking machinations at all, my love—I know my male intelligence can’t fathom their mysteries—but I don’t see why you think Miss Wharton would be a suitable match for Percy. Wouldn’t that be like tossing a puppy into a lion’s den?”
Venus laughed. “No, I don’t think so, though I’ll grant you I’m not certain yet.” She smiled. “Didn’t you notice how Percy was rather protective of her in the dungeon yesterday?”
Drew regarded her as if she were a bedlamite. “I did not. I was too busy carrying out the task you’d set me—to see that Miss Wharton didn’t trap Jack into an uncomfortable position or amass so many hearts she could have her wicked way with our poor boy in the sleigh tomorrow.”
“Then surely you saw how concerned Percy was about her safety when she fell on the ice today?”
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