“Oh, honor and duty, the eternal twin verities.” Geoffrey knew he was pushing his father toward losing his temper—a virtually impossible challenge, true—but his own temper was so close to bubbling over that he could not help himself. “And once again, I have failed twice over, and can never dare to approach Harry’s perfection.”
Father shook his head, his dark brows drawing ominously together. “I said nothing of your brother.”
“You needn’t have, not again,” Geoffrey said. “I’ve heard it often enough before.”
“If you have, it is because Harry does not forget the responsibilities of his place and his title.”
“While mine, of course, will always be so much less exalted, being as I am the mere second son.” Geoffrey glanced down at his cuff, brushing away an infinitesimal speck of lint. “Though as you may recall, I did return home at once as soon as I received word of Harry’s fall. Not that I shall ever receive praise from you for journeying halfway around the world in haste to do so.”
“If you had not insisted on removing yourself to that distant, heathen place, then your journey would not have been so arduous,” Father said, each word clipped and edged. “You did so by your own choice. As for duty: that is never to be rewarded or acknowledged, Geoffrey, not that you have ever appeared to possess an understanding of that particular nicety.”
What Geoffrey understood was that he’d come back home not because of duty, but because he loved his brother. That alone had driven him across the sea on his desperate voyage and had sustained him through long days of hope and sorrow at sea that he’d no wish to repeat. His joy at finding his brother alive should have been reward enough, had it not been tainted by Father’s incessant lectures on duty.
“Until Lady Augusta gives your brother a son, you are his heir, and mine as well,” Father continued, intoning as if being his heir was the most glorious role possible. “I expect you to comport yourself as a future Duke of Breconridge should.”
No one believed Geoffrey when he swore he’d no interest in becoming the next Duke of Breconridge, particularly if the title came at the price of his brother’s life. He’d never wanted to be a duke, nor did he want any part of the awful honor and duty that came with the title. Once he’d been reassured that Harry was healthy, he’d wished with all his heart that he’d remained in India, where no one gave a damn about duty or dukedoms.
And yet, if he had stayed in Calcutta, he wouldn’t have met Serena, just as if her family had survived, she would not have come to London. Whenever she spoke to him of kismet, he’d always thought of how they’d danced together that first night, but really, if he thought harder, he realized that coincidences and accidents on a much grander scale had brought them together, and would not now pull them apart.
“You do understand what I am saying, don’t you?” Father said, once again misinterpreting his silence.
Rain drummed against the windows, as if to drive home every one of his father’s words.
Slowly Geoffrey nodded, thinking how in truth it was Father who did not understand about him, or Miss Carew.
“I understand,” he said softly, his own anger curiously spent. “I understand.”
Father was watching him closely. “You will behave honorably toward the lady? There will be no more unpleasant scenes with old Allwyn?”
Geoffrey straightened, and tapped his hand on the carved back of the chair. “You have my word that there will not.”
He would behave honorably, and he would not upset Lord Allwyn. He’d given his word. But he would see Serena again, and what happened when he did—ahh, he’d make no promises about that.
Who would dare tamper with kismet?
CHAPTER
5
“At last we’re nearly before His Grace’s house,” Aunt Morley said, pressing close to the window’s glass to peer beyond the carriage’s lanterns and into the darkness. “What a crush! I’ve never seen so many carriages attempting to squeeze their way before a private residence. Though to be sure, the London home of the Duke of Breconridge is no ordinary private residence.”
Restlessly Serena smoothed her gloved fingers over the white fox fur that trimmed her black evening cloak. “It’s very generous of the duchess to invite us here tonight after Grandpapa behaved so badly at White’s last week.”
Aunt Morley sighed dramatically. “I have told you before, Serena, and I shall tell you again. Your grandfather and His Grace came to an understanding, and decided that the very best way to smooth away their disagreement before the world was for you to be included as Her Grace’s guest at the rout this evening. That way no one will perceive any ill will between the duke and your grandfather, nor contrive any mischievous slander involving you and Lord Geoffrey.”
“There will be no mischievous slander, Aunt, because Grandpapa absolutely forbids me to speak to Lord Geoffrey tonight,” Serena said, striving to keep the unhappiness from her voice. “No one shall observe us so much as glance at each other.”
“He didn’t forbid you conversation with Lord Geoffrey or any other gentlemen, Serena,” Aunt Morley said patiently. “He asked you to be circumspect.”
But Serena shook her head, unable to see whatever fine shade of difference her aunt perceived. Grandpapa had made his wishes perfectly clear.
She slipped her hand into the pocket beneath her gown, searching for the little pressed rosebud that was all she had left of the infamous bouquet Geoffrey had sent to her. She’d stitched together two pieces of silk ribbon to make a little bag to keep the rosebud safe, a secret keepsake. To see Geoffrey tonight but only at a distance, to watch him across the crowd laughing and talking with other ladies would be an unbearable torment. She’d wondered if Grandpapa had intended it to be her punishment, for certainly there could be few things more painful to her.
Even as her grandfather had railed against Geoffrey and his family, she had taken care to act as if none of it had mattered. She had not complained, nor begged for him to relent. Instead she’d simply nodded, and agreed to follow his orders. All of this had happened because she’d betrayed too much of her true feelings, and she was determined not to do it again.
And yet, deep down, it was her feelings that she trusted most. This should be the last time she saw Geoffrey. Instead she believed he would find a way to be with her again, and again after that. He was her champion, and her grandfather’s warning would only make him more loyal to her.
Lightly her fingers played over the fragile rosebud, her thoughts racing as fast as her heart. If she truly were an English lady, bred to be practical and logical and obedient, then none of this would make any sense. Because instead she believed in kismet, she must trust her illogical heart, and Geoffrey with it.
“There will be many gentlemen in attendance this evening,” Aunt Morley continued, excitement making her offer more than her usual amount of advice. “You would do well to look about you, Serena, and make yourself agreeable. There are plenty of other fish in every sea, even if one fat trout wriggles free from the hook.”
“Yes, Aunt Morley,” Serena murmured, preferring not to think of Geoffrey as a trout—or herself as the baited hook, either. “I shall be agreeable.”
“I can only pray that you will,” Aunt Morley said, clearly not believing that prayer would be sufficient. “Ah, our turn at last. Mind your skirts when you climb down, Serena. No lady offers a tawdry display of leg to the gaping footmen and link-boys.”
As soon as the door had opened and a pair of footmen had helped her aunt climb down, Serena made her own exit in a graceful shush of silk. Beneath the flickering flames of the lanterns, she walked up the marble steps of the duke’s grand house with her head high and a half smile on her face, determined not to let the rest of the guests guess how fast her heart was racing.
Following her aunt, she acknowledged the greetings of others as they entered the duke’s house, but never paused for longer conversation, not even in the antechamber set aside for ladies’ cloaks. She knew she was being
discussed, pointed out, the subject of excited whispers behind fans. How could she not be, after how Grandpapa had behaved? Of course she couldn’t stop their talk, but she could ignore it, and not give any of them a chance to be curious and ask how it felt to be the center of such an interesting scandal. Being distant came easily to her from habitual practice, a way of keeping secrets by keeping apart, and tonight she simply moved a little faster.
Besides, the only opinion that mattered to her tonight was Geoffrey’s. She’d dressed so he wouldn’t miss her. Her gown was a brilliant golden silk robe à la Française, the unstitched pleats drifting from the back of her shoulders like angels’ wings, and her jewels were the magnificent suite of sapphires and diamonds that Father had sent back to London long ago. She hadn’t powdered her hair, preferring to leave it in contrast with her pale skin, and had scattered more diamonds among the dark waves. She wore gold silk shoes with buckles studded with brilliants and emerald-green embroidered stockings, and carried an oversized fan of black Italian lace. She was, in short, dressed to perfection and the very height of fashion, and as she stood beside her aunt, ready to be presented to the Duke and Duchess of Breconridge, she should have been as confident as any lady in the house that night.
Instead her heart was racing and her palms were damp and her stomach was twisting so much from nervousness that she feared she’d lose her afternoon tea right here while she waited. These were Geoffrey’s parents. They would be as protective of him as Grandpapa was of her. What if they could sense her falseness, her deception? What if they could tell?
“Your Grace, may I present my grand-niece, Miss Serena Carew,” Aunt Morley was saying. “Serena, Her Grace the Duchess of Breconridge.”
At once Serena sank into her curtsey, her head bowed. Grandpapa might have no regard for the Fitzroys, but she was well aware of their rank and prestige at the Court. Geoffrey spoke in an offhanded manner of this cousin and that cousin—all dukes—and how often his parents were at the palace for special gatherings with the king and queen, and all of it far grander than anything the Carews could muster. This was the first time that she and her aunt had been invited to Breconridge House, and even though she knew the circumstances were not ideal, she still felt honored to be included.
“Please, Miss Carew, rise up, rise up,” the duchess said. “I long to see the pretty face that’s driven poor Geoffrey into such fits of distraction.”
Serena turned her face upward, and then slowly rose the way Monsieur Passard had taught her, like a flower turning toward the sun. Not that she was thinking overmuch of her own first impression: she was too dazzled by the duchess for that. Her Grace was beautiful in the pink-and-white porcelain way that was so undeniably English, her gown a costly ice-blue brocade enriched with a small fortune in lace and pearls.
“Now I understand why most of the males in London have fallen beneath your spell, Miss Carew,” the duchess said, waving her fan languidly before her. “No wonder Geoffrey feels he must defend you with such vigor.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Serena said, the safest answer. She couldn’t help blushing with confusion; she could understand Geoffrey defending her, for that was what a champion was supposed to do, but falling into “fits of distraction” was something else altogether. “You are too kind.”
“Oh, I am not being kind, my dear, but truthful.” She turned away briefly, drawing a tall, elegant gentleman by his arm to her side. “Brecon, this is Geoffrey’s Miss Carew, come to us at last.”
Serena opened her mouth to tell the duchess that she didn’t belong to Geoffrey, wasn’t his Miss Carew, before she realized that the tall gentleman was Geoffrey’s father, the Duke of Breconridge. At once she sank hastily into another curtsey, and when she rose again, the Duke of Breconridge was studying her closely—too closely for comfort, or true welcome, either.
Though the duke must be over fifty, he was still strikingly handsome, tall and lean, much like his sons. He was dressed in a dark purple velvet suit in the French style, lavish with silk embroidery and brilliants, yet on him it wasn’t foppish. Beneath the extravagant elegance she sensed a powerful man accustomed to having his way, and doing whatever was necessary to get it. She understood now why Geoffrey spoke of often being at odds with his father, for she felt herself instantly wary and on guard as well. Clearly the duke was not a man to be offended without consequences.
“You cannot know how pleased I am to make your acquaintance, Miss Carew,” he said now, his voice deep and rich. “Geoffrey told me you were a great beauty, but for once he is guilty of understatement, rather than exaggeration.”
“You’re very kind, Your Grace,” Serena murmured, and smiled as she was expected to do, wincing inwardly as she realized she’d repeated herself. She wished Geoffrey were here beside her to help lessen this awkwardness.
Her aunt must have been aware of it, too. “My grand-niece and I are most honored by your invitation, Your Grace,” she said, smiling too brightly. “Such brilliant company!”
“You are ornaments to our evening’s entertainment, Lady Morley,” the duke said with an excess of gallantry (or so it seemed to Serena), his smile making her aunt turn starry-eyed before he turned back to Serena. “Especially Miss Carew. This is, you see, the first time we have ever met the very eye of one of my son’s little romantic storms.”
He chuckled, as if this were meant as a jest, but Serena found no humor in his condescension.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said, unable to keep silent, “but I would not deem my friendship with Lord Geoffrey a ‘romantic storm.’ ”
“Would you not, now?” the duke asked, bemused. “Having witnessed the veritable typhoon of emotions that erupted between your grandfather and my son, I can think of no better description. A typhoon, a hurricane, a raging gale at sea. Any of those would suffice.”
“Perhaps such descriptions would do for the conversation between my grandfather and Lord Geoffrey, Your Grace,” Serena said, more warmly than was perhaps wise. “I was not a witness, and thus I cannot offer an opinion.”
“Yet undoubtedly you will, Miss Carew,” the duke said drily. “I feel certain of that.”
“Then you are mistaken, Your Grace,” Serena said defensively, “for I won’t. But I can assure you that what exists between Lord Geoffrey and me is neither romantic nor stormy, but merely the shared regard between two acquaintances.”
“A shared regard, Miss Carew? That is all?” the duke repeated, openly skeptical. “I’d have thought otherwise, given what I have seen of my son. But then, you ladies often do possess a harder heart than we men choose to credit.”
“Oh, hush, Brecon,” the duchess scolded, tapping him on the shoulder with her fan. “That is rubbish, and you know it. Miss Carew, pray forgive my husband. He watches over his sons like an old biddy-hen, and believes that every female in London is determined to wound them and play them false.”
“You exaggerate, Celia,” the duke said mildly, his gaze not leaving Serena, nor losing any of its intensity, either. “But there’s no doubt Miss Carew possesses the spirit to make any conquest she pleases. Since I’ve already come near to blows with her grandfather, I am not inclined to do the same with her as well. Ladies, your servant, and pray enjoy yourselves in my house.”
Serena nodded, and with her aunt moved along into the first drawing room, leaving the duke and duchess to greet the guests arriving after them. Aunt Morley seized Serena’s arm the instant they were out of hearing.
“Whatever possessed you, Serena?” she demanded in a sharp whisper. “At most affairs, I can scarcely compel you to speak two words to our hosts, and yet here tonight, you insist on challenging His Grace over some imagined slight! The duchess is one of the most important ladies in Society, and I can’t begin to imagine what she must be thinking of you now.”
“His Grace was wrong, Aunt,” Serena protested. “I shouldn’t have corrected him, but he shouldn’t have made a jest of my friendship with Lord Geoffrey.”
“A frie
ndship that is as good as done now,” Aunt Morley said grimly. “You’ll be fortunate if he so much as comes near you this evening after you’ve quarreled with his father like that. First your grandfather, and now you. No wonder the Fitzroys have no use for the Carews.”
For once Serena feared her aunt might be right, and she sighed miserably. What had possessed her? “I suppose we must enjoy ourselves tonight, as His Grace bid us. We’ll likely never be invited back.”
“Then do not squander the time you have here tonight,” Aunt Morley said, already scanning the crowd for possible acquaintances. “You are being widely admired. There are a number of gentlemen here whom I never see in company elsewhere.”
“It doesn’t signify, Aunt,” Serena said, her gaze sweeping the crowded room before them. She was scarcely aware of the carved and gilded paneling, or the enormous looking glasses, or the chandeliers ablaze with candles, or even the duke’s magnificent collection of paintings. All she wanted to see was Geoffrey. “I could have raved and torn my hair like a madwoman, and it would have made no difference. Recall that by agreement the duchess invited us here for this single night, and no more. Grandpapa wouldn’t allow it otherwise.”
“Yes, yes, Serena,” Aunt Morley said impatiently, “but if you can but manage to capture the interest of another gentleman here tonight, then I’m certain your grandfather would permit—”
“Not again, Aunt, please,” Serena said wearily. “I do not wish to interest any gentlemen, for I do not intend to marry any of them.”
Aunt Morley puffed out her cheeks in indignation. “You have been interested enough in Lord Geoffrey.”
“As a friend, Aunt Morley, only as a friend,” Serena insisted. “And now it seems even that is done, so you and everyone else may cease your worry.”
She had truly expected to see him here, no matter what their families had arranged. Although the hall and the three rooms that they’d passed through were filled with guests, drinking and conversing and flirting, she would have spotted Geoffrey at once, if only on account of his height, and she struggled to contain her disappointment.
A Sinful Deception Page 8
