When the Duke Found Love

by Isabella Bradford

  “Through these doors, sir,” the footman said, opening them and standing aside for Sheffield to pass. “Her Grace will receive you by the pond.”

  Sheffield stepped outside, blinking at the sunlight. He pulled a leash from his coat pocket and clipped it to Fantôme’s collar. He trusted the dog to behave with the children—Fantôme was by nature too lazy to do otherwise, and would patiently submit to every indignity from sticky small hands, including throttling hugs, pets and tugs on ears, and even being ridden like a short, stout pony—but the leash would reassure Charlotte and any overprotective nursemaids who might be lurking.

  With his usual snuffling nosiness, Fantôme had found a dusty yellow ball, overlooked by both children and servants, beneath a lacquered Chinese chest-on-chest, and he trotted proudly with his prize bulging from one side of his mouth. At least they’d make an entrance, Sheffield thought as they followed the footman. He expected the ladies to be in some sort of shaded summer-house or garden folly, genteelly taking tea out of the sun the way ladies did.

  What he found, however, completely and utterly surprised him.

  In the middle of the garden was a large garden pond, really more of a canal, framed by neat marbled edging and close-clipped grass. The water was covered with small wooden boats, the kind that could be bought for a penny at the Bartholomew Fair. The boats were painted red, green, and blue, and their square paper sails were carrying them every which way like excited ducklings. Three small children—two lordlings and a little lady—in white gowns ran shrieking up and down along the grass, with three nervous nursemaids hovering to keep them from toppling into the water. Like a queen on her throne, Charlotte sat in an armchair at one end of the pond beneath a makeshift canopy, holding an infant in a cap and trailing gown in her arms as she called an endless, anxious stream of cautions to the other children by the water.

  But the real queen of this penny armada ruled not from land but from the waves. In the middle of the pond stood Lady Diana, the skirts of her petticoat looped up through the pocket openings of her skirts. A wide-brimmed straw hat was pulled low to shade her face, and from exertion, the knot of her hair was frizzled and loose along the nape of her neck. The water wasn’t deep, perhaps a foot at most, and her slender, pale legs were bare to the knee—confound him, to the knee—as she waded through it.

  Water splashed up onto her legs, droplets sparkling in the sunshine as they trickled down her bare calves. The hems of her petticoat weren’t tucked up quite far enough to escape the pond water, and the wet linen clung closely to the little hollow at the back of her knee. More water had splashed onto the kerchief around her neck, making a dappled pattern of near-transparency over the swelling tops of her breasts.

  He stared, and stared some more. He’d never seen a lady like this. She held a long bamboo pole in her hands to help guide errant boats, leaning forward to prod them away from the shore, to the noisy encouragement of the children.

  “Avast, you foul sea dogs!” she shouted with piratical relish. “Avast, me hearties, and pull to the lee!”

  The children jumped up and down and shouted with her, and when she tipped the end of the pole into the water to flick droplets in their direction, they squealed and ran about with delight.

  With so much activity, no one had noticed Sheffield’s arrival, forcing the discomfited footman to raise his voice over the din.

  “His Grace the Duke of Sheffield!” he bellowed, loud enough to be heard clearly in St. James’s Park.

  “Sheffield!” Charlotte rose at once, thrusting the baby to one of the nursemaids and hurrying around the edge of the pond to greet him. “Good day to you! Pray forgive us for this shambles. My only excuse is that I never thought you’d appear before the afternoon.”

  “Forgive me for disturbing you,” Sheffield said, smiling as warmly as he could. “If this is an inconvenient hour, then I can return another time.”

  He liked Charlotte, a beautiful, witty lady with lovely eyes and an excellent humor despite being married to March. Under any other circumstances, he would have enjoyed conversing with her. But now all he could think of was how her wide hat and hooped silk skirts and fluttering lace shawl were blocking his view of her sister, still standing in the pond. At least he guessed she must be; he hadn’t heard any untoward splashing to indicate that she’d left it, and there was no honorable way he could crane his neck to peek around Charlotte to be sure.

  No, Lady Diana must still be in the pond, with her skirts clinging wetly to her thighs and the water trickling slowly down her shins and her dampened kerchief half untucked from her bodice and—

  “It’s not inconvenient at all, Sheffield,” Charlotte was saying, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “You are March’s cousin and a member of our family, and always welcome here, whatever the hour. Is this your dog?”

  Abruptly Sheffield dragged his thoughts back, blinking in a way that must have been so obvious as to be reprehensible. Blast, let Charlotte not have read his thoughts, or rather, let his thoughts not have showed so readably on his face.

  To be certain, he knelt down beside Fantôme, grateful for the diversion—and also grateful for the wide sweep of Charlotte’s gown, hiding even a hint of the distracting Lady Diana.

  “This is Fantôme,” he said, rubbing the dog’s broad chest until he closed his eyes and made a low grumble of contentment. “Do not mistake his ugliness for fierceness. He’s as mild as a lamb.”

  As if to prove it, Fantôme gave one final rumble and collapsed over onto his side, the yellow ball still crushed to one side of his jaws, his eyes closed, clearly begging to be further petted. Charlotte laughed, but still Sheffield lightly coiled the leash around his wrist as her children came forward. As much as he trusted Fantôme—which was to say completely—it was always better to be safe around small, erratic, noisy creatures.

  “Jamie, Amelia, Georgie, here.” Charlotte and the nursemaids steered the children into a shuffling line before him. “This is His Grace the Duke of Sheffield, and he is your Uncle Sheffield. Now come, present your honors to him.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Sheffield said quickly, but Charlotte insisted. The older boy and the girl managed to bow and curtsey reasonably well, but the younger boy needed prodding and whispers before he managed a stiff little bow. Sheffield stood and nodded in acknowledgment, feeling at least a hundred years old before the wide-eyed children.

  “Well done,” Charlotte said proudly. “My sister Diana is here somewhere. I know you two met last night. Diana?”

  She turned, and at last gave him a clear view of Diana. Surrounded by the little boats, she was still standing in the pond with the bamboo pole in one hand and her other cocked on her hip, making no move to join them. She didn’t smile, either, but as soon as she saw him watching her, she bent low into the water in a beautifully executed curtsey—beautiful, that is, until she rose, water streaming from her skirts.

  The children laughed uproariously. “Look at Aunt Diana,” one of them said. “She’s all wet.”

  “Yes, she rather is, isn’t she?” Sheffield agreed. She was, and he couldn’t look away. At his distance, he couldn’t judge her mood. At first he’d thought she was embarrassed to be caught in such dishabille, but that couldn’t be it, not since she’d made no move to cover herself. Was she not smiling to be playfully serious, or was she truly unhappy with him? He hadn’t given her any reason for displeasure. She couldn’t possibly be angry at him for announcing his betrothal to Lady Enid, since she’d done exactly the same thing with hers to Lord Crump.

  Lord Crump. How could a lady as delightful as this wish to wed a man like that?

  “Is your dog sleeping?” asked the little girl.

  “Ah, no,” Sheffield said, reluctantly looking away from Diana as he tried to remember what her name was. Amelia, that was it. “He’s simply lazy, Lady Amelia, that is all.”

  “He’s fat,” said the older boy, scowling, the same one who’d announced that Diana was wet. “And he’s stupid-looking.
”

  “He is a little stout,” Sheffield admitted, thinking how Jamie, Lord Pennington, was clearly destined to be a stalwart in the House of Lords with his magnificent gift for stating the obvious. “You may pet him if you wish. That’s what he’s begging for.”

  Bravely Jamie reached down and began scrubbing hard at Fantôme’s barrel-shaped side. His sister joined him, doing the same, while Fantôme groaned with pleasure.

  But the younger boy, Georgie, Lord Fitzcharles, hung back beside the nursemaid and leisurely worked one finger inside his nose.

  “Ball,” he said finally. “My ball. Doggie has my ball!”

  “Oh, Georgie,” Charlotte said with dismay. “I believe that ball belongs to the doggie now.”

  “No!” wailed Georgie, turning shrill. “My ball! Want my ball!”

  “Fantôme will give it back,” Sheffield said, bending down again beside the dog. “Drop it, Fantôme.”

  Without opening his eyes, the dog’s jaws opened with a click, letting the ball fall out into Sheffield’s hand. The ball had been dusty and worn when Fantôme first found it. Now it was also crushed on one side and sodden with dog slobber. Still, in the name of peace, Sheffield offered it to Georgie.

  Glowering at Sheffield, Georgie grabbed the ball and promptly hurled it into the pond.

  Suddenly Fantôme awoke and scrambled to his stubby legs with a snort that made Jamie and Amelia rush back to the safety of the nursemaid’s skirts. With more energy than Fantôme had shown in weeks, he jerked the leash from Sheffield’s hand and bounded after the ball, leaping into the pond with all the grace of a white cannon-ball. The resultant splash was so large and widespread that it was a wonder any water remained in the pond. Charlotte gasped as the water hit her, Diana backed away, the children screamed, and the baby began to shriek.

  “Oh, hell,” Sheffield muttered, already pulling off his shoes and stockings and coat and watch to go in after the dog. “Fantôme, here! Here! Blast you, come here!”

  It was no surprise that Fantôme chose to ignore him. Instead he bounded up and down in the water, bringing massive maritime destruction to many of the penny boats. Diana tried to grab him, sloshing through the water, but the dog considered it all a splendid game and deftly eluded her.

  Only Georgie seemed unperturbed, holding his hand out impotently toward the mayhem in the pond.

  “Ball,” he said plaintively. “My ball.”

  While his nursemaid tended to his siblings, he swiftly toddled off to the edge of the pond, jumped, and instantly sank beneath the water.

  Charlotte screamed, but Sheffield was already there, wading into the water to grab the little boy and hoist him, dripping and howling, into her arms.

  “Thank you, Sheffield, thank you so much,” she said apologetically over the din of the four wailing children. “I believe it best if we withdraw now, and wish you good day.”

  With Charlotte leading the way to the house, they made a noisy procession of weeping children and shushing nursemaids. Sheffield’s final glimpse of George was of him sobbing over Charlotte’s shoulder, still grasping at the air toward the infernal ball.

  “You see what your wretched dog has done, Your Grace,” Diana said, speaking to him for the first time. “He has spoiled everything. Can’t you catch him?”

  “I’ll try,” Sheffield said gallantly, turning to face her. She was thoroughly soaked now, her expression murderous. “Fantôme, here.”

  He tried to grab the dog, then the trailing leash. The bottom of the pond was slick, and each time he lunged after Fantôme, his feet slipped beneath him. His own clothes were growing wetter with each attempt, and his irritation with Fantôme was growing, too.

  “Chase him toward me, Lady Diana,” he said, “and I’ll try to intercept him.”

  She didn’t move. “He is your dog, Duke, not mine.”

  “Thank you,” Sheffield said, letting her share a bit of his general irritation as well. “You’re most helpful.”

  The yellow ball that had started it all floated near his leg. Sheffield fished it from the water and held it up for the dog to see.

  “Fantôme!” he shouted, making sure he had the dog’s attention. “Fantôme, fetch!”

  He threw the ball onto the grass, and at once Fantôme went after it, dragging himself from the pond and running to the ball. He seized it again in his mouth, shook the water from his fur, and promptly collapsed in happy exhaustion on the grass.

  “Well, there’s an end to that,” Sheffield said. He held his hand out to Diana, offering to help her from the pond.

  But she was in no humor to be helped, and seemed determined to let him know the reason.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were betrothed?” she demanded. “Why did you let me make such a fool of myself first?”

  “You did that quite readily without any help from me,” he said. “If you recall, you didn’t wish me to tell you so much as my name. Why would I have told you about Lady Enid, too?”

  “Because a gentleman would have, Duke,” she said, her face flushed. “Because I never would have kissed you if I’d known you were promised to another lady. I never would have done that, ever!”

  “Then what of your own betrothal?” he asked, incredulous. “What manner of lady who is engaged to wed goes about kissing strangers?”

  “How dare you throw that back at me,” she sputtered with incoherent rage. “How dare you, when you—you—oh, you!”

  She reached out and with both hands shoved his chest as hard as she could. Caught off balance, he found his feet sliding out from beneath him, and down he went on his backside into the pond. His remaining clothes—his shirt and breeches and waistcoat—were instantly, thoroughly soaked, and he could already feel the muck from the bottom of the pond seeping into the sodden cloth.

  It was not pleasant.

  She stared down at him, her eyes wide and one hand clapped over her mouth with shock. But the shock didn’t linger, and after a moment or two, he realized that behind her hand, she’d begun to laugh.

  At him.

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on his bent legs, and she only laughed harder.

  “I’m glad to have offered so much amusement to you,” he said. “In return you might at least offer to help me up.”

  He held his hand up to her, the water streaming from his sleeve. She looked down at him pityingly, then finally took his hand.

  “Thank you,” he said, and pulled her down into the water beside him with almost as great a splash as Fantôme had caused.

  She yelped, flailing her arms as she instantly scrambled back to her feet, leaving her hat floating behind her like a giant straw lily pad. She wasn’t laughing any longer, but he was.

  “Turnabout’s fair play, ma’am,” he said, amazed that she’d fallen for so old a schoolboy trick. “Sauce for the goose, sauce for the gander.”

  She snatched her hat from the water. “You are perfectly welcome to consider yourself as a gander, Duke,” she said, “but for my part, I will never be a goose.”

  With her head high and her hair hanging in a half-pinned clump down her back, she stepped from the pond and marched resolutely down the path toward the house, leaving a trail of pond water behind her.

  Still laughing, Sheffield watched her, thoroughly enjoying how her wet skirts clung to her wiggling, indignant bottom. No goose, not at all. Not at all.

  His smile faded as she finally disappeared from sight, his mood turning more thoughtful even as he still sat in the water. He should not pursue her, he must not, and he’d as much as promised Brecon he’d keep clear of her. She belonged to someone else, and in theory, so did he.

  Yet there she was, Lady Diana of the clinging skirts, as great a temptation as he’d ever met, and after this afternoon, he could not wait to see her again.

  “You sit here beside me, Diana,” Charlotte said, pointing with her furled fan to the nearest chair in the row before the rail, “and we’ll leave that one for Lord Crump, when he arrives.”
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  Diana nodded and took the seat beside her sister, the frothy ruffles of their gowns mingling. As Mama had suggested, Diana had worn her new cherry-colored silk robe à la française tonight, and because they were attending the theater, she’d been permitted to wear the gown without a lace neckerchief tucked into the low, squared neckline for modesty. She was very aware now of how her breasts were pushed up by her stays and how much of them showed for a fashionable display, and she felt both stylish and adult, enjoying the undeniable attention that the gown brought her. As Mama had said, she wasn’t a girl any longer, but soon to be a married woman, and entitled to dress like other noble-born ladies, including Charlotte beside her.

  What Mama hadn’t said (but Diana had guessed) was that she was hoping that the sight of Diana’s largely uncovered bosom would inspire a bit more lover-like ardor in Lord Crump. Except for when they’d danced, he’d scarcely so much as held her gloved fingertips. Now that they were considered betrothed, he’d be expected to show more devotion, and clearly Mama hoped this gown would be the necessary little nudge of encouragement that Lord Crump required.

  But cherry-colored silk could only do so much, and Diana had resolved to try to begin anew with Lord Crump. Charlotte had told her again how she and March had had a difficult beginning, yet had persevered to become the happiest married couple that Diana knew. Perhaps if she was more agreeable and less defensive with Lord Crump, then they would be, too. He was held in the highest regard by everyone else in their world; surely there must be some side of him that she could thaw and mold into a loving husband.

  That much Diana had told to Charlotte, and Charlotte had applauded her resolve. But what Diana hadn’t confessed was how her new resolution had more than a little penance woven into it. She’d been furious when Sheffield had asked her yesterday what kind of betrothed lady went about kissing strangers, but he’d been right. She still didn’t know what had possessed her to kiss him that night at Lady Fortescue’s, but she was determined never to do such a thing again. She was also determined never to trust him in a garden pond again, either, but then that was another resolution entirely.