The Perfect Duchess

by Erica Taylor

  “The point is moot,” Andrew said, ending the conversation. He took a bite of his toast and changed the subject. “So, the museum, the gardens, the tower, and the animals. Sounds like a full day. I would be happy to meet you, if that will please you, Clara,” Andrew said to her.

  “If you can manage with your important schedule,” she replied cheekily.

  “I have a session starting in half an hour,” Andrew said, glancing at the time piece on the far wall, realizing he’d better be off soon or he’d be late. “But it should be over after one o’clock. I would be happy to meet you at Gunter’s or wherever else you deem fit.”

  “Gunter’s sounds wonderful, your grace,” Clara replied and took a sip from her cup.

  “We will have some calls to make this afternoon,” Sarah added. “And the Garden Club Ball is this evening, don’t forget, Andrew.”

  “Yes, of course,” he replied.

  The social season was in full swing and each night it seemed there was at least something requiring their attendance.

  “Luke is so difficult to pin down, it falls upon you to escort through the week,” Sarah reminded him. “We will attend the theater Wednesday evening.”

  “Will we not go to Almack’s?” Susanna objected.

  Pursing her lips, Sarah stared at her younger sister pointedly before the realization hit and Susanna quickly took a sip of her tea. Both girls looked from each other to Clara, who was seemingly oblivious to the exchange or the meaning behind it.

  “Yes, the Garden Party and the theater,” Andrew replied trying to cover over Susanna’s gaffe. “I will make note of it. Also, Mara will be arriving in a week and has requested everyone to be gone from the house so she may have peace all day in order to prepare for the musicale on the following Friday.”

  “Goodness, however will we occupy ourselves all day?” Susanna asked.

  “I’m sure you will find something,” Andrew replied and dabbed his mouth with his napkin.

  “It seems we have a busy schedule ahead of us,” Clara commented. “And please don’t allow my presence to prevent you from attending Almack’s. I do not mind staying home for an evening.”

  There was a brief pause while Susanna and Sarah considered it before an almost convincing chorus of, “No, of course not!” “Don’t be silly!” and “We can miss Almack’s this once.” But Andrew knew it wouldn’t be this once, and he knew that Clara realized this as well.

  “Splendid.” Andrew pushed back from the table and stood up. “If you ladies will excuse me, I am off. Important assembly vote today, don’t you know?”

  “Andrew, ladies do not discuss politics, as you well know,” Sarah chided him.

  “Ah yes,” he replied. “Whatever would I do without Sister Sarah? I might forget to tie my cravat or wash behind my ears.” He winked at Clara before exiting the room.

  Clara watched his retreating back as he left the breakfast room, curious of his mood.

  “Sometimes he can be so very infuriating,” Sarah muttered.

  “He was teasing you, Sarah,” Susanna explained. “You know he only says such things to get a rise out of you.”

  “Yes, well, he’s been unusually teasing lately,” Sarah said.

  “Hmm,” Susanna murmured. “I wonder why.” She shot a side glance at Clara and winked. Clara pursed her lips. Andrew’s perceived change in character had nothing to do with her, she was certain.

  They finished their breakfast and quickly retrieved their gloves and bonnets before being ushered out the door, the burley footman, Beverell, in their wake.

  “Do keep up, Beverell,” Susanna said kindly.

  “Yes, my lady,” Beverell replied. Clara glanced from Susanna to Beverell, noting the way the Macalister family always seemed to be pleasant and kind to their servants. Andrew knew each person’s first name, as did his sisters, and they were polite and courteous to their employees. They smiled and conversed not on a level of friendship, but on a level of mutual respect, and in return, the servants of Bradstone House adored the Macalister family. She saw how each time Susanna rang for tea there were extra biscuits waiting on the tray, how the footmen hurried to bring in warm water for Norah’s bath, working quickly as not to lose the heat. It was no wonder the Macalister staff was willing to bend over backwards for their family. The Macalister family treated their servants like fellow human beings and not like lesser creatures.

  “Garnet,” Susanna called up to the coachman. He tipped his hat to her. “We wish to see the museum, the gardens, the tower, and the animals. Could you direct us the quickest way?”

  “Of course, my lady,” Garnet replied. Beverell helped each lady into the carriage before shutting the door with a soft click. Norah had not made an appearance in the front foyer.

  Susanna shrugged when Clara asked her about Norah. “I don’t particularly want to be in Norah’s company if she is going to be in such a mood.”

  “Susanna,” Sarah chided. “That is awfully rude of you. As a lady you must rise above the immaturity of your younger sister.”

  “Do you wish to endure her pouting and glaring, Sarah?” Susanna asked.

  “Well, no,” Sarah admitted as the carriage rolled into motion. “But you need not say such things aloud.”

  It was an unusually warm, late spring day in mid-May, and Clara was grateful for Susanna’s choice in taking the open carriage. The streets were packed with carriages and carts all blocked by an overturned cart of vegetables that had spilled its load into the street. Garnet deftly and swiftly maneuvered them through the side streets until they pulled up to the front of the British Museum. What would normally have been at least an hour drive through the traffic had taken them less than twenty minutes.

  Clara watched as Susanna thanked the coachman for his proficiency before linking arms with her and leading the way into the museum, Sarah and Beverell in her wake.

  Perhaps, Clara thought, there is something to that proverb about catching more flies with honey, after all.

  Andrew was eager to leave the Palace of Westminster’s stifling rooms. The day had turned hot and humid, and he would rather spend the afternoon with Lady Clara and her tempting, teasing smiles instead of surrounded by hundreds of his sweaty, smelly peers.

  Musing about Clara was how he got through his days in Parliament lately. Her dark eyes dancing with mischief as she chewed on the inside of her cheek, her hair falling golden and silky down around her shoulders as he pulled the pins from her hair. The feel of her pert breasts pressed against him, her nipples tightening under his attentions.

  He hailed a hackney and gave the direction to Gunter’s, promising a tip if the driver could get there quickly. It had taken him longer to get out of session than he had originally anticipated, and he was eager to get to Clara.

  The hackney came to an abrupt stop a few minutes later, and Andrew poked his head out to see vegetables covering Piccadilly.

  “No way around it, guv’nor,” the hackney driver called down to him. “Been like this all morning.”

  “I’ll walk from here,” Andrew said and handed himself out of the hired carriage. He flicked the driver a few coins before setting off down the road, careful to avoid the smashed vegetables along the street. He hurried down Piccadilly, passing his club and turning right once he got to Berkeley Square. It only took him a few more minutes from there for Gunter’s Tea Shop to come into view. He was relieved to see his own carriage sitting a few carriages down from the confectioner’s front doors.

  He spotted Clara beside Sarah outside the shop, very pretty in her pale yellow day dress, a coordinating ribbon laced through the brim of her bonnet. As she spied him across the street, she gave a little wave as a bright smile spread across her face, and he could not stop the smile that formed on his face in return.

  “Hello, your grace,” Lady Clara said to him as he came across the street.

 
“Good afternoon, Lady Clara,” he said.

  “Goodness, Andrew, could you have been tardier?” Susanna chided him, coming out of the shop.

  “Actually, I could have,” Andrew replied and offered Clara his arm. “There was an overturned cart just down Piccadilly.”

  “They still have not cleared that away?” Sarah asked, frowning. “It was there when we passed by hours ago.”

  Andrew removed his top hat as they stepped inside the confectioner’s shop.

  “A pleasure as always to see you, your grace,” Mr. Gunter said as he stepped out from the back room. “A strawberry coming right up.”

  Andrew nodded his thanks.

  “And for Lady Susanna?” Gunter asked.

  “I have been eyeing this peach for a few days now,” Susanna said, pointing at a light brown confection. “I think I will try that one please.”

  Sarah declined a serving of ice cream and Gunter looked lastly to Clara.

  “Have you lemon?” Andrew asked, realizing that was what she was searching for. Gunter’s face fell and he looked down nervously.

  “I apologize, your grace,” the man said mournfully. “Lemon is not on today’s list. I assure you it will be available the next time we see you.”

  “It is not a problem,” Clara said, smiling sweetly at the man. He softened a little under her gaze. “I would like to sample the strawberry, since that is all his grace seems to order.”

  “Of course,” Gunter said and busied himself with their order. He presented their cups of frozen cream and apologized again for not having the flavor Clara preferred. Andrew dropped a few coins into the man’s palm, knowing Gunter would have lemon ice cream the next time they came by.

  “Really, your grace, you need not frighten the poor man,” Clara said as they settled into the seats arranged outside on the patio walk. “It really is not an inconvenience. I am capable of eating another flavor if my favorite is not available.”

  “Yes, but one of the privileges of being a Macalister is always having your preferences available to you,” Andrew replied, taking a bite of his ice cream.

  “I have it!” Clara exclaimed, her eyes lit with amusement. “I know why you enjoy Gunter’s so often! The cool temperature of the treat must keep you from overheating!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, you are always dressed in black, your grace,” Clara explained, a smile dancing on her lips. “It’s as if you are in mourning. Surely such a dark color would cause you to overheat throughout the day. The ices help keep you cool.”

  Andrew’s brows rose at her teasing tone, but he did not answer. Clara smiled brightly at her jab.

  “How was the museum?” he asked, ignoring the snickers emanating from where his sisters sat. Just as he had intended, Clara launched into a long explanation about what she saw and how interesting the entire outing was. Having never been to the museum, she prattled on about the collection of Greek vases, Roman and Egyptian antiquities, gems and natural specimens from the travels of Captain James Cook.

  Andrew, for his part, listened intently, interested in her thoughts on the things she had seen, and also the sound of her animated voice that he found calming. It relaxed him after his stressful morning in Parliament.

  “What time do you need to be back for the afternoon session?” Sarah asked him.

  “I think today I will skip the afternoon session,” Andrew replied. “Morning was almost a waste of time, and we are much further from that vote than I had originally thought. No one will miss me.” He caught a look between Susanna and Sarah and knew his uncharacteristic actions were being noted. However, today he felt like throwing caution to the wind, taking the reckless way out, in the tamest sense of the word.

  Clara had not noticed anything amiss with his change of afternoon plans. “What do you have planned for the afternoon?” he asked her.

  “We have some calls to make,” Susanna answered for Clara. “You are coming, Clara, no arguments. We also need to make an appearance in Hyde Park for the afternoon crush. We will want time to rest before we begin to dress for the Garden Club Ball this evening. You are welcome to accompany us on our calls, Andrew.”

  “An excellent idea,” Andrew replied, fully aware he had just agreed to chaperone their social calls. An entire afternoon of weak tea and dry biscuits accompanying the required polite social gossip, who ran away with who, who cut who, that sort of thing. He had just signed up for an afternoon of misery, but it also meant an afternoon spent with Clara, and that alone was reason to endure the mind-numbing repetitiveness of the conversations to come.

  Andrew tried his best to play the part of the attentive guest, but occasionally he felt his mind start to wander, usually to the indecent things he wished to do to Clara. The taste of her mouth, her soft skin, supple curves beneath his hands. The breathless way she moaned as he trailed kisses down her throat, his hands aching to wander further down to her center, her heat.

  The clanking of porcelain drew his attention, and he glanced around the room, assessing what he had missed. The ladies were rising, dipping into polite curtsies. Belatedly, he realized it was time to leave and he should also rise, but as he stood to his feet, he realized another part of his anatomy had opted to stand as well. Turning quickly away from the ladies, who were thankfully ignoring him, he strode the perimeter of the room, pretending to examine a painting on the far side of the room. Checking to make certain no one was watching, he did his best to readjust himself, vowing to keep his thoughts—and parts—under better control.

  “Lovely oil painting you have,” Andrew said to their hostess as he passed.

  He opted out of the carriage ride around Hyde Park for a brief nap in his unnaturally cool room. The afternoon of social calls had exhausted him, and he fell asleep on his bed fully clothed, which was how Walton found him hours later.

  Andrew awoke with a start as his valet let out a shriek of terror at the sight of him sprawled on the bed.

  “I am so sorry, your grace,” Walton apologized, catching his breath, hand across his heart. “I had not expected to see you there. I thought you dead.”

  “Not yet, Walton,” Andrew replied groggily. “Have the girls returned?”

  “Hours ago, your grace,” his valet said and began pulling out pieces of his evening attire. “They have already begun to dress for the evening.”

  “I assume it is time for me to dress as well?” Andrew asked, though he knew the answer.

  “Yes, your grace,” his valet said.

  Andrew looked at his reflection in the mirror. Hair disheveled, face pink from sleep. Clothing wrinkled. Hell, he even still had his boots on. He glanced at the formal black on black evening attire Walton had pulled from his wardrobe. Black was ever so boring.

  Walton went to work quickly, and soon Andrew was dressed in his formal evening attire, his valet fluttering about him, making last minute adjustments.

  A loud pounding on the door startled them both and Andrew strode forward and yanked the bedroom door open.

  “Morton’s returned, Andrew,” Bexley said, standing on the other side of the door. “I’ve just run halfway across Mayfair, but it was him. We need to get to Halcourt’s as soon as possible.”

  Grabbing his top hat from Walton’s hands, Andrew followed Bexley hurriedly down the stairs.

  “I apologize, your grace, I did not know Lord Bexley was here,” Howards said as the two men descended the last stairs.

  Bexley shrugged. “I came in through the kitchens. More efficient.”

  “Is Luke here?” Andrew asked the butler.

  “I have not seen Lord Luke since Saturday last, your grace,” the butler replied.

  Andrew swore and looked at Bexley. “He’s in London still,” Andrew told him. “Check the Mall—he has probably taken rooms.”

  Bexley nodded. “I’ll find him.”

 
“Ready my horse,” Andrew said to the butler who bowed and quickly left to do his master’s bidding. Andrew yanked his gloves on, looking at Bexley. “Find Luke. Tell him this is of grave importance: he must escort the ladies to the Garden Club Ball, they are not to be out of his sight. Send word to Connolly and Redley to meet them there. They are attending anyway.”

  Following Andrew out of the house, Bexley tugged on his own hat.

  “I don’t trust Morton,” Andrew added as Titan was brought around the house and Andrew quickly mounted. “I don’t want him near his sister. I cannot have her in danger, Bexley.”

  “We will keep her safe,” Bexley promised, mounting his own horse. Andrew nodded, and the two friends took off down Park Lane, parting at Upper Grosvenor Square where they both vanished into the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Arriving at Aster House, Halcourt’s Mayfair residence, minutes later, Andrew was quickly shown in to Halcourt’s study. The room was draped in scarlet and mahogany and smelled of cigars, but it was the abundance of books and papers scattered around the room in neat piles that was most curious. Untidiness did not fit with Halcourt’s meticulous personality.

  “Ignore the mess,” Halcourt said, struggling into his evening jacket, a bundle of papers clutched in his hand. “I’m reorganizing.”

  “I’ve sent Luke to escort the ladies to the ball, so I have a few minutes,” Andrew said to his friend, setting his hat and gloves on a table. “Are those for me?” Andrew pointed at the papers in his friend’s hand.

  “No, another matter,” Halcourt replied.

  “Bexley saw Morton,” Andrew informed him, lowering himself into a brown leather arm chair.

  Halcourt nodded, pouring him a finger of brandy from the decanter on his desk and offering Andrew the drink. “Your engagement announcement in the papers is likely the culprit for his return,” Halcourt said.

  “What have you learned?” Andrew asked, accepting the drink and taking a long sip, prepared for whatever his friend needed to tell him.