Least Likely to Marry a Duke

by Louise Allen

  ‘And I still see no sign that you have any idea of the seriousness of what you have done or that you are sorry about anything but the fact that you are being punished,’ he added. ‘You may go.’

  He picked up the topmost list in front of him and stared at it unseeing while six pairs of feet shuffled out of the door and Fitcham cleared his throat and blotted a note.

  Why had she gone? Because she thought he would continue to press her to marry him? Because she misguidedly thought that in London she would attract less attention? That might have worked if the man who had compromised her had not been a duke. Damn it, he missed her. Missed her spiky independence, missed seeing her pace up and down while she argued a problem out with herself. Missed her kisses. If Verity came back they could be...friends?

  That was ridiculous. Unmarried ladies did not become friends with single men. Men and women were different. They might be passionately involved, sexually attracted or form contented marriages based on duty and family life. But friends? Was that what his father had found with his stepmother? Could that have been what held their improbable marriage together? He had assumed his father had been ensnared by a strong woman with undeniable physical appeal, but he was beginning to have an uneasy feeling that there had been more to it than that. That he had misjudged them both. His father had adopted extreme ideas without question, but that did not undermine the basis of what must have been a happy marriage.

  Did he owe it to Claudia to try to be more understanding? Should he re-evaluate his picture of her children’s upbringing? Had they actually been happy and secure in an environment that had made him unhappy and confused? There was no one he could talk to about this, no one except the woman he had driven away.

  ‘The first post, Your Grace.’

  He had not heard Peplow come in. ‘Thank you.’ Will gestured to the desk and picked up the pile of letters before Fitcham could. He sifted through as though dealing cards. Most landed in front of the secretary, but five, clearly personal letters, stayed with him.

  Would Verity have written to him if she needed his help? He doubted it, but he had only seen her handwriting once and would not recognise it.

  He opened the letters. One from his godmother in Kent, one from a tenant at Oulton, disputing a decision over leases. He tossed that to Fitcham. One from Jack Hendry, asking if he was interested in buying a promising young hunter of his... A friend suggesting the making up of a shooting party later in the year... And a scrawled sheet from Chris Bancroft, Marquess of Dalesford, old friend, sportsman and notorious rake.

  What the devil’s going on, Will? The word in the clubs is that you seduced a bishop’s daughter on some island, or that she kidnapped you and had her wicked way with you—you lucky devil—or half-a-dozen other even more improbable stories, all culminating in—nothing. Certainly not orange blossom and wedding bells.

  And the jest is, the damsel in question has arrived in London—bold as you please, the hussy. The old biddies are sharpening their hatpins and the bucks are laying wagers on who will have her first.

  Yours truly wants to know the real story, you dark horse!

  ‘I am going to London.’ Will pushed back his chair, the letter crushed in his hand. ‘First thing tomorrow morning.’ He tugged at the bell-pull. ‘Peplow, send my valet to pack, tell the stables to ready my travelling chaise.’

  Whatever she wanted, whatever she was to him, he was damned if he was going to leave Verity Wingate to the wolves.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘That went very well, I thought,’ Aunt Caroline said as the carriage pulled away from the Queen’s House and began to skirt Green Park on its way back to the Bruton Street townhouse.

  ‘Her Majesty was very gracious.’ Verity still felt as unreal as when they had been ushered through the long corridors to the Queen’s private sitting room. She had made her curtsy at St James’s Palace, of course, swamped in hoops and ostrich feathers and in the company of dozens of other young ladies. But that had been in her first Season, cut short by her father’s illness, and she had been too miserable over Thomas Harrington’s treachery to be overawed.

  Coming face-to-face with the Consort over the teacups was quite another matter. ‘I had not known what to expect, but she is very intelligent, isn’t she?’

  It was one thing to read that the Queen was a keen amateur botanist, much involved with the gardens at Kew, and quite another to actually hold a discussion with her about Mr Banks’s discoveries and the voyages of Captain James Cook. ‘And she is interested in the education of women. I had not known that.’

  ‘That is one reason why I thought she would be sympathetic to you when she realised that you are an intelligent, well-informed young lady and not some fast, wilful girl who has thrown over a duke on a petulant whim. And she has kept her daughters close to her—when I wrote I implied that it was mainly duty to your father that has made you turn away from marriage. She sympathises with that and approves.’

  ‘Will she help me? Does she ever interfere in such a way?’ Verity found she was fidgeting with her skirts and clasped her hands in her lap before she twisted indelible creases into the silk.

  ‘You will be invited to a Drawing Room which will signal approval and the fact that we have been received will soon be widely known—and in the Court Circular. That in itself will not be the final word for the Patronesses. Which reminds me, that must be my next concern, to secure you vouchers.’

  ‘How may I help?’ The prospect of actually being able to do something to help herself was invigorating.

  ‘What we need is a party, one where we may be sure of influential ladies being present. I will see what invitations I have when we are home.’

  * * *

  They went straight to the drawing room. ‘Now, let me see.’ Aunt Caroline took a stack of invitations from her little writing desk and fanned them out. ‘Not a ball, you do not have a suitable gown yet. Not a masquerade, too much of a romp which is not the impression we want to give. Ah, the very thing—Lady Notting’s musical evening. Good food, pleasant music, but not too much of it and the very best of company, for she only invites interesting people.’

  ‘That sounds perfect,’ Verity said. ‘A chance to dress up, meet new people—I cannot wait.’

  It might be an ordeal if the visit to the Queen had failed to work its magic and she was cut, but she had to be optimistic and it was a long time since she had enjoyed social events in London, not since her father’s illness. Not that she resented their quiet life or the company of her close friends, but even so, country society did tend to dinner parties and small dances where the same people met over and over again.

  ‘And tomorrow we will embark upon some serious shopping. You have a few pretty gowns—the one you are wearing is charming—and the half-dress gown you showed me will be very suitable for this evening, but you need a complete new wardrobe, my dear, and all the accessories. No one will think you have anything to hide if you dress in the first stare of fashion. Modestly hiding yourself among the wallflowers will not serve our purpose at all.’

  ‘But my allowance—’

  ‘Your papa sent me a draft on his bank, Verity. He wants this belated Season to succeed as much as we do.’

  * * *

  ‘Aylsham! What a pleasure, I had no idea you were in town.’

  Will bowed over Lady Notting’s hand and then kissed her cheek. ‘Aunt Julia. I am hoping that if you had known, you would have invited me and, as it is, I am presuming on the forgiveness of my favourite godmother and honorary aunt not to have me thrown out as a gatecrasher. My coming to London was in the nature of a last-minute decision or I would have called.’

  ‘You have, if I recall rightly, six godmothers and you call all of them aunt, so do not think I will fall for your outrageous flattery, young man.’ Lady Notting dealt him a painful rap over the knuckles with her fan, but she was smiling, as he had known she would. ‘
I am glad to see you out and about. Dreadful business with your father and then to lose your grandfather so soon afterwards—enough to cast anyone into the dismals. But you can enjoy yourself this evening, even if you are as much a stickler for form as the old Duke. It is all very decorous and respectable. No dancing, no light music—perfectly acceptable for a man in mourning.’

  ‘Ma’am, you are very gracious, but I am holding up the line. Perhaps we may talk later.’

  Will walked through into the first of the reception rooms, his progress impeded by having to stop and speak to virtually everyone he passed. When he had merely been Lord Calthorpe he would have exchanged bows with most of the older ladies and gentlemen; now his rank overcame the disparity in ages and everyone wanted to chat. And, he realised, they wanted favours, however subtle they were about it. Some had sons and wanted his advice on where they might find useful occupation—he filed a few names away as possible librarians for Stane Hall. One had a younger brother in holy orders, looking for a living. Any number of hopeful mamas were too subtle to thrust their daughters at him directly but murmured of this or that select gathering at which they hoped they might see him.

  He reached the second room, congratulating himself on not having committed to anything or anybody, and took a glass of champagne from a proffered tray with the sense of having earned it. No wonder his grandfather had developed that air of cool distance. It had not been an exaggerated sense of his own position, but sheer self-defence.

  He had arrived in the early morning after travelling through the night with his valet and the essential baggage. His groom, following with his riding horses and the travelling coach to carry the rest of the luggage, had arrived in the early evening.

  His townhouse in Grosvenor Square had, naturally, been ready to receive him even though there had been no time to send ahead. It did no harm to keep the staff on their toes in case they began to be complacent and think his standards were lower than his grandfather’s had been, he had thought as he handed Gustav, the butler, his hat and gloves.

  The footman he had sent out to discover what engagements the ladies from Bruton Street had accepted returned within the hour with the information that had brought him here to Lady Notting’s musicale. Convenient that she was his godmother, but he sincerely doubted that he would have been unwelcome wherever he had turned up.

  Will looked around as he sipped his champagne. The company in this room was rather livelier, perhaps because the number of footmen with trays of drinks seemed more numerous here or perhaps because the strains of the string quartet were penetrating more loudly which made everyone speak up.

  After a while his ears became used to the noise and he began to pick up conversations. There was no sign of Verity or her aunt, which was perhaps why he could hear nothing about her, he thought. Then Lady Marchmont turned from a cluster of matrons in the opposite corner, saw him, raised both eyeglass and eyebrows and favoured him with a stiff inclination of her head. Will responded with a bow. Colour high, she turned back and all the ladies in her group glanced in his direction. Will bowed again and strolled away.

  Interesting. They had heard the gossip, clearly. But where was Miss Wingate? Or had they run her off already with their sharp tongues?

  Over in the far corner a group of younger men were clustered around one of the window seats. The object of their attention must be sitting down, because Will could not see what was amusing them so, but then he heard a peal of laughter and knew. Verity was in the middle of whatever was going on. He strolled up to the group and listened, relieved that she sounded happy and that she had found some friends, at least. Although he would have preferred respectable matrons to young bucks.

  ‘Miss Wingate, you are teasing us! I cannot believe that such a catalogue of disasters could have happened,’ one gentleman protested.

  ‘But I assure you, every word is true,’ Verity said earnestly. ‘The church doors were open because of the heat, the choristers were right in the middle of rehearsing a new anthem and a swarm of bees from Widow Fawcett’s hives encountered Farmer Partington’s herd of pigs being moved from one field to another. The pigs stampeded, followed by the bees, right into the church, upset the buckets of flowers that the ladies were arranging for Sunday and Mr Partington’s prize sow was last seen careering across the village green with a garland of roses around her neck. The choir boys were stung, the organist fainted and Mrs Norris refused to do the flowers again.’

  ‘I had no idea life in the country was so entertaining.’ That was Viscount Sedgley, one of the worst flirts in London in Will’s opinion.

  ‘It often is,’ Verity said. ‘I expect it is because everyone mixes so much more.’

  ‘But you are not so enamoured of it that you are going to rush back to your village and abandon us, are you, Miss Wingate?’ The Viscount’s voice had become a deep purr.

  ‘I do not know, Lord Sedgley.’ Verity gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence. ‘It all depends on how diverting I find London.’

  Sedgley was clearly expected to read that as an invitation to help her find entertainment. Will, admiring the technique but far from amused, stepped forward. That was dangerous and it would be fatal for her prospects if she was thought to be fast.

  As he thought it, one wag said, with a laugh, ‘How about boating on the lake, Miss Wingate?’

  Will touched the man in front of him on the shoulder and moved into the gap as Verity said, ‘Now that is very unkind, sir. As if I have not already been given a dislike of lakes after those impossible children stranded me on an island!’ Her laugh was a little shaky now.

  ‘You and Ayl—’ the man began, then saw Will and melted back into the crowd with a muttered, ‘Oh, hell.’

  ‘Miss Wingate. How charming to meet a neighbour so far from home. I trust I find you well?’

  She was pale, although smiling bravely. When she saw him all the remaining colour fled. He put out one hand, ready to catch her if she fainted, but Verity stood and dipped a curtsy, an exaggerated acknowledgement of his rank in the circumstances. ‘Your Grace. I am very well, thank you. And, as you say, it’s so delightful to meet and so unexpected.’ Will was conscious of the rest of the group, their attention riveted on the interaction and on Verity’s pale cheeks.

  ‘I had unexpected urgent business in town. I hope I may call on you—you are staying with Lady Fairlie, I imagine?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she said, her colour coming back and her eyes sending him a message he had no trouble interpreting. She resented him coming to town, thought he was making things even more difficult for her. If she was falling into company with the likes of Sedgley she was making complications all of her own. ‘I am sure my aunt will be delighted to receive you.’

  But you will not.

  ‘I am the bearer of the abject apologies of my scapegrace siblings, who are smarting under their various punishments,’ he said lightly. If they spoke of what had happened on the lake openly it could only help to establish her innocence.

  ‘I do hope they are not punished too severely, Your Grace. It was youthful high spirits, not malice, as I observed to Her Majesty only this afternoon.’

  That was a well-placed bombshell, Will thought appreciatively as a whisper of speculation ran round the group. Lady Fairlie was a skilled player.

  Verity was learning fast, too, he realised. Just when the interest in the two of them was becoming oppressive she turned back to Sedgley. ‘What do you think I might find diverting, my lord? My aunt is threatening me with a positively tyrannous schedule of shopping and fittings. My entire wardrobe is too provincial for words, apparently and I long for escape.’

  ‘A drive in the park, perhaps, Miss Wingate?’

  ‘Not behind your famous matched greys, Lord Sedgley?’

  ‘But of course, Miss Wingate. Nothing else would be worthy of you.’

  Now how did you hear about those? Will wondered, trampling
firmly on the instinct to rush off to Tatt’s the next morning and buy an even more spectacular pair to put the Viscount’s nose out of joint. Surely Verity was not trying to provoke him into showing possessiveness, or, worse, jealousy? She was going to be sorely disappointed if that was the case.

  On the other hand, Sedgley had a certain reputation that she could have no idea about. Will was in no position to forbid her to drive with the man—that would either provoke her into rebellion or reveal more about their acquaintance than was healthy, or possibly both. But he needed to keep an eye on her. Intelligent and courageous she might be, but he doubted Verity had the experience to extricate herself from a lecherous buck in one of London’s parks’ quieter corners when she was trapped feet above the ground on a high-perch phaeton.

  Will let an expression of faint ennui cross his face and sketched a bow. ‘Miss Wingate. I do trust you have a pleasant stay.’ He turned and strolled away before she had a chance to react, moved behind a gaggle of betoqued dowagers who stopped talking so fast that they must have been deep in speculation about him and side-stepped from there to a bank of potted ferns and lilies which brought him neatly round behind Sedgley’s well-tailored shoulders, just visible through the fronds.

  ‘Tomorrow is not convenient? Well then, shall we say the day after at two? Not the fashionable hour, but we will find Hyde Park far less crowded. So much more pleasant, do you not agree? Excellent.’

  Will moved back into the room. He did not have his phaeton and team in town, and his own riding horses must be rested after their long journey, but he did have friends with saddle horses who would be glad to lend him a mount. And their company.