“But you were always so busy yourself, so dedicated to the needs of the parish.”
“That was later,” she said, smiling ruefully. “After the first few years I realized that I was not only making your father miserable, but myself as well. So I began to do what I could to assist him when he helped those needy families in the parish, and before long we were happy again and I was surprised to realize that I had found my own calling as well. But the difference between your father and I and William and Clarissa is that William’s work takes him farther away than just the next village. And even if she were to take an interest in Egyptology, it would do her no good. He would still be gone more often than he is home.”
“I still don’t understand why they married in the first place,” Lucas said.
“You were away with the army,” Lady Michael said, “but at the time, William had just taken his post with Lord Hurston. I don’t think he realized that his position would require as much travel it did. And, like most men, William has been known on occasion to lose his senses in the presence of a pretty face.”
He shook his head. “No matter what she says, I won’t give up the search, Mama.”
“I don’t believe she really expects you to, my dear.” She leaned forward to squeeze his hand. The touch was brief but comforting. “But she desperately needs someone to rail at and as head of the family you are a convenient target.
“Now.” Lady Michael’s tone was brisk. “Let’s speak of happier matters. What measures have you taken to find a bride for yourself?”
“Good Lord, I’m hardly eager to marry with my brother’s example to warn me away from it.”
“What of the example your father and I set for you?”
“I’d always supposed that you were the model of a happy marriage, but your revelation today makes me doubt myself.”
“Oh,” she said chidingly. “Those were the early years. It takes a little time after the novelty wears off for a couple to hit their stride. And your papa and I were gloriously happy. Make no mistake.” Her eyes softened. “There is not a day that passes when I do not wish to share some bit of news or some observation with him, and then I am heartbroken all over again to find him gone.”
Lucas wished there were something more substantial than words to comfort her with. “I miss him too.”
“He would be so proud of you, my love. Never doubt that.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.
“Now, about this bride of yours,” she began again. “We are to attend the Duchess of Bewle’s ball this evening. I do hope you will not spend the whole evening in the card room. Though your leg prevents you from dancing, you are permitted to stroll about the room with young ladies, you know.”
Will’s disappearance, though it cast a pall on their entertainments, did not prevent the family from attending the various ton social functions. And Lucas had made a habit of late to go to those events where he expected to see members of the Egyptian Club in attendance. His leg did ache, but he needed to attend, if only to apologize to Miss Hurston. It was a meeting he looked forward to with anticipation.
Unbidden, an image of Miss Hurston, her cheeks flushed in agitation, her curves accentuated by a revealing evening gown, rose in his mind. Perhaps seeing her again wouldn’t be so unpleasant after all.
“I will stroll with at least one young lady this evening,” he said, careful not to let his thoughts show on his face lest his mother jump to unfounded conclusions and start planning a wedding. “I promise you, Mama.” Perhaps his leg was feeling a bit better after all.
* * *
“You met the Duke of Winterson?” Lady Madeline Essex, a pretty, petite blonde, nearly dropped her teacup in her excitement. “Is he as handsome as everyone says? Does he appear rakish? I have heard that he exudes a delicious air of danger wherever he goes. Does he, do you think?”
“She can hardly tell you if you keep peppering her with questions, Maddie.” Miss Juliet Shelby, eminently sensible despite her flame-red hair, leaned forward to move a stack of sheet music from the nearest chair.
It was hard to remain indifferent to news about the only unwed duke in England who still had all of his own teeth accosting her cousin in the street.
Before approaching her stepmama about her newfound need to become fashionable, Cecily had directed the coachman to the Grosvenor Square address of Lord Shelby, where she found her cousins, Madeline and Juliet, tucked into Juliet’s little sitting room bickering over which musician to invite to the next meeting of their Salon for the Edification of Ladies. All discussion of which was dropped as soon as Cecily informed them of her encounter with the Duke of Winterson that morning. They might be scholarly, but they were not dead, after all.
“I will tell you everything if you will pour me a cup of tea, Maddie.” Cecily had skipped breakfast and she reached eagerly for a ginger biscuit before collapsing into the chair opposite her cousins.
They interacted with the ease of friendship and long acquaintance, each seated in her own place at what they’d dubbed the Talking Table, in honor of their usual activity when they were all three seated around it. Theirs was the sort of affection that can only be forged through shared hardship.
When Violet had married her father when Cecily was still quite small, the girl had had no inkling of just what ripples their match had sent forth into the social world. Unknown to the young Cecily, her stepmama was one of the Fabulous Featherstone sisters, whose arrival in London in the season of 1799 had set the ton on its proverbial ear. Though their origins, as the daughters of an obscure country parson in the wilds of Yorkshire, were hardly impressive, Violet, Rose, and Poppy had something stronger: beauty, grace, and cunning. Before they were in town for more than a week every hostess in the Beau Monde was clamoring to have them in attendance. Brummell declared them to be originals, and the Prince of Wales was rumored to be dangling after all three of them, albeit not with marriage in mind. Thus were the Fabulous Featherstones made.
When the newly widowed Lord Hurston had married the eldest sister, Violet, St. George’s Hanover Square had been full to bursting with guests. In short order, Rose had married Lord Shelby, famous for his diplomatic endeavors, and Poppy had tamed the wild Earl of Essex. When their daughters had arrived, Cecily had been pleased to have playmates for the family gatherings that are a staple of any large family. By the time they made their own social debuts, the three had become the best of friends.
Unfortunately, being the daughters of such famed beauties had created expectations in the ton that were unrealistic. And as is often the case with celebrity, by the time the cousins made their debuts, backlash had set in. They were hardly antidotes, but in the time-honored tradition of asinine wags everywhere, one such wit had dubbed the cousins the Ugly Ducklings as a play on the Fabulous Featherstones. Nevermind that the duckling in the fairy tale turned into a swan.Society being what it was, there was little chance for the three young ladies to redeem themselves, much less point out the error.
Which was all the same to the cousins. Cecily had little interest in social affairs—except when they afforded her an opportunity to discuss her intellectual pursuits. Juliet would just as soon spend her evening practicing on the pianoforte or working on her own compositions—especially given that a childhood injury had left her unable to dance. And Madeline was far too outspoken to make it through an evening’s entertainment without inadvertently offending someone, so she often used her time with the dowagers and wallflowers gathering fodder for the novel she was writing.
They might not be the most fashionable of young ladies, Cecily reflected, but they were by far the most interesting.
“So,” Juliet prodded, “tell us all. It is not every day that an Ugly Duckling gets the opportunity to meet a handsome prince. Or duke.”
Cecily frowned. “Well, he was hardly princelike. When he discovered who I was he practically ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.”
“Th
at’s hardly fair.” Maddie’s blond brows drew together. “You weren’t even on the expedition where his brother disappeared.”
“Since when do gentlemen operate based on the concept of fairness?” Juliet bit into a ginger biscuit. “Especially gentlemen with newly inherited dukedoms.”
“Given that his brother is missing, I cannot hold his coldness against him,” Cecily said with a sigh. “Though I would have thought he would agree to help me since Papa is in such dire straits now.”
Both of Cecily’s cousins sobered at the mention of Lord Hurston.
“How is he today?” Juliet asked, reaching out to squeeze Cecily’s hand.
“The same.” Cecily could not keep the slight tremor from her voice. “He is still unable to speak, and I am convinced that the bleeding and purgatives that Dr. Fairfax prescribed are doing him more harm than good. He is getting weaker and shows no signs of improvement.”
“Dearest,” Maddie said, “what can we do? How can we help?”
Cecily sighed. “That is just it. There is nothing to be done. We are simply forced to wait it out. There have been some cases where an almost full recovery has been achieved. But there are others…”
She did not say it, but her cousins knew what outcome she spoke of. It was what they all feared.
“In the meantime,” Cecily said in what she hoped was a bracing tone, “I will try to get my hands on Papa’s diaries for his latest trip and clear his name of these ridiculous allegations that he killed William Dalton.”
“I am appalled that anyone who knows Uncle Hurston even entertains such ludicrous notions.” Maddie shook her head in disgust, sending her already messy blond chignon into further disarray. “It’s almost as vile as the curse rumors.”
Juliet echoed the sentiment. “But how can you use the journals to prove his innocence if the club refuses to let you see them? You can hardly break in and steal them.”
“Oh, I shall have them,” Cecily said with conviction. “And I will do so by using the club’s own rules against it.”
Quickly she told them about the rule her father had put in place that would only allow the wives of current members to enter the club.
“When he created the rule, of course,” Cecily went on, “Papa assumed that I would be marrying David soon. It could never have occurred to him that we would dissolve our engagement and I’d be barred from the club.”
“Yet another thing to blame David for,” Juliet said, her auburn brows bunching together in a frown. Neither Juliet nor Madeline were overly fond of Cecily’s faithless fiancé, who had been found in a compromising position with another young lady and had been forced to wed her instead of Cecily.
He wasn’t Cecily’s favorite person, either.
Still, she didn’t want to get sidetracked by rehashing their old grievances against her erstwhile betrothed.
“At any rate, the rule is in place now and there is nothing we can do to have it changed. I have no doubt that Papa’s illness has been seen as a blessing by some club members, who have been waiting for the right moment to unseat him from his leadership position. They will hardly countenance having his daughter run tame there. Besides, I have asked Lord Fortenbury to return the journals and he insists that he doesn’t have them. Which is, of course, a lie.”
“So, how will you get in?” Madeline leaned forward, as if she wished to break down the door herself.
“I’ll marry a club member, of course.”
“Good Lord, Cecily.” Juliet laughed. “I believed you for a moment, you goose.”
“Oh, I am deadly serious,” Cecily said, taking a sip of tea.
“What?” Madeline gaped. “You would marry just to get into the club? Surely there is an easier way.”
“One that would not involve matrimony,” Juliet added.
“I think I would enjoy the freedoms that come with being a married woman.”
“But what of the restrictions?” Juliet asked with a frown. “You can hardly expect to marry someone who will let you do as you please. I doubt there is a man alive who is that easygoing.”
“So long as he allows me to continue my work with the Ladies’ Egyptological Society, I don’t care what sort of temperament he has.”
“But how can you set about it in such a cold-blooded fashion?” Madeline demanded. “Even after what happened with David, don’t you wish to find someone you can love? Or for whom you hold some kind of affection?”
“Love is the last thing I am interested in,” Cecily said baldly. “I had quite enough of that from David Lawrence and all it got me was a broken heart. No, I will be quite content with a marriage of convenience. And if I choose wisely, I might even be able to find someone with whom I share a love of scholarship.”
“It all sounds so…” Juliet paused, as if she were trying her best to spare Cecily’s feelings.
Cecily felt a rush of affection for her cousins. She took them both by the hand.
“Don’t fret,” she told them with a grin. “I won’t enter into any match lightly. But if I am to retrieve my father’s journals it is the only way. And if Papa should die of his illness, then my marrying will remove a burden from Violet’s shoulders. I certainly don’t wish to live with Cousin Rufus.”
“When compared with a life lived with Rufus and his toadying wife, marriage does seem like a sensible option,” Juliet said, brushing biscuit crumbs from her hands.
“So, what next?” Maddie asked. “If you intend to husband-hunt you won’t be able to do it from between the chaperones and the wallflowers.”
“No, I won’t,” Cecily agreed. “Isn’t it lucky for me that I have one of the loveliest, most socially savvy ladies in the Beau Monde as my stepmother?”
* * *
Upon her return to Hurston House, Cecily found her stepmother working on her embroidery in the sitting room attached to her husband’s sickroom. Even in the midst of all this drama Lady Hurston was stunning. Her dark hair, which shone blue-black in the sunlight, was arranged simply in a tasteful chignon, and her royal-blue morning gown highlighted the porcelain of her complexion and the blue of her eyes. Her forty-one years showed only around her eyes, which since Lord Hurston’s illness had grown more disheartened as time passed.
Seeing Cecily enter the room, Violet stood. “Darling, how was your visit with the girls? Have you had luncheon? Tea? I’ll ring for some.”
Nodding her assent, Cecily sat in the chair opposite where Violet had been. It was chilly for spring and the warmth of the fire felt good after her carriage ride.
“Juliet and Madeline send their love,” she said. Then sobering, she asked, “How is Father? Any better?”
There was a slight pause as Violet thought about her response.
“He is no worse,” she said carefully, as if speaking of her husband’s condition would bring on further troubles. “But he is also no better. In fact, I believe since his last cupping he is weaker.”
It had been thus ever since a litter bearing the stricken man had arrived at the front door of the Hurston town house. The knowledge that Hurston was ill had been difficult, of course, but realizing the extent to which his apoplectic fit had affected his brain was devastating to those who knew just how keen his mind had always been. In the months since, his lack of progress and the hours both Violet and Cecily spent at his bedside, seeing him in such suffering, had taken its toll.
Knowing it would divert Violet’s mind from the gravity of Lord Hurston’s condition, Cecily changed the subject.
“What would you say if I asked you to assist me with another matter?” Not waiting for an answer, she pressed on before she could change her mind. “I need your help refurbishing my wardrobe.”
Violet’s blue eyes went wide. Quickly, she hopped up, took Cecily by the arm and ushered her through the connecting door to her dressing room. Safely out of the sickroom, she let out a muffled squeal. “Huzzah! My dear girl, whatever has caused you to change your mind?”
Cecily bit her lip. She was torn between
revealing her real reason for wanting to transform herself, and simply fobbing off her stepmother with a tale of nursing a tendre for some likely gentleman. The image of Winterson’s handsome face invaded her imagination, but she ruthlessly suppressed it. He was far too handsome for his own good. And his military background likely meant he was used to giving orders. Which made him the last man on earth she’d ever wish to marry.
In the end, she decided a half-truth would be enough to whet Violet’s matchmaking appetite though it meant acknowledging a possibility neither of them relished. “I have decided that since Cousin Rufus has all but taken a measuring tape to the drawing room window coverings, it would be prudent of me to ensure that I have some means of looking after myself should…”—she paused here with very real emotion—“something happen to Papa.”
Violet’s eyes swelled with unshed tears. Cecily did not like to dwell on such an unhappy topic, but it was something Dr. Fairfax had warned them about since Lord Hurston had first been carried off the ship and into his sickbed. It was an unfortunate truth that victims of apoplexy were liable to follow any number of paths in the course of their illness. And many of them ended with the same dire result. Though the physician was one of the most reputable in Harley Street, he could do no more than ensure that the prescribed therapy of cupping and purging was carried out with astonishing, and often alarming, regularity. And since there had been little change in Lord Hurston, despite the added application of ice water to his forehead every afternoon, both Cecily and Violet had been forced to consider just what they would do in the event that the unthinkable happened and Lord Hurston succumbed to his illness.
“Oh, how I hate to hear you speak of it, dearest,” Violet said, taking Cecily’s hand in hers and leading her to the sitting area in her rooms. “But I do think you are wise to have made this decision. While it is certainly possible that your father will improve, I do know that he would not wish for you to go on for very long without having some gentleman to whom you could turn for guidance and protection. And I am afraid that your father does not hold your cousin Rufus in very high esteem in that regard.”
How to Dance With a Duke Page 3
