Daring the Duke

by Lana Williams

  “I’ve learned that if you want different results, you must try something different,” he’d said.

  While it was a logical statement, putting it into practice wasn’t easy. Not until she’d thought of the idea that brought her to the duchess’s today, supplies in hand.

  Elijah’s attention had been taken by several business matters, not that he ignored his mother by any means. He stopped to visit her throughout the day but rarely for any length of time.

  Lillian had seen him briefly at parties, though only for a few minutes at a time, as though he were making an appearance but not truly attending. The way he moved with such purpose, along with the intensity of his expression, suggested he had much on his mind.

  She’d mentioned his distraction to Oliver and Julia casually over dinner. Her brother had immediately come to his defense, stating that he was becoming more active in the House of Lords as well as managing his other responsibilities.

  She and Julia had shared a questioning look. Obviously, Julia sensed it too—Oliver knew what was going on, was perhaps even involved, but wasn’t going to share any details.

  Lillian knew Julia well enough to realize she didn’t care for her husband to keep secrets. No doubt Julia would get to the bottom of things soon enough. Lillian certainly couldn’t ask Elijah, especially when she didn’t see him long enough to raise the topic.

  All of which left her to be the one to help the duchess. If she thought the older woman faced immediate danger of any sort, she’d wait in Elijah’s library until he returned and insist he listen.

  But she’d decided she needed to try her hand at helping one more time. He’d been doing so since his father’s death, as well as trying to take over the duties of his position, and now it seemed something else had drawn his notice. He needed help, and she wanted to be the one to provide it. If a voice in the back of her mind suggested she was attempting to earn his affection, she chose to ignore it.

  “Is her grace receiving?” Lillian asked Dobbins.

  The butler’s brows rose as he took in all they carried. “For you, I believe she is. She’s in her sitting room upstairs,” he directed them. His approving expression suggested he was pleased with Lillian’s plan.

  “How is she?” Lillian asked the servant.

  “I’m afraid it hasn’t been a good day thus far.” He looked up the stairs as if his thoughts were on the lady he’d served for so long.

  “I’m hoping to cheer her,” she said, gesturing toward the items they carried.

  “Can I be of assistance, my lady?”

  “Could you please have another footman retrieve the things remaining in the carriage? And perhaps one more servant to assist us.”

  He did as she requested then stepped down the hall and returned with another footman.

  “Oh.” Lillian was delighted there were so many. The extra assistance might provide the statement Lillian wanted to make.

  The footman returned from the carriage with an armful of supplies. Lillian directed each of the servants to take one or two things and follow her.

  She marched up the stairs, pausing at the door of the sitting room. A glance over her shoulder had her smiling. The duchess might be taken aback by the presentation, but Lillian hoped she’d enjoy it.

  She knocked on the door then peeked inside. “Good afternoon, your grace.”

  The duchess sat in her chair, needlework nearby. She turned from staring out the window to glance at Lillian. A wan smile appeared on her face, a vacant look in her eyes. “Hello, my dear. Do come in.”

  Lillian opened the door wide, gestured for the servants to follow and led the way. They walked in, stood in a line, their hands full of the painting and drawing supplies she’d brought.

  “What is all this?” the duchess asked, the empty look in her eyes replaced by a spark of curiosity.

  “A little surprise for you. If you’re willing to indulge me?”

  The duchess blinked as she studied the items. “Are those paintbrushes?”

  “Yes, they are.” She directed the two footmen holding the easels to place them before the window. A table was moved between the easels, and the paints were set on that along with the brushes, rags, and other supplies. She turned to the duchess. “I thought you might like to paint with me today. I’ve always liked it better than needlework.”

  “Is that so?” She stared in wonder as the servants put everything in place.

  “I think it will be much more fun than the needlework you’ve been pretending to do.” She smiled to soften the words.

  “Painting.” The duchess said the word as though trying to remember what it meant.

  “Thank you, everyone,” Lillian said, aware her maid and footman would wait downstairs for her while she visited.

  The servants filed out. With one last glance at the duchess followed by a smile at Lillian, Dobbins bowed then left them alone.

  The duchess’s silence did not bode well. She frowned at the easels then slowly rose from her chair. “Lillian, whatever were you thinking?”

  Lillian’s excitement ebbed. She’d been so certain she would not only surprise the duchess but please her with her efforts. What had she been thinking?

  The older woman walked forward slowly, reaching out a hand to trail her fingers over the stretched canvas.

  Disappointment washed over Lillian. She’d hoped this moment would provide a turning point for the duchess, a way to release some of the emotions she kept so tightly bottled inside. Instead, she’d only succeeded in upsetting her.

  Holding back remorse, Lillian moved to stand next to her. “Please accept my sincere apologies. I only wanted to—”

  “Lillian.” The duchess turned to her, eyes glittering. “This is an amazing idea.”

  Lillian stilled, certain she’d heard her wrong.

  She leaned forward to pick up a brush and ran her finger over the bristles. “I can’t remember the last time I did any painting.”

  “You’re willing to give it a try?” Lillian asked. “I brought charcoal to do some sketching as well.”

  The duchess put down the brush and turned to face Lillian, clapping her hands. “What fun.” She reached out to grasp Lillian’s arms. “This is so thoughtful of you.”

  Excitement filled Lillian at the light in her eyes—the very light that had been missing of late. “You’re ready to try?”

  “I’m terribly excited.” She turned to look around the room. “What shall we attempt first? It’s been some time since I’ve even thought of doing this.”

  “The flowers on the table are lovely. Shall I bring them closer?”

  “Yes, yes. That’s a wonderful idea.”

  Lillian crossed the room to retrieve the vase and set it on the table between the easels.

  The duchess retrieved a charcoal stick from the pile of supplies. The smile on her face lightened Lillian’s heart as it was exactly what she’d hoped for.

  With her free hand, the duchess grasped Lillian’s again. “You truly are a delight. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She returned the squeeze, so pleased she wanted to dance a jig. “Now then, shall we give it a try?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Almost as soon as they [children] begin to lisp, they are taught sentences condemnatory of the evils that arise from an indulgence in strong drink; soon as they are able to write, their names appear on the voluminous roll of total abstainers.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Chants in the sing-song voices of children caught Elijah’s notice as his carriage passed through the streets. He looked out the window to see nearly a dozen little ones gathered under a banner, declaring ‘Alcohol is Evil’ as they sang a song with the same message. The two women who oversaw their efforts had a superior expression that do-gooders often wore, especially the overzealous ones.

  Elijah shook his head. While he appreciated the opinion of those who wished to warn others of the potential harm of alcohol, he didn’t care for the way they used child
ren to spread their message. It seemed like an emotional ploy that benefited no one, least of all the children.

  The problem of alcohol in this day and age was nothing like the previous century when over 7,000 gin shops had flooded the city of London. During that time, anything imported from France was considered unpatriotic. England had done its best to increase the country’s production of spirits, thanks in part to Parliament. At the same time, food prices dropped, leaving the working class with more money to spend.

  The gin of those days had been quite strong. His research on the topic had revealed that unpleasant items such as turpentine and sulphuric acid were added with the terrible result of causing blindness and other maladies.

  One particular event that turned his stomach was the story of a mother who’d strangled her child so she might sell his clothes for gin. The shock of the tale amidst the public had caused Parliament to act. They passed laws to better regulate what businesses could buy gin, overall increasing the quality of the spirit.

  Their actions had reduced the problem of bad alcohol but not eliminated it. He knew that to be a fact based on what had happened with his mother.

  He sat back against his seat. Perhaps he should inquire as to whether the group protesting would be willing to take their banner and songs to the street where Hurley operated his business. That would be a more effective place to protest.

  He, Rutland, and Frost had just met to review what they’d learned thus far and how they wanted to proceed with their case against Hurley.

  Frost had widened his information gathering with Victor’s assistance. The lad had contacts in several neighborhoods now watching for businesses doing the same thing as Hurley. The endeavor was a slow one as details were few and far between.

  Elijah had used his position to gain an appointment with an inspector from Scotland Yard. He looked forward to sharing what he knew, though he worried whether they had enough evidence to catch the inspector’s interest. The added concern of whether those he’d contacted at Scotland Yard could be trusted bothered him as well. He’d prefer to leave any of the details of what had happened to his mother out of the situation, if possible.

  He felt terribly guilty for the sporadic time he’d spent with his mother of late. He’d checked on her several times over the past few days but only had one or two meals at home. Between the situation with Hurley, meetings with Rutland and Frost, sessions at the House of Lords, not to mention those with his steward, it seemed as if one thing or another required his attention, leaving little free time.

  She had yet to venture out since her illness. He wasn’t certain if that was because she continued to feel weak or if melancholy held her in its grip once again. In truth, he feared it was the latter.

  This afternoon, he’d carved out time to spend with her. Somehow, he needed to clear his mind, set aside all the issues rolling through it, and see if he could lift her spirits.

  Once home, he hurried past the footman and up the stairs to see her, hoping she was having a good day. The door to her sitting room was partly open, and laughter carried to him as he walked along the hall. His heart lightened at the sound. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d heard it.

  But it wasn’t only her laughter that reached him. He recognized Lillian’s as well. The idea of the two of them enjoying time together delighted him more than he could say.

  Unable to resist, he listened for a few moments to determine the cause of their laughter.

  “There is no such thing as a pink tree.” He recognized the teasing tone of Lillian’s voice. “Only green ones.”

  “It’s my painting, and I want a pink one,” his mother replied.

  “If you insist.” Giggles followed.

  Giggles? He shook his head, confused by their conversation. He pushed open the door only to pause at the sight before him.

  They stood before the windows with aprons pinned to their gowns, paintbrushes in their hands. Each had attempted to paint a vase of flowers that sat on the table between them. What they had on their canvas was recognizable. Both had some talent in his opinion. His mother’s had an object in the corner that looked much like a pink tree.

  Paint not only dappled the canvas but their cheeks and most everything else in sight. He chuckled at the mess.

  His mother turned to him. “Elijah, dear. Look what Lillian brought me.”

  “A mess?” he inquired, unable to repress his grin.

  “Fun.” His mother’s eyes sparkled.

  His heart filled with hope at the sight. He could’ve hugged Lillian for that alone. But he wanted far more than a hug, he realized when his gaze swung to her.

  Her beauty captured his senses.

  She stood before the window, the light making her skin glow. Her dark hair shone, a few ringlets having come loose to frame her face. A dab of purple paint marked her cheek, somehow adding to her attractiveness. The smile she gave him had him responding in kind.

  If not for his mother’s presence, he would’ve kissed her.

  He dragged his gaze from hers to look at his mother once more. She’d turned back to her painting to study it with a critical eye.

  “What do you think, Elijah?”

  “I think it’s beautiful.” He glanced at Lillian as he said the words, hoping she understood he meant her.

  A delicate hint of color rose in her cheeks, not so different than the paint smearing her cheek. She glanced back at the duchess. “Your mother is quite talented.”

  “This is far more fun than needlework,” his mother declared. “I haven’t enjoyed something this much in an age.”

  “I’m so pleased.” Lillian shared a smile with Elijah.

  “Would you care to join us?” his mother asked. “We could set up another easel.”

  “I’ll leave the fun to the two of you. But I will watch for a time if you don’t mind.”

  “Only if you don’t offer advice.” Lillian raised a brow as though to request his cooperation.

  “That I can promise. I have no expertise in this area.”

  “Elijah,” his mother said as she looked at him over her shoulder, paintbrush still in hand, “Why don’t you ring for tea? I’m quite famished.”

  He couldn’t have been more pleased by her request. She hadn’t eaten enough before she’d fallen ill and had grown thinner in the past few days. “That would be my pleasure.”

  He did as requested then took a chair, content to spend his time watching the ladies paint.

  They ignored him completely as they dipped their brushes and blended colors, comparing shades, each declaring the other’s the best. After dealing with the dark topics of alcohol and the poisoning, the delightful interlude eased his soul, especially when they giggled yet again.

  The tea and sandwiches arrived. Lillian poured, and his mother ate more than he’d seen her do for some time.

  Lillian soon rose. “I must be going. Thank you for a delightful afternoon.”

  “No, no,” his mother said. “Thank you. Please come to paint with me again. I shall attempt to do some drawings on my own.”

  “I look forward to seeing them.”

  “You’re welcome to leave your paints here if you’d like,” his mother offered.

  “That is kind of you.” Lillian moved to the door.

  “Will you escort Lillian downstairs?” his mother asked Elijah.

  “Of course.” He followed her out the door, waiting until they were near the top of the stairs before he reached for her arm to halt her. “Thank you.”

  “Your mother is a delight. I’m so happy she enjoyed the painting.”

  “I have no doubt she did. Bringing over all those things was so thoughtful of you.” He ran his thumb over the paint that remained on her cheek but didn’t remove it. He rather liked it there. To him, it was an outward reminder of how different she was, how special, interesting, appealing. “You are amazing.”

  “Because I brought over some paints? I hardly think so.”

  “I do.” He leaned fo
rward to kiss her briefly, enjoying the startled look on her face. “Thank you.”

  She smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m pleased she liked it.”

  “As am I. Let us hope her improved mood holds.”

  “Yes.” Lillian glanced down the hall toward his mother’s suite. “I would like this interlude to allow her to find joy in other ways, but I realize winning the day’s battle doesn’t mean the war is over.”

  Though Elijah knew she was correct, for now, he wanted to believe that all was right with the world. With his world, anyway. And he had Lillian to thank for it. Perhaps he needed to rethink his plan to delay marrying.

  ~*~

  Two days later, Lillian and Julia were sitting in the drawing room when a footman entered, carrying a large vase of flowers.

  The beautiful bouquet sent Lillian’s heart pounding, for she knew who’d sent them.

  “Oh my,” Julia declared as she admired the arrangement. “More flowers?”

  Lillian felt her cheeks flush when Julia shifted her gaze to her, a smile on her face.

  “Where would you like them, my lady?” the footman asked.

  “Put them here,” Julia directed. “On the table before us so that we might both enjoy them.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Lillian rose to more closely admire the bouquet and take the card the footman handed her. Unable to resist, she bent her head to breathe in the fresh, slightly spicy scent of lilies.

  “Much different arrangement today than yesterday’s traditional vase of yellow roses,” Julia remarked, her gaze lingering on Lillian. “What do you suppose that means?”

  “That he has good taste in flowers?” Lillian teased but couldn’t bring herself to meet Julia’s eyes.

  The flutters in her middle made it difficult to draw a breath as she opened the envelope. Elijah’s note wasn’t overly personal, just a simple wish for her to have a lovely day. She hardly knew what to think of his thoughtfulness. Or the attention.

  She traced the masculine bend to the words, the card stiff, the paper bright white, the ducal crest elegantly embossed.