“Good. Just don’t forget to fight yourself, too, all right?”
“I promise.” Starr smiled. “Now, let’s get some sleep and I can console myself with the clear and certain knowledge that I will never again have to see Lord Hayle.”
Scarlett nodded. “Good night, dearest.” She kissed Tara on the cheek, they turned off the lamps and climbed into their beds. But before Scarlett drifted off she had one last thought…
Poor Tara. That was not the last of Ryder Maitland or I have learned nothing of men in the last few weeks. I just hope he survives their next encounter…
Chapter 14
Talon stood on the steps of the Blackwell home, trying to gather his courage. The last time he’d made a call there, he’d not hesitated and then proceeded to lose more ground than he’d gained. He’d mistaken the thrill of a temporary battle for a victory in war. Scarlett Blackwell was not a woman to be overtaken in one small skirmish.
He wished to speak to her as soon as possible to hear how his rivalry with Chesterton had played out at Sussex House. Elgin’s encouragement was a godsend to Talon and he wanted to make sure that Scarlett had received the same from Chesterton to put her conscience at ease.
He rang the bell and waited until it opened.
“May I help you?”
“I am the Duke of Stafford here to see Miss Scarlett Blackwell.”
“She is not currently at home, Your Grace. The ladies have gone out to call on friends but I do expect them back soon if you would like to wait.”
“I would. Thank you.”
The butler showed him to the same ground floor library he had on his previous visit. “I am Godwin. If you require anything, please ring the bell.”
Talon was left alone to slowly circle the room and this time his examination of the shelves was much more productive. Sciences, art, history, philosophy, world religions and even a small section on medical studies and the physiology of mammals. He pulled a slim well-worn volume whose title had worn away to take a closer look.
Talon read the title aloud from the first pages. “Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions, by John Donne.”
“It is a depressing thing,” a man’s voice cut through his solitude from the open doorway and Talon wheeled about still holding the book in his hand.
He recognized the man almost instantly from the balcony at Pellham’s—and a new dread began to form in Talon’s stomach. “Is it?”
The gentleman approached him, his expression impossible to interpret.
Coloring like a lion. Oh, God. I cannot be that unlucky.
“A collection of prose exploring the depths and meanings of sickness a mortal can endure. I think the old codger was trying to find a silver lining in his own misery or at the very least, find a way to pay his bills by writing of something universal: suffering.”
“The book is well worn.”
“My daughter, Starr, cannot put it down.”
“Mr. Blackwell. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Talon Rush, the Duke of Stafford and a friend of the Duke of Chesterton who I believe you know.”
The man did not move to extend a hand or flutter about over courtesies. Instead he crossed his arms, nonplussed. “I am Ashe Blackwell. I am a father. It is all the title I possess.”
And all he needs to have to outrank me at this moment.
“I had hoped to speak to Scarlett to…”
“To apologize for another discussion on women’s education?”
“She won that debate and one or two since that night to change my mind, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Opposing the women of this family on any subject is tantamount to lunacy.” Ashe slowly entered the library, circling wide enough around Talon to make it clear that they were not about to sit down and share a friendly glass of sherry.
“Another lesson learned?” Talon hazarded to ask.
“I’m not going to compliment you for confusing bravery with ignorance.”
“Understood.”
“I imagine it will be a long and unfruitful wait, Stafford.” Ashe poured himself a brandy. “I’ll tell Scarlett that you were here.”
Talon left before his own temper uselessly reasserted itself at the rude and abrupt end to the visit. And for the first time in his life, he walked out of a room feeling more like a whipped schoolboy than a peer of the realm.
Dear God, I think I’ve underestimated every Blackwell under this roof.
* * *
Ashe held his breath until he thought he heard the front door close and then downed the brandy in his glass. Deterring dukes was not a sport for the weak-willed but he was extremely determined. He hadn’t liked the way Stafford had spoken to Scarlett on the balcony that night and even if the man had apologized since then…there was something about him that set Ashe’s teeth on edge.
He couldn’t say what it was exactly. The man was handsome enough, a good age for Scarlett, impeccably dressed and possessed an enviable sense of fashion, apparently wise enough to retreat when told and annoyingly enough, it was hard to say that being a duke and possessing an estate and no less than four houses was a disadvantage.
Ashe defiantly poured himself a second drink. It was early in the day to be so reckless but he was sure there wasn’t a father in England who wouldn’t have encouraged him.
“Death to all suitors,” he muttered. “Well, perhaps not death but they should have to wrestle something with teeth before they can ask my Buttons to dance…”
“Mr. Blackwell?”
“Yes, Godwin.” Ashe answered without turning to face the butler. “I was nattering away and lamenting that the footmen aren’t better armed.”
“Armed? Did you mean to say you wished them to carry pistols?”
“Something more intimidating. Pikes? Sabers? Battle axes?”
“I’ll speak to Mrs. Clark about updating their liveries. However at the moment, I meant to tell you that there is another gentleman come to call. There is a Lord Hayle here to see Miss Starr.”
Ashe turned to face him. “You’re joking.”
“I am not,” Godwin replied archly.
“I did not hear the bell ring.”
“It did not have a chance. The men crossed on the stairs and I thought it rude to close the door in Lord Hayle’s face only to force him to go through the ritual of ringing the bell or knocking.”
“We must have a talk about the benefits of using every impediment in our arsenal, Mr. Godwin, to keep these men at bay. But, as you’ve already let him in—by all means. I’ll see him in here.”
“As you wish.” Godwin was as unflappable as ever and left to go collect Ashe’s next victim.
Ashe sighed, then smiled. I’m getting rather good at this.
He waited to face his next adversary and then sobered quickly when Lord Hayle proved to be every bit as difficult to find fault with upon first inspection as Stafford. He looked to be about twenty-six years of age, fit and lean, with such an earnest expression on his face it almost made Ashe wince. He looked like a poet except that his rich tailored clothing betrayed that he was not starving in a garret at the expense of his soul. There was also a cut on his nose and the shadow of a black eye but it made him look a little more human and less like a Gainsborough painting off a wall—in improvement from Ashe’s point of view. The man was also holding a large bouquet of spring flowers. Was I ever that young and sincere?
“I am Ryder Maitland, the Duke of Chesterton’s nephew and…Mr. Blackwell, I had not expected the honor of meeting you today.”
“I expect you’d hoped to see my daughters and not myself.”
“I brought these for Miss Starr Blackwell. I should like to speak to her directly, if that is possible.”
“It is not. She is not here at the moment. Do you want to leave your card?”
“And condemn these to a trash bin?” Ryder laid the flowers on a low table by a reading chair. “Perhaps not.”
He had Ashe’s complete attention now. Ashe walked toward him. “May I ask what kind of ca
ll this was supposed to be? What the purpose of your direct conversation might have been with my daughter?”
“It was to be an apology.”
God, he is honest and sincere, isn’t he?
“Are you a villain?” Ashe asked with a straight face—barely.
“I don’t think villains bother to show up with flowers and apologies.”
“Don’t they?” Ashe tried to look as if he were mulling it over. “The cleverest villains would. I would if I were a villain. Nothing more ridiculous than snarling and lurking about and then complaining that for some strange reason, no one trusts you… Seems backward to me. The novelists always get that wrong.”
“I am not a villain, Mr. Blackwell. I’m sure they’ve already recounted the—it was not my best moment last night at the party. It wasn’t like me at all.”
Ashe’s eyes narrowed and the playfulness he’d been experiencing vanished. “I imagine it wasn’t, but I want to hear your recounting of events. Better yet, what happened to your nose?”
Ryder became very still. “Your daughter struck me with her fan.”
“Why?”
“Because I insulted her.”
“Why?” The question was quieter the second time and far more menacing.
“Because I’m an idiot.”
It was not the answer Ashe expected. Not even close and without willing it, he smiled.
“You probably are.”
“I brought flowers because I was assured that they make a grand and clear gesture of one’s remorse in these instances but…now that I see them,” Ryder said slowly, his face a study in regret, “I think they are merely something else for her to hit me with and not very effectively.”
Ashe nodded slowly. “A cane with a bow on it might have been nicer for that purpose.”
“Mr. Blackwell, I have no excuse for my actions last night beyond stupidity, misguided intentions and the lack of judgment after listening to the worst gossips and malicious tale-bearers in existence. I was wrong about your daughter. I was wrong. I came here not to plead a case to convince Starr of anything more than…to offer her the chance to strike me again if she wished it.”
“Did you touch her?”
“No!”
Ashe took a deep breath. No one had said anything about an incident at the party last night and he wasn’t happy about a conspiracy of silence in his own home. Whatever had happened, from the looks of Ryder Maitland’s face, a small bit of justice had already been meted out.
A very small bit.
“Is it broken?”
“No, sir.”
“Hmm,” Ashe came a touch closer to him. “So you’re quite repentant?”
“Yes.”
“No need for me to break your nose?” Ashe’s gaze narrowed dangerously. “You are absolutely certain that when I do learn the details of this incident that I won’t wish I had taken this opportunity to break your nose?”
Ryder swallowed hard, anxiety flashing in his eyes but he held his ground. “I…don’t know you well enough to make that call but if it would make you feel better then I should offer you the chance and take the blow.”
Ashe nodded. “I do not want to like you. It is a little irritating to me when I like people that I do not wish to like. You, Maitland, are irritating me.”
“I apologize, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Very well. Leave the flowers. I will tell her you thoughtfully brought them by when you heard her mother was unwell.”
“Mrs. Blackwell is ill? I hadn’t realized. I am so sorry to hear of it.”
Ashe sighed, stepping back to sit against one of the library tables. “Caroline loves flowers and let’s leave things there.”
“Of course. I’ll go then. Thank you.” Ryder began to retreat but Ashe stopped him at the library doorway.
“Oh! And Maitland?”
“Yes?”
“You do not know Starr in the slightest, do you?”
“No. I have not had that pleasure or that privilege as of yet.” Ryder clasped his hands behind his back. “And now it may happen only if she allows it…”
“Very irritating,” Ashe sighed again. “Not flowers. Books. Look around you. This is her favorite room in the house. A man who wishes to sincerely apologize or win her over would need to know that.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blackwell.”
“You are welcome. Get out.”
* * *
Ryder left the house as quickly as he could without losing the last delicate shred of his dignity. Meeting any young woman’s father was daunting enough as a bachelor but this—this was a new experience and one he wished he could have avoided. But His uncle hadn’t spoken another word to him after last night’s lecture and breakfast had been the iciest affair known to man. Ryder knew it was entirely on him to repair what he could as quickly as humanly possible, or face the consequences if things could not be repaired; but in any case, there was no redemption to be had hiding in the guest room of his uncle’s London home. So he had headed out, flowers in hand, and walked directly into the strangest interview of his life.
Ashe Blackwell was intimidating, unpredictable and if fate had been kinder, exactly the sort of man one hoped to impress or even to befriend.
I doubt friendship is on the roster presently.
But he did forego breaking my nose, so that’s something positive.
At the very least, I can tell my uncle with complete candor that I did my best to make amends, tried to pay the lady a call and risked my life in the process.
Ryder sighed as he climbed up into his waiting carriage and signaled the driver to go.
And when he tells me to brace myself for another attempt?
God help me.
Books. I’ll have to figure out how I can use books…
Chapter 15
After calling on Mrs. Gayle West for luncheon and a rather clandestine check of Caroline’s health, the Blackwell women began the carriage ride home. Caroline eyed them both suspiciously since they had been especially well-behaved and altogether too quiet for most of the day.
“Dare I ask how things went last night?”
Starr looked up at her, a flash of misery in her eyes. “You could dare but—I don’t feel daring enough to discuss it.”
Caroline made a careful study of them both. “All this time, all these years, we’ve shared so much. But lately I feel excluded, even unwelcome in your lives. It is as if you have mistaken me for someone else who does not love you beyond measure and desires nothing more than to have your trust.”
“Mother! Of course we love and trust you.” Scarlett answered quickly. “Starr just had—a difficult moment with a young Lord Hayle. He mistook her for someone else, there was a misunderstanding and she…”
“Yes?”
“I hit him on the nose with my fan,” Starr said, her voice almost too soft to hear.
“You did?” Caroline blinked in shock. “You truly did?”
Scarlett nodded, smiling wickedly. “Just like a puppy! It was very effective.”
“Scarlett,” Caroline chided gently. “You mustn’t look so pleased when a man is set down in public. It isn’t ladylike to glory in the defeat of others.”
“I wasn’t glorying in the man’s humiliation,” Scarlett protested. “I was being supportive of my sister’s courage and stunning speed with that ivory and lace fan she borrowed from you.”
“It wasn’t damaged. In case—in case you were worried,” Starr added quickly.
Caroline shook her head. “I wasn’t. The fan is expendable whereas my daughter’s well-being and happiness are not.”
“I thought him very handsome, even after she’d nearly broken his nose.” Scarlett said mischievously. “What did you think, Starr?”
“I thought he was the most handsome man I have ever had the privilege to despise,” Starr sighed. “One has daydreams about meeting a man like that but it never occurred to me that it would end in bloodshed. Mother, Scarlett won’t hear me say it but I think I am really
not suited to the challenges of a London Season.”
Scarlett looked out the carriage window, unwilling to engage in a battle with her beleaguered twin. She couldn’t bear to be without her ally but she also couldn’t bear to go directly against Tara.
“Starr, no one is suited for the challenges of a London Season. They are simply very skillful at pretending otherwise.” Caroline said. “I am so sorry that this Lord Hayle was unkind to you. But I must say, that if you withdraw now people will say it was because of this exchange, because of whatever it was that he said. The worst lie carries weight only when you retreat. Better to stand your ground, dearest, and better yet, to stand it with panache.”
“You sound like Father!” Starr exclaimed in shock.
“There is a certain power in being courageous when you feel it the least.”
“The best defense against an unfriendly world…” Scarlett added softly.
“You’d support any plan that means we have to dress up and go somewhere where there might be musicians at the ready,” Starr countered. “I’m exhausted from changing my clothes six times a day! Who in the world thinks this is productive or useful to constantly be chasing down matching gloves?”
“I know. I know it feels cumbersome, dearest.” Caroline leaned over to touch her hand. “You are cursed to inherit my aversion to fashions. I am sorry for it.”
“Would that I could just embrace my failings! I would be happy to dress in flannel sacks and put a halt to all of it.” Starr began to smile as the mischievous plan began to take shape in her mind’s eye. “No more invitations to bother with… No more worries… I can just hide in a corner and hold coats.”
Scarlett kicked her playfully in the ankles. “I shall place a bet that Lord Hayle would think you very pretty in flannel.”
“He does not think of me at all! Except to deride me publicly for seducing his elderly uncle!”
Caroline gasped. “Is that what he said?”
“Mother, his uncle is the Duke of Chesterton and some people are not very pleased that he has been paying me some attention, but I know that His Grace will see to Lord Hayle and it will never happen again.” Scarlett’s distress was impossible to hide. “And if he doesn’t, well…Starr can hit him with her fan again?”
The Wild Duchess/The Willful Duchess (The Duchess Club Book 1) Page 14
