In his more optimistic moments Carter had told himself the duke’s anger would be swift, sharp, and short-lived. Yet as he stood before his father in the duke’s private study, he grudgingly acknowledged that was not proving to be the case.
“I had to read the announcement in the newspaper,” the duke roared, tossing the offending item on his desk, where it scattered across the dark mahogany. “The newspaper! Was I not owed the common courtesy of being told beforehand, in person?”
“You were not in Town,” Carter answered, raising his voice to be heard above his father’s disapproving bellows. “There was no opportunity.”
“You could have waited. You should have waited.” The duke paused, his eyes narrowing with alarm. “Unless there is a specific need for the marriage to occur with undue haste?”
A chill of anger swept through Carter at the inference. “You dishonor me, sir, by asking such a callous, inappropriate question.” He cared little for his own reputation, for it was hardly stellar. However, he would not allow his future wife’s honor and integrity to be impugned, even by his own father. “The time frame is perfectly acceptable, and I will insist to you that there is no need for a hasty wedding. We are not running off to Gretna Green nor arranging for a ceremony by special license. The banns shall be dutifully read and we will marry in three weeks’ time.”
“Three weeks?” The duke rubbed his hands together. “Hmm, then there is still time for you to reconsider.”
“Sir, you have continually badgered me to get married and now that I have chosen a bride, you wish me to call off the wedding?” Carter’s jaw clenched in anger. He paced off the carpet and onto the intricate parquet floor, his boot heels clicking loudly.
The duke leaned forward, closing his hands on the newspaper spread on his desk. “I want you to call off this wedding, to this particular female. After a reasonable amount of time has passed, I then want you to select a bride from the women on my list. You still have it, don’t you?”
“I do not!” Though in that moment Carter desperately wished he did have the list on his person, just so he could crumple it in his father’s face before tossing it into the fireplace. “I swear, I shall not be held accountable for my actions if you mention that damn list once more, sir. I shall choose my bride, not you.”
The duke’s hand balled into a tight fist. He stood, paced, turned, then banged his closed fist on his desktop. “Why must you be so infernally stubborn?”
“I am your son,” Carter blurted out, not bothering to hide his irritation. “I come by my stubbornness naturally.”
“You get it from your mother’s side of the family,” the duke grumbled. He took a long, deep breath, then slowly sank down into his chair. His face was as dark as a thundercloud until suddenly he smiled. “If you insist upon this course of action, then I insist upon meeting Miss Ellingham immediately.”
Ah, so that’s how he was going to play it. Denied his way, the duke now planned to intimidate and essentially frighten off Miss Ellingham. As if that could ever work! Carter forced an answering smile. “If you cannot control your temper any better than you are, sir, you will meet my fiancée at the church on the morning of our wedding.”
The duke looked at him cautiously, and Carter had the distinct impression his father was weighing the threat in his mind.
“I view your Miss Ellingham as a social upstart and a fortune hunter,” the duke replied. “And I’ll make no bones about the matter. Mark my words, she’s after your title and your money.”
“Perhaps she has fallen in love with me,” Carter suggested casually.
“Fallen in love with your money, you mean.”
Carter squared his shoulders. “Your flattering assessment of my personal charm aside, I firmly believe Miss Ellingham is not a fortune hunter. She is a very comely female, genteel in her upbringing. True, she has no great family connections or wealth, but I have enough of that for the both of us. We will suit, Father. That’s all that matters.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed into sharp points. “You’re damn quick to defend her.”
“She will be my wife and as such deserves every courtesy.”
Gradually the duke’s hard expression faded. “I can see I am wasting my breath arguing the point with you.”
“You are, indeed.”
“All right, then. I will withhold my final judgment until I meet the girl.” The duke took on a serious expression. “You will bring her to dinner this evening.”
“I have plans.”
“Break them.”
Carter gulped, his sense of victory short-lived. He had confidence that his future bride could cope with his father, but she would need time to prepare herself. “I am certain Miss Ellingham is also engaged for the evening.”
The duke waved his hand dismissively. “’Tis far more important for her to meet me and gain my approval of this match. She can be late to whatever event she had planned to attend.”
Carter turned his head and cursed under his breath.
“I heard that,” the duke muttered.
“You were meant to,” Carter countered. He took a deep breath, allowing his anger to cool. Eyeing his father thoughtfully, Carter realized he might as well get the meeting between the duke and Miss Ellingham over with. A day or two would not make that much difference. Either she had the backbone to stomach the duke or else she would have to try to avoid him for a good part of their marriage. “We will be here at eight.”
“Sharp,” the duke commanded, his brows tightly pinched.
Carter flinched, but did not answer. He would need to send an urgent note to his fiancée and beg her indulgence to change her plans. And to sweeten the last-minute request, he would wisely add an expensive bauble as further enticement.
The tersely worded note from Lord Atwood arrived when Dorothea rose from an afternoon nap. She had not been sleeping well at night, making the occasional afternoon rest a necessity if she was to keep her eyes open and her conversation coherent during these late-night social events. Her initial delight at hearing from her fiancé was quickly dispelled when she learned the reason for the message was a request to dine with his father. That very evening.
She had heard the gossip about her future father-in-law and none of it had instilled a great desire to meet him. He was said to be a harsh man, a stickler for propriety, a man much enamored of his own rank and position. Even Lord Dardington had once referred to him as a horror, and he feared no one.
Dorothea highly doubted the meeting was intended to welcome her into the family. Oh, no, she felt certain the duke desired just the opposite.
“Please, Lady Meredith, help me decide what I should wear,” Dorothea pleaded as the two women stood together in front of her open wardrobe. “I do not want to give the duke any reason to find fault with me.”
“If he judges you solely on your appearance, he is even more of a fool than I thought,” Lady Meredith quipped.
Dorothea blanched. “Maybe I should decline the invitation. I could beg off, telling Lord Atwood I was feeling ill.” She cast a hopeful look at Lady Meredith, then belatedly realized there was far too much truth in the statement. She had been feeling decidedly queasy ever since the note arrived.
“You shall never best the duke if you avoid him.” Lady Meredith’s grim expression softened. “You need to let him know that you are serious about your marriage and your new position in society.”
Dorothea nodded and stared at the floor as she considered her options. She needed to be reasonable, even if the duke was not, given the very late hour the invitation was issued. She needed also to remember that she was doing this to accommodate her future husband. It was important that Carter realize she was willing to make sacrifices when necessary. Of course, it was equally important that he understand there were limits to her patience and affability.
“White can give my complexion a dull, washed-out look at times,” Dorothea remarked, questioning the choice of the gown Lady Meredith had selected from the bulging wa
rdrobe. “I think the red silk gown would be better.”
“There are many shades of white,” Lady Meredith protested, holding the gown against Dorothea’s chest. “This one in particular sets off your hair and eyes. The satin sheen is delicate and flattering. Plus, white should effectively complement whatever Lord Atwood has sent you.”
Lady Meredith motioned to the maid, who held out a small black velvet pouch. Hastily untying the gold cord, Dorothea pulled out a pair of teardrop-shaped earrings and a matching emerald pendant. She gasped. The brilliant green of the many-faceted stones shimmered in the fading daylight, dazzling in their sparkle.
“They are magnificent,” Dorothea exclaimed.
“What does the note say?” Lady Meredith asked.
“Beautiful jewels are meant for a beautiful woman. I hope you will favor my request and wear them tonight.” Dorothea sighed. It was a romantic gesture that stirred a variety of complex emotions inside her. Was he wooing her? Trying to please or impress her? Or was he arming her for this meeting with his father? Thinking the latter might be his prime motivation left Dorothea with a vaguely dissatisfied feeling.
“It’s settled. You will wear them tonight with your white gown,” Lady Meredith insisted. “They will give you a regal air and display most effectively to the duke that you are a worthy bride for his son.”
Dubiously, Dorothea accepted the magnificent jewelry, concerned that Lady Meredith had hit upon the most unsettling reason the jewels might have been gifted to her. Yet later that evening, as Dorothea surveyed herself in the cheval glass, her reflection gave her pause. Lady Meredith was right. The gown and jewels gave her a noble, mature look, boosting her flagging confidence. Perhaps the exact reason for the gift was not as important as the result.
Carter’s approving smile when she entered the front hall also gave her a lift. She thanked him prettily for the jewelry and would have even ventured a kiss, had not Lord and Lady Dardington, along with half a dozen servants, been watching.
Carter distracted her with amusing small talk on the carriage ride and she felt herself start to relax. The even mood stayed with her until they divested themselves of their outer garments and passed them to two silent, formally attired footmen.
With Carter by her side, Dorothea followed the butler across the cold marble foyer and willed herself not to shudder. The interior furnishings were even more impressive than the massive, stately exterior of the duke’s mansion, but the overall effect left her feeling cold. They conveyed an impersonal grandeur that money and good taste could not eliminate, a gloominess that made all the inherent beauty of these priceless furnishings seem forbidding.
Her steps faltered and then she felt Carter’s strong hand at her elbow. “Try not to worry. You’ll do fine.”
Dorothea glanced frantically over her shoulder, worried one of the servants who stood like sentry guards every few feet could hear her. “What if the duke doesn’t like me?” she asked, rising high on her toes to whisper in Carter’s ear.
“Then he is an ass.”
The glib statement did not ease her nerves. As if she would ever dare to dismiss a man of rank and privilege so boldly, a man who could create such an opulent environment and live comfortably within it. “I suppose I should have inquired before now, but do you have any sage advice to impart on how best to handle things this evening?”
“You must be yourself, my dear. No need to posture and put on airs. And no false flattery. The duke abhors it.”
Wonderful. Flattery and feigning interest in the other person’s conversation was a social skill Dorothea relied on heavily.
The sound of approaching footsteps brought her thoughts abruptly to the present. With chilled fingers, Dorothea smoothed the white satin of her gown and prepared herself to meet the duke.
He was clad entirely in black, the only exception his white shirt and cravat. The formality of such attire was common among gentlemen, but the duke wore his elegant clothing in a manner that was more somber than most. She could see very little resemblance between father and son and decided Carter must have taken after his mother.
In looks and apparently temperament, thank heavens, for Lord Atwood did not have the brooding, almost morose demeanor his father sported so naturally. Or perhaps he did? With a start, Dorothea realized she had not been around him enough to know how much like his formidable father he truly could be.
Carter introduced her. For a long moment the duke did not acknowledge her, but instead glared sourly at his son. When he at last turned his attention in her direction, Dorothea’s heart lurched. The duke seemed to delight in looking down his aristocratic nose at her, his expression dark and foreboding.
“You’re late,” he said gruffly.
Were they? Dorothea’s mind went blank and her tongue went numb. Flustered, she swooped into a deep, elegant curtsy. The duke’s expression did not alter. As she rose, Dorothea felt a flush of embarrassment. Clearly, the duke was not impressed. This was even more ghastly than she had feared.
“We are not late, sir,” Carter replied. “Given the very short length at which the invitation was extended, I would venture to say we were right on time.”
“Humph.”
“Actually, you are fortunate indeed that we are even here.”
The duke’s eyes flashed with anger. Most people would have been warned to tread carefully, but apparently Carter had a differing view when it came to his father.
“And if we are discontented at any time, we will have to depart early,” Carter added.
Dorothea blinked. Had he lost his mind? He was taunting his father, almost daring him to give them a reason to storm off.
They retired to a drawing room that featured two enormous marble fireplaces evenly spaced along one very long wall. Dorothea kept her eyes on the ornately carved mantel of the one nearest her as she tried to settle her nerves.
The duke engaged his son in conversation, yet while he spoke, he stared at Dorothea. Though it was difficult, Dorothea refused to squirm, vowing she would ignore his impolite glare. His manners were an abomination. Even her uncle Fletcher would not be so rude as to deliberately put a guest ill at ease.
She decided it must be some sort of test. And while she did not understand precisely what was required, she was determined to pass it.
After what felt like an eternity, they were called for dinner. They entered another cavernous room, which boasted a massive dining table that had been polished to a mirror finish. Dorothea counted no fewer than twenty-four chairs as she was escorted down the length of the table.
Her momentary relief at spying three elaborate place settings clustered at one end of the table was dashed when she realized they would now be close enough to converse through the entire meal.
Once they were all settled, the first course was served. It was lobster bisque, her favorite. Yet Dorothea honestly feared if she tried to swallow a spoonful it would not rest quietly in her stomach.
Utilizing a trick Gwendolyn had taught her, she slowly glided her spoon through the hot liquid, then lifted a nearly empty spoon to her lips. The duke and his son appeared to be doing something similar, though they occasionally ate some of the delicate broth. But not much, from what Dorothea could tell.
The plates were cleared and the next course was served. The silence in the room became increasingly unbearable.
Dorothea wished she had the courage to introduce a topic upon which they could all pleasantly converse, but her mind blanked completely. It would be just her luck that she would innocently select something that would enrage the duke, which in turn would cause Carter to explode in a temper and stomp from the room.
She glanced beneath her lashes at Lord Atwood, hoping he would rescue them all by saying something appropriate, but all she received was a brief smile of reassurance before he returned his attention to his dinner plate.
Dorothea felt like screaming.
“I did not attend the Aldertons’ ball last week but I heard his corset snapped in the middl
e of the ballroom floor and he literally burst out of his clothes,” the duke said. “That must have been a sight to behold.”
“It happened on the receiving line,” Dorothea interjected softly.
“Hmm, what did you say? Speak up, girl.”
“I said it happened on the receiving line, Your Grace.”
“And how would you know that tidbit?”
“Because I was there, standing directly in front of him when the strings of his corset broke.”
“It certainly must have caused a racket.” The duke feigned a casual indifference to her remark, but Dorothea could see the true interest glistening in his eyes.
“Actually, the corset strings did not make a sound, but as I curtsied in greeting I could not help but notice Lord Alderton’s girth expanding before my very eyes. In mere seconds, the silver buttons on his waistcoat broke free and shot across the room as if they had been fired from a pistol. There were shrieks of horror from several directions.”
“Ha!” The duke grinned, then leaned forward in his chair. “Did the buttons strike anyone?”
“I don’t believe so, for they could have caused significant hurt, and I saw no blood.”
“Hornsby told me that one nearly shot out his eye,” Carter added, his face also sporting a grin.
“I’m not surprised,” Dorothea muttered.
“What did you do when Alderton started, hmm, expanding?” the duke asked.
“I pretended that nothing at all was amiss. I averted my eyes from the split seams of Lord Alderton’s jacket, commented on the lovely weather and my delight at attending his ball. I even promised him a dance before moving on to greet Lady Alderton, who was completely oblivious to the mishap.”
“She always was a simpleton,” the duke grumbled. “And he is a pompous ass. They are an ideal match in so many ways, each deserving such an irritating spouse.”
How To Seduce A Sinner Page 14
