‘If you ladies will excuse me, I am going to visit the home farm this afternoon.’ What he really needed to do was get away from his mother before he tossed her out on her ear.
Chapter Thirteen
‘I suppose it is time I went down,’ Minette said to Christine.
‘Yes, mademoiselle.’
The thought of another meal caught between Freddy and his mother made Minette shiver. The way his mother battered him with her disdain explained a great deal about the man. Particularly his chilly distance.
Clearly, his mother held him responsible for her elder son’s death. Shouldn’t she be happy that one of her sons had survived?
Poor Freddy. She had no trouble imagining his feelings, the guilt laid on him by his mother. Every time she thought about Moreau and the damage he could do to her family, she felt ill. It was why she had to make sure he was stopped.
Christine placed a sprig of silk flowers in her hair. ‘Tout finis.’
‘Thank you.’ She moved away from the mirror and picked up her shawl. Her gown was modest enough but somehow the chilly gaze of the Duchess always made her feel as if she was flaunting her wares.
When Christine opened the door, Minette was surprised to see a young footman loitering outside. He bowed. ‘His Grace’s compliments, Miss Rideau. Dinner will be served in the dining room in the ducal apartments this evening.’
She had never heard of the ducal apartments. There was something about the footman’s expression, the twinkle in his eye perhaps that seemed a little conspiratorial. As if he was privy to some interesting information. Or was it just the novelty of dining en famille? She couldn’t help but be glad if the Duchess had decided to be a little less formal. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the Duchess would give even more free rein to her sharp tongue. She winced.
‘If you would follow me, miss,’ he continued, ‘His Grace asked me to show you the way.’
He led her down the stairs and along a corridor on the ground floor past the library and along a passage that ran at a right angle. This was one of the wings of the house she hadn’t yet seen.
He opened a door and stood back to let her into a room that was very different from anything she had seen in the rest of the house. Not a dining room but a sort of parlour. A room with overstuffed chairs, dark-panelled walls and several rather battered tables. It looked comfortable. Welcoming. And very male.
Freddy strode towards her. ‘I hope you don’t mind. Mother decided not to join us this evening. She is taking dinner on a tray in her room. I thought we might allow ourselves to be a little more comfortable.’
‘Where is here?’
‘This is my suite of rooms. Where I entertain friends without disturbing Mother.’
‘When the footman mentioned the ducal suite I envisaged something different. I like it.’
‘May I offer you a glass of wine? Or sherry? Dinner will be in the room next door. Patterson will let us know when they are ready for us.’
‘Sherry, please.’
While he went to the sideboard against one wall, containing several decanters and glasses, she walked over to the window, which, as she approached, she realised was, in fact, a door out into a shrubbery with a path leading through it to the stables.
‘Have all the Dukes used these apartments?’
He came back with her glass. ‘No. These were the rooms assigned to me once I left the schoolroom.’
The heir at the time no doubt had something far grander in the main part of the house. ‘It all seems very comfortable.’ Unlike the rest of the house, which seemed cold and oppressive.
His shoulders eased and she realised he’d been expecting some sort of criticism with regard to his choice. ‘It is. I spend little time at Falconwood as a rule and these rooms suit me very well.’ He flashed a grin. ‘I like being able to come and go as I please.’
She sipped at her sherry. It was of the finest quality. ‘Something a young man might see as an advantage.’
A smile curved his lips and mischief flashed in his eyes. She had never seen him look quite so approachable. ‘Mmm...’
She laughed at the noncommittal sound.
‘Dinner is served, Your Grace,’ the footman said, entering through the internal door to the room next door.
Freddy held out his arm and led her into the small dining room, panelled to match the previous room with a dining table large enough to seat six comfortably but set for two, the places adjacent to each other and facing yet another French window overlooking the shrubbery. An array of dishes was set out on the table—a duck, asparagus, a meat pie of some sort and a fish in white sauce.
The butler pulled out a chair for her, while Freddy seated himself.
Patterson poured red wine into their glasses and stepped back. ‘Will there be anything else, Your Grace?’
An enquiring glance from Freddy had her shaking her head. ‘No, thank you,’ he said.
He gestured for the man to leave and they were alone. Surprising. Unusual.
Freddy must have seen something in her face because he smiled all too fleetingly. ‘I thought we would be better off serving ourselves, if you don’t mind. There are things we need to discuss that I would prefer to keep between us, and opportunities for private conversation are rare in this house.’
True enough. There seemed to be a footman in every room and at every corner. They were unobtrusive and no doubt carefully screened for discretion, but there were some things to which no one should be privy. Conversations and other things. She felt her face warm. Blushing. At the thought of his visit to her last evening. Had any of those footmen seen him enter her room in dishabille? Would they report him to his mother? The morals of the ton, or rather their lack of them, created little stir, as long as those involved were not innocent misses with impeccable virtue. As she’d discovered at first hand.
‘What is on your mind?’
‘Barker will be in situ at the farm tonight and will scour the neighbourhood for any sign of our quarry.’
The thought of Moreau stole her appetite. She watched without pleasure while he carved the duck and put portions of some of the other dishes on a plate and passed it across. ‘Is it your belief that it is Moreau’s intention to target someone at our ball?’
He stared at the slice of duck on his fork. ‘Our enquiries have not located him in the north, though we know he took a post chaise to York. After that, he disappeared. I honestly don’t see the connection but I believe we would be taking a risk not to assume he will arrive here in Kent during our celebration. If I am wrong and the garrison is his goal, then they have been warned.’
‘And if he does not show up at all?’
‘Then we will know we have been gulled by your Frenchman.’
Her stomach dipped and then she realised the Frenchman he referred to was not Moreau but Latour. ‘I hope he is wrong. The house is vulnerable to attack when we have no idea what he wants.’
‘Barker’s men will set up observation posts around the house and watch for anyone coming or going. My tiger will liaise between Barker and me two or three times a day.’
‘It sounds as if you have done this before.’
He met her gaze. His face was serious. He was worried and trying to hide it. ‘More than once.’ He addressed himself to his dinner as if what they were discussing was the most commonplace thing, like the weather or a horse race.
She took a sip of her wine. The knowledge that Moreau might be trapped before she had a chance to speak to him was troubling. She needed to recover her property without anyone knowing. And she couldn’t do that unless they discovered where he was staying. It seemed Freddy and his men were focussing all their attention on catching him on the move.
Nom d’un nom, could nothing go smoothly?
* * *
His betrothed looked enchanting tonight. Her glossy
brown hair, caught high on her head and falling in ringlets on one side, made his fingers itch to pull out the pins. The secrets in her eyes were a constant source of temptation to a mind as curious as his. While she did her best to hide her thoughts, it was clear to Freddy from the way she picked at the food on her plate that she was worried. The exact cause of her concern he had not as yet divined. And clearly she wasn’t going to tell him.
The imparting of confidences required a high level of trust, and he didn’t have hers. He hadn’t even been able to convince her to marry him to save her reputation. A pretend betrothal was as far as she would go. While he didn’t blame her for her lack of trust, since he didn’t trust himself all that much, he was not going to let her escape her vows.
He was a patient man. If being shut up indoors for weeks on end because of his foot had taught him one thing, it had taught him endless patience.
‘Is the duck not to your taste?’ he asked. ‘Shall I ask for something else to be sent?’
She startled. ‘Oh, no. The duck is delicious. You must excuse me, my mind was wandering.’
‘Wool-gathering.’
‘Pardon?’
‘When someone’s mind is engaged elsewhere it is called wool-gathering.’
She laughed. A delightful sound. Full of merriment. ‘I beg your pardon. It is rude to gather the wool, I think.’
‘No. I like watching your face. You give little away, but you were clearly not pleased by the direction of your thoughts.’
‘I was thinking about our plans, what we will do if things go awry.’
She pushed a carrot from one side of her plate to the other. The urge to take her on his lap and feed her one mouthful at a time until he was sure she was suitably nourished had him putting his hands flat on the table in preparation. He forced himself to remain seated. She was a woman of spirit and pride. She would not welcome him ordering her about. Yet.
‘Moreau is a clever and devious man,’ she mused, sending a potato to join the carrot. ‘He might sense a trap.’
The pain in her voice, the way she hid her gaze made him look forward more than ever to catching up with the man. He wasn’t sure what he had done to Minette but apparently it had affected her deeply. ‘We will catch him, no doubt about it. Sooner or later he will make a mistake.’ He took a swallow of wine. ‘Eat. There is no sense in worrying about the future. Plan, yes, but worry, there’s no sense to it. We can never know what is to come.’ Like becoming a duke because of one stupid bragging statement he’d do anything to retract.
‘You advocate patience.’ She cast him a brief and considering glance before returning to the rearrangement of her vegetables. Peas were now making the journey, one at a time.
‘Eat. If we are to chase French spies around the countryside you will need your strength.’
A small smile appeared and this time her glance did not flitter away. ‘You are right. And, besides, I gather your fancy French chef is likely to take a pet if the dishes are sent back untasted.’
‘He’s as French as my elbow.’
She grinned. ‘I know. I met him on my tour with the housekeeper. He was clearly terrified I would ferret out his secret.’ She forked up some fish in white sauce. ‘I pretended not to notice. French or not, his food is excellent.’
‘I will be sure to pass along your approbation.’
For the next few minutes they applied themselves to the meal in front of them in silence, and it wasn’t long before they were finished. He rang for the footman to clear away and bring the dessert course. He would have preferred to have done away with the servant’s services, but even a duke could only go so far down the road of informality before his servants began to regard him with disfavour. These were things he’d assimilated without realising as a child. Other things he’d had to work harder to learn, like when his father had finally accepted he had a new successor to train.
‘What is this?’ Minette stared at one of the desserts after the footman had left the room.
‘Bread and butter pudding.’
‘Pudding.’ She made a face. ‘It is a very English thing, this pudding.’
‘I suppose it is. I hadn’t thought about it. However, it was one of my Reggie’s favourites. Mother has it served at every meal.’ He never touched it, though he had liked it as a boy.
‘Another slap across the cheek?’ she said.
He frowned. ‘I do not understand.’
‘Always, she throws the death of your brother in your face. It almost seems that it pleases her to hurt you.’
He stiffened. He wasn’t surprised that she had picked up on the relationship between him and his mother—they were, after all, at war, but it was hardly her place to have an opinion. He gave her a quelling look and hoped she would drop the subject.
She raised a brow. ‘One feels the chill in the room when you are together.’
‘You don’t really expect me to respond to that, do you?’
She sighed. ‘Tiens. I will say no more.’ She stared at the pudding on her plate and put down her fork. ‘Je suis finis.’
‘Hopefully with dessert and not with me. I beg your pardon. Things have been less than pleasant with my mother for a very long time. I have given up caring. Come, let us retire to the sitting room. They will bring tea there while they clear away the dishes.’
They strolled back into the other room. ‘You call this a sitting room?’
‘It seems more apropos than drawing room. It really isn’t elegant enough for such a distinguished term.’
He guided her to the chair by the hearth.
She glanced around, her face carefully blank. A chilly distance had opened up between them, no doubt because he’d refused to let her commiserate with him over his mother’s behaviour. He couldn’t do it. It would open wounds older than his brother’s death.
‘I feel as if I should have brought some needlework or some sheets to hem,’ she said brightly. Too brightly. ‘It is the kind of room where a maman plies her needle while papa reads aloud.’
A crack of light appeared somewhere in the darkness inside him. The idea of something as warm as domestic bliss. A far-off dream now dangling before him like a bauble he had only to reach out to grasp. A lie, though. Even when they married, it would never be true for them.
The footman arrived with the tea tray and put it in front of her.
‘Everything like clockwork,’ she commented.
Glad of a neutral topic to redirect the darkness of his thoughts, he took the seat opposite her and stretched out his legs. ‘An establishment of this size cannot run on a whim.’
‘But it could be less regimented.’
The implied criticism made him bristle. He wanted to defend, but forced himself to be more rational. ‘You see improvements that are needed?’
She pursed her lips. ‘The grandeur is impressive.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘But I would not be the right person to uphold such consequence, I fear. It is a house, not a home. It is cold.’
Like its occupants. The thought lingered, silent, accusing.
He left his chair and sat beside her on the sofa. Her perfume drifted into his lungs with each breath of air. ‘You are too modest. You underestimate your abilities.’ He took her hand and raised it to his lips, inhaling the scent of her skin to the sound of a soft gasp. ‘As my duchess, you would be welcome to make whatever changes you wished. I think we would deal well together as husband and wife.’
‘You didn’t think so when we met first,’ she said, sounding a little bit breathless. ‘On board ship.’
That husky sound gave him something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. She was attracted to him, and he intended using his every advantage, though it seemed he had some lost ground to make up.
‘You mistake the matter,’ he said, stroking his thumb over her palm and smilin
g at the way the small hairs on her wrist stood to attention. ‘There is this unwritten gentlemanly code of conduct. A man who is not in the market for a wife does not flirt or in any way show an interest in his friend’s little sister-in-law. You were barely eighteen when we met. Gabe knew I had no thoughts of marriage. He would have put a bullet in my brain if I had so much as hinted I found you interesting.’
‘Did you?’
‘Find you interesting? Bien sûr.’ He kissed the inside of her wrist and inhaled her delicious scent. ‘Do you doubt it?’
‘You called me a brat.’
‘A smokescreen. As I said, there is a rule. I think you might have been throwing off a little smoke yourself at that time.’
She averted her gaze, and he knew he was right. ‘What were you hiding?’
She stilled, but the pulse beat in her wrist picked up speed.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘It is not important. But, Minette, do not hold my past behaviour towards you against me. It will make for an uncomfortable marriage if you do. And we will be married. Make no mistake.’
‘Because of your honour. Because of Gabe.’ Her words were calm, accepting, but he wasn’t idiot enough to step into that sort of trap.
‘Because I want you for my wife.’
Her head whipped around. There was disbelief on her face, but was there hope there also? God, he hoped so. Another woman in his life who couldn’t abide him was going to make life hell on earth. Not that he deserved anything much better. To be contemplating marriage when he had sworn he would take no benefit from his brother’s death and serve simply as custodian. The only defence he’d had to the accusation in his parents’ eyes. But he did not expect his Duchess to live on the proceeds of Fools’ Paradise, as he had done these past several years. When he married he would have to keep her in proper style. She’d be entitled to wear the family jewels, too. And she ought to have some of her own. Personal items.
He looked at her left hand. Ringless. He should have bought her a ring, a token, something to mark their engagement. To mark her as his. Hell’s bells, where had this feeling of possession come from?
The Duke's Daring Debutante (Regency Historical Romance) Page 16
