“Perhaps he will even desire to invest in my company,” Papa mused, a content expression on his face.
“You mustn’t conduct any business,” Margaret said hastily.
“I quite agree.” Mama rose. “Now you must come with me.”
“Where?”
“To prepare.” Mama grasped Margaret’s hand and yanked her up. “You must look your very best this weekend. This is a moment for Madame Abrial.”
Margaret’s heart sank.
Madame Abrial was the modiste most en vogue with the ton. Unfortunately, Margaret abhorred visiting her shop. For one so lauded, Madame Abrial seemed to take pleasure in expressing doubt about her ability to make Margaret look respectable, emphasizing that her magic had limitations.
“Must we?” Margaret pleaded.
Mama gave her a stern stare, and for a horrible moment, Margaret remembered Mama tying her to the duke’s bedposts. Perhaps that attempt had been unsuccessful, but Margaret had no desire to test the limits of Mama’s creativity.
“Very well,” Margaret said.
Mama beamed. Soon, Margaret exited the townhouse for the second time today, though this time, Mama directed the driver on where to go.
The carriage swept through London. The streets became more crowded, and finally the carriage halted before a shop.
Margaret followed her mother into Madame Abrial’s store. A dress shop was a poor use of the space’s limited size. Margaret squeezed past gowns, toward the large glass display cases for fabric. Though this was a surprisingly sunny day in January, the light that had beamed into the street, unthwarted by London’s fog, was evidently not able to pierce through Madame Abrial’s crowded display case.
A few women, younger than her, turned in her direction. Perhaps they would debut next season. They returned soon to their perusal of ribbons and lace.
“What has Madame Abrial’s become?” One of the women shook her head.
Margaret stiffened.
The woman directed her attention to Margaret. “They’re bringing in the riff raff.”
Her companion giggled.
Margaret doubted either woman had given much thought to physics before, but they must know Margaret could hear them. Surely, they knew sound didn’t stop traveling simply because one said something unpleasant.
The woman raised her chin and glanced again at Margaret. There was a cruel icy look in her eyes.
She knew Margaret could hear.
And she didn’t care.
This wasn’t the first time Margaret had been confronted with this situation. Her mother was always adamant that Margaret should be in the best places, and the people in the best places were baffled by her presence.
Margaret didn’t blame them.
Her ancestors hadn’t liked it when the English had come north either, and it would be foolish to assume the reverse was true. She felt like a foreign invader, but unlike them she wasn’t carrying a pistol.
She was simply Margaret, in clothes that were a trifle too tight to be becoming—
a symbol of her mother’s always optimistic hope she would become slimmer—and in a color that was never quite right, no matter how much her mother studied Matchmaking for Wallflowers and other journals for fashion advice.
Margaret’s mother’s face had grown paler, and her lips were tight.
She heard.
“Perhaps we can return another time,” Margaret suggested, keeping her voice low.
Mama sniffed. “Nonsense.”
Mama hadn’t grown up with money. Papa’s sudden success had been a surprise to everyone, but Mama struggled valiantly to give Margaret the same options she would have had, if Papa had come from a wealthy family.
Margaret felt the eyes of the other people on her, and stiffened. She moved her hands jerkily over the fabric, struggling to appear to ignore them. Her happiness at receiving the invitation vanished.
Nothing much had changed, and nothing would change after she visited the duke.
Another woman might take advantage of the opportunity. Her friend Emma had managed to land a marquess even though she’d had no desire to do so and had given every indication of finding the marquess’s attention inconvenient. But then, Emma was beautiful, and life for her would always be different.
Margaret sighed.
She needed to remember that even if she had received an invitation to visit the duke’s home, nothing truly had changed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JASPER’S MOOD WAS BUOYED: Miss Carberry was alive. Her limbs were intact, and no scratches marred her delicate skin. He sipped his tea and stretched his feet onto his ottoman. His invitation to the Carberry family was sent out, and given his groom’s efficiency, her family had probably already explained over its contents.
In truth, organizing the house party was an easier feat than he’d allowed Miss Carberry to believe. These men were his friends, and he’d already arranged to have them visit his castle in Dorset to mark the end of the season.
Sebastian, the Duke of Sandridge, was normally found on the coast in Cornwall. Sandridge spent far too much time on the water. Reginald, the Duke of Hammett, was often partaking in boxing competitions, which at least had the advantage of being on land, even if his bruises appeared uncomfortable. Lucas, the Duke of Ainsworth, was normally happily ensconced in Oxford, as if reluctant to abandon any research books, no matter how obscure. Colin, the Duke of Brightling, was content to dance at balls.
Miss Carberry had seemed so astonished at his ability to plan the house party that he’d hardly wanted to dampen her wonder. Most people didn’t look at him with that sense of awe. Curiosity, perhaps. Envy, often. And some people did have a glazed look to their eyes that made him think they found his regular features appealing.
No, Miss Carberry was a damsel in distress, and though he was not a knight—he would do his best to assist her.
He’d be happy to do so.
It had occurred to Jasper that he would not mind being in Miss Carberry’s company for longer. She would be quite suitable as a wife of one of his friends. She was intelligent, but more importantly, she was kind. And though he’d dismissed her when they’d first met, she had a certain attractiveness. Her curves for instance were most appealing. He’d considered her frumpy, but perhaps she simply required clothes that fit properly. Today’s fashions weren’t equipped at displaying the sumptuous curve of her bosom, matched only by the curve of her hips.
The manner in which she’d laid in his bed, her back arched as she strained against her constraints... His chest tightened at the memory.
No, he’d been wrong to dismiss her.
His friends would be wrong if they did as well.
Jasper removed a sheet of paper and placed it on his book. He scrambled for an inkwell and quill, then began to write a list. Most people favored desks, thinking that writing should be done at proper places, but Jasper was eager to make every moment perfect. Sitting in a leather armchair with his feet up and a pleasant view of Grosvenor Square before him was far preferable to sitting at a desk, even if he risked ink splattering over his trousers.
This house party needed to be marvelous. His friends prided themselves on their unmarried state, even if they complained on occasion of languor.
He frowned. Was marriage the sort of thing that banished boredom? Perhaps. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine a marriage. A family. Happiness.
He shook his head. No doubt marriage had its advantages, but he’d long ago vowed to not partake in it.
Happiness could be taken away if he depended on it from others. It was far better to find happiness himself and spread it from time to time to his friends and acquaintances. He didn’t want to be dependent on anyone else.
Other people might die.
His family had.
Why create a new one if it just brought risks of pain?
Jasper was happy now. Everyone knew it.
He pushed the thought of marriage away. He rarely succumbed to such sentimentality
. Or at least, he attempted to rarely succumb to such drivel. Ever since Hugh had married, he’d been thinking more about the institution.
Romance would need to be summoned more naturally. He tapped his quill thoughtfully against his paper. Ink spurted out, and he remembered that writing, not tapping, was the appropriate activity for a quill.
Romance.
1. Music - Violinists are best
2. Flowers - Preference for Roses
3. Fires in Fireplaces
He frowned at the latter. He didn’t like to create more work for his servants, so perhaps the fires could be contained to the main halls. This was summer after all. No one should be cold.
He had the impression the list should be longer. It must take more to become married. He blotted his quill, then smiled as more ideas flitted into his mind.
4. Poetry books
5. Long walks at sunset.
He nodded at the last one. That was it. He must remember not to have Miss Carberry miss sunset.
He set down his quill and removed his gaze from the paper. The house party would proceed perfectly.
READING WAS AN ABSOLUTE impossibility.
Even if Margaret had not been distracted by thoughts of the upcoming house party, she would have been distracted by the sounds thundering through the townhouse. The place had seemed spacious before, but it could not obscure the sounds of Mama barking orders to the servants and urging them to pack each and every item of clothing.
Fortunately, Margaret had somewhere else to be and she pulled her mother aside.
“I’m going to visit Daisy,” Margaret said.
Mama sniffed. “Wouldn’t it be a better use of your time to spend time with someone who actually is part of society?”
“Daisy’s father is a baron, and Papa has no title.”
“That might be.” Mama shifted her legs, “but you cannot call her within society. You attend more events than she does.”
“I am not in a chair,” Margaret said.
“You do understand.” Relief passed over Mama’s face, even though that was not the emotion Margaret desired to summon. “I do wish you would spend more time with Lady Juliet. She is engaged to a duke.”
Margaret smiled tightly. “I am aware.”
“Perhaps you should invite her to the house party,” Mama mused. “It would be good for the duke to see you already cavorting with duchesses.”
“She’s not a duchess yet.”
“She will be,” Mama breathed, and her eyes shimmered in an odd manner that made Margaret avert her eyes.
“Well, I am going to visit Daisy, just as I do every Tuesday afternoon,” Margaret said. “I am certain Percy is already preparing the carriage.”
Mama sighed resignedly. “I suppose there will be other people you can see as well.”
Margaret did not bother to answer. She was hardly going to imply that the purpose of seeing Daisy was so she might spend time with other people. She certainly wasn’t going to mention that Lady Juliet would probably be present. Margaret would have gone to see Daisy by herself, just as she had done the other night.
Instead, she turned and left.
The carriage was indeed prepared, and after putting on a light pelisse and her favorite lace gloves, she soon was on her way toward Mayfair. Normally the sight of Londoners going about their business transfixed her, but now her mind returned to her strange meeting with the duke.
She’d expected him to scoff at Daisy’s suggestion. Technically, he had scoffed at her suggestion, but she doubted Daisy would be troubled at the alternative he’d presented.
Margaret arrived and strode toward the door, striving to not recollect her late arrival a few days prior. She inhaled, grasped hold of the door knocker and waited for the door to finally swing open.
“Good afternoon, Miss Carberry.” The butler scrutinized her dubiously, no doubt recollecting her late arrival before.
She forced herself to hold up her chin. “I have arrived for tea.”
“Miss Holloway and her friends are in the drawing room, Miss Carberry,” the butler said.
“Thank you.” Margaret hastened toward the room. The sound of her friends’ laughter would have been ample indication of their location, even if she hadn’t visited often before.
Margaret greeted her friends. An appealing tower brimming with afternoon tea delights sat before them, and Margaret took her customary seat on the chaise between Juliet and Genevieve. Daisy soon poured tea for Margaret, and Portia passed it to her along with a scrumptious apple-flavored sweet.
“You came!” Daisy beamed at her. “I thought you might have been tired from the other night.”
“I was a late-night visitor,” Margaret explained to the others.
“She came all by herself.” Daisy flung her arms. “In a tattered and torn gown. It was most dramatic. Poor Jameson has still not recovered. And we’re still finding rosettes.”
The other women looked at Margaret curiously. They weren’t the sort of women to wander about London by themselves. Few women were.
Margaret quickly told them the story. Their eyes widened at appropriate moments, and they let out comforting sighs at others.
“I told Margaret she should ask the duke to dance with her at the next ball to help her find a husband,” Daisy said, and the others laughed.
“I would love to see that,” Genevieve squealed.
“As the founder of the Duke Hunters Club, I admire that suggestion.” Juliet gave a regal smile befitting of a woman confident of her betrothal. Her deep burgundy hair gleamed as if it were a crown.
“I thought you would,” Daisy said with obvious pride.
“I asked him,” Margaret said.
The others stared, but Daisy leaned forward, her eyes shining. “You mean you went to visit him? By yourself?”
“Perhaps she thought he would be more likely to say yes if she brought her mother,” Portia said.
“By giving him a heart attack.” Genevieve turned quickly to Margaret. “Not to be disrespectful.”
“I took my grandmother.”
Daisy sent her an approving nod. “An excellent move. Shows him how long you can live and how he definitely doesn’t want to keep you about as a spinster.”
“What did he say?” Juliet breathed.
“Well.” Margaret shifted in her seat. Suddenly the room was very hot, and she placed her tea down.
“He must have dismissed her.” Genevieve’s eyes welled in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, dear.”
“No sympathy necessary,” Margaret said.
“What exactly did he say?” Juliet asked. “Perhaps we can rectify it.”
Daisy nodded gamely. “All of us are here this time. We’ll think of something. You needn’t worry.”
“Well.” Margaret picked up her teacup and took a long sip. Finally, she put down her teacup. “I’m going to the Duke of Jevington’s estate for a house party.”
Her friends blinked. Some of them raised their eyebrows, while others dropped their mouths open.
None of them managed to not appear flabbergasted.
“The Duke of Jevington, you said?” Portia asked finally.
Margaret nodded.
“The Duke of Jevington with all the money?”
“And all the good looks,” Daisy added.
The others snickered.
“Yes.” Margaret’s voice squeaked.
“Well.” Genevieve’s eyes remained wide. “Enjoy yourself.”
The advice might be sound but enjoying herself seemed absolutely the last thing she would be doing.
“Look,” Margaret said. “There are seven unmarried dukes in England.”
Portia raised an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”
“How do you not know that?” Juliet shook her head, and her red locks bounced. “Everyone knows that. Besides, one of them is a nonagenarian, and one of them is my betrothed.”
“The Duke of Jevington informed me,” Margaret said.
Genevieve bli
nked. “As trivia? Facts of interest?”
“He told me he plans to invite them to the party.” Margaret shrugged. “Of course, he was jesting. Naturally.”
For a moment she’d allowed herself to believe he would invite a group of dukes, but that had been a momentary lapse. He couldn’t have been serious. He couldn’t stay serious.
The others nodded, but Daisy’s eyes glimmered.
“Men are only grown-up little boys,” Portia said in a kind manner. “One must remember that. They can be liable to jesting. All that time at school with nothing to do but to tuck frogs underneath one another’s pillows.”
“Heavens, I hope none of the dukes retain that habit,” Margaret said. “Lily can be quite energetic about her disapproval of reptiles.”
“Imagine Lily chasing them!” Genevieve exclaimed, and the others squealed and giggled.
“A house party...” Juliet murmured. “How lovely.”
Juliet was correct.
It should be lovely.
But Margaret’s heart still thrummed a nervous rhythm, and she turned to her friend. “My mother mentioned she wouldn’t mind if you joined us. Given your—er—betrothed status.”
“There are even more reasons to find a husband,” Portia moaned.
Margaret shot a guilty look at her other friends. “I’m sorry. She didn’t invite everyone.”
“And she shouldn’t,” Daisy said. “This is a moment for you alone. Does the duke know about the invitation?”
“I doubt his castle is devoid of rooms,” Juliet said. “Besides, I should meet the other peers in my future husband’s circle.”
“I imagine the weekend would be difficult even with the possibility of spending time with dukes,” Genevieve said.
There was an awkward silence. No doubt everyone was pondering Margaret’s mother and her proclivity toward pushiness.
Even if Juliet came with her, this would still be an uncomfortable house party.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FOLLOWING WEEK the grooms piled their trunks onto the carriage, and Margaret, Juliet, Mama, Papa, Grandmother Agatha and Lily squeezed inside. The maid sat with the driver. Papa removed a ledger from his purse and placed it over his lap.
All You Need is a Duke (The Duke Hunters Club, #1) Page 7
