The Dukes of War: Complete Collection

by Ridley, Erica

  She spoke more slowly. “Is there a performance scheduled for that evening?”

  “Yes, of course! Since the theatre is closed on Christmas, Grimaldi’s last performance as Friday is to be that evening, and Miss O’Neill will be reprising her role as Juliet earlier that afternoon. I couldn’t possibly—”

  “Splendid. By simply moving Mr. Grimaldi’s performance one day forward, we have solved all logistics without any hassle. Mind you, we still haven’t decided if we will select this establishment. We’re simply ensuring there are no impediments.”

  “But Lady Amelia, Grimaldi! The gentry can have no argument with postponing at your ladyship’s convenience, but—the dukes! The earls! ’Tis impossible, my lady.”

  “They won’t have to alter their plans one whit,” she replied calmly. “’Twould be a different event, but held at the same time and place. I can’t think of anything more convenient to our needs.”

  The manager sent an imploring look in Benedict’s direction.

  Benedict could do little more than lift a shoulder in empathy. It was plainly apparent that if Lady Amelia set her mind to bringing about a given circumstance, no force on earth could slow her down.

  “Come now,” she said briskly. “The next performance begins in less than an hour. I believe you wished to give us a brief tour of the less public areas?”

  “Yes, I...Of course, of course.” He bowed. “My lady had enquired about evacuation routes in the event of a fire, and what steps must be taken to ensure hot foods are served hot, and cold dishes cold.”

  Benedict stared at her. “Are you this exacting every time you go to the theatre?”

  “Don’t be absurd. I am fastidious when the responsibility for my guests’ safety and enjoyment falls upon my shoulders. Your shoulders, that is.” She fixed him with wide green eyes and a slow blink of thick chestnut lashes. “We can skip safety and enjoyment if you like?”

  He tucked her hand closer to his side. “By all means, madam. Let’s have our inspection.”

  In short order, he found himself intimately acquainted with the proscenium arch (opulent), the stage floor (enormous), the dining possibilities (atrocious), the actresses (lovely), and the famous harlequin Joseph Grimaldi himself (an unparalleled genius).

  “Do say we’re staying for his performance,” he murmured into Lady Amelia’s ear. Her skin smelled of rosewater. He leaned closer, then jolted upright when he realized he’d all but asked for permission, as if he were leg-shackled to the chit instead of gammoning her until he could cancel upon the morrow.

  To her credit, Lady Amelia raised no brow over the gaffe, and responded with an indifference that rankled worse than toad-eating. “You may do as you wish, of course. Since I’ve only previously viewed the stage from the private Ravenwood box, I haven’t the least notion of the sightline or acoustics from the side balconies, front galleries, parterre, or lower stalls. I shall stay just long enough to note the differences in sight, sound, and general comfort from each strategic location.”

  “Just long enough to—” He didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “In other words, you don’t intend to relax and enjoy the performance?”

  She stared at him as if she’d never heard the terms relax and enjoy before in her life. It was more than a little concerning.

  “Of course not.” She turned toward the stairs leading to the highest boxes. “Once the performance begins, it should only require a few moments in each locality to ascertain its suitableness as a vantage point. I should be home in bed with my report already dashed off to you in a matter of hours.”

  “Your report to me?” he repeated, trying not to picture her reclining in a bed. “Aren’t I standing right here with you?”

  Her brow knitted. “Clearly. But my notes will be an invaluable resource once we’ve multiple venues to compare.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “No.”

  She bristled. “Of course they—”

  “Obviously your report will be the finest and most comprehensive treatise ever written about the Theatre Royal on the subject of ballroom appropriateness and guest safety. But as the manager said—it’s Grimaldi! He makes an astonishing Friday.” Benedict laid his hands upon her arms in sudden realization. “Have you never attended Robinson Crusoe for fun?”

  “Fun?” she repeated blankly. She tilted a baffled gaze up at him. “Why would I do that?”

  Why, indeed. He stared at her with something akin to horror. Had he been feeling sorry for himself for ten long years of twelve-hour workdays? He far preferred his stolen hours of mindless entertainments to the idea of never being entertained at all. It was pitiable, really, that a woman this clever should not know what it was to disconnect her wits for a moment to simply enjoy the world about her. Something ought to be done! And he was just the man to do it.

  Deuce take it, the fetching Lady Amelia needed him even more desperately than the Christmas ball needed her.

  Which, he recognized wryly, meant he was going through with her party scheme. He smiled. It also meant he had twelve nights to teach Lady Amelia to enjoy life.

  “How can you say with certainty whether any activity delivers the proper level of guest delight, if you do not allow yourself to experience pleasure for pleasure’s sake?”

  She blinked.

  He grinned, inordinately pleased with himself for having phrased come enjoy this evening with me in such a way that she could not possibly refuse. “I shall permit you to drag me all over Town in search of the perfect venue if you allow me the pleasure of escorting you about said venue, with a goal no more profound than to enjoy whatever pleasures the location has to offer.”

  She pursed her rosy lips. “These are the terms of your acceptance?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Very well.” She sighed. “Shocking waste of time, but at least there are only two more left to visit.”

  He smiled at the challenge in her eyes. Silly chit. He’d already won.

  He could not attend to her during the days, of course—rules were rules, and his daytime hours were already spoken for. His evenings, however...The lady didn’t know it yet, but for the next fortnight, his evenings belonged to her. They would both part ways richer for the experience. He would enjoy an unbroken streak of Christmastide soirées, and she...

  She would be introduced to pleasure.

  Chapter 4

  Amelia glanced at the clock on her mantel and frowned. Half past eight. She would have to leave in the next few moments if she were to make tonight’s meeting at the appointed hour. But Lord Sheffield had yet to arrive, and it was imperative that he accompany her. She’d been looking forward to another battle of wits.

  Her mouth tightened. When he hadn’t responded to her detailed treatise on the Theatre Royal, she had been heartened, not dismayed. He was a man of action. If he meant to scotch her scheme, he would have done. Therefore, he meant to join her. Her missive had clearly stated her intent to set off for the next venue no later than—

  “My lady?”

  The butler! Her shoulders relaxed. “Yes?”

  “Lord Sheffield has come to call. I’ve put him in the blue sitting room.”

  “Splendid.” She pushed away her pen and standish. Tomorrow would be soon enough for addressing invitations. She scooped up her pelisse and swept downstairs to greet the viscount.

  He started to see her dressed for the winter. “I thought you were not going!”

  “However did you take such a notion? The missive I sent at breakfast indicated my departure for the next tour would be promptly at half eight. I should hope I haven’t done anything in our short acquaintance to give you any cause to doubt my word.”

  “But I didn’t respond to your missive! The snow made traffic plod, and when I did not see your carriage out front awaiting your departure, I thought I had missed you altogether and wasted the trip. But when your butler said no, his lady was upstairs working, I could only assume—”

  “Then you make quite ridiculous assump
tions, indeed.”

  “As do you, my lady. The Theatre Royal, while boasting all the fine qualities listed in your six-page document, is not an option. I am not so full of my own self-importance that I would callously cancel hundreds of families’ Christmastide plans, just for me to throw a party.”

  “Then you will adore tonight’s venue. I chose it just for that reason.” She tilted her head toward the door. “Are we ready?”

  He stared at her, incredulous. “Ready? I haven’t a clue where we’re going!”

  “Haven’t you?” she teased. “But it’s Wednesday!”

  “Almack’s?” His mouth opened and shut without making a sound. “But its rooms are only open during the Season, which hasn’t even begun yet—”

  “—making it quite suitable for our ends. All we have to do is bend the patronesses to our point of view. Lady Jersey has agreed to hear our request.”

  “Bend—Queen Sarah—” He burst into laughter and offered her his arm. “Come, my lady. I shall permit you to do all the talking.”

  She slipped her gloved fingers into the crook of his elbow and allowed him to escort her to his waiting carriage. Despite the many times her societal roles had caused her to be on the arm of this duke or that earl, she had never before been struck by the sudden, foolish wish that her fingers were not so properly gloved, and his arm not so encased in winter layers, so that she might feel the warmth and strength of the muscle beneath.

  Heat pricked the back of her neck. Her, blush? It simply would not do.

  Oh, certainly, Lord Sheffield was a Tulip of Fashion and a delight for the eyes. Even were he to suddenly attire himself in waistcoats of tangerine and puce, his golden curls and sparkling hazel eyes would flutter the heart of any maiden—and did. Amelia was not so green as to be unaware of his rakish reputation. Being alone with him in a carriage might be considered fast, even if one was a spinster in her dotage.

  And yet...His behavior toward her had spoken very well of him from the very first. When he had enquired about her chaperonage, she had been the one to point out her age obviated the necessity. He had not only been perfectly willing to drive separately to their various assignations, he had accepted the assumption without question. It was she who had foregone her carriage in favor of accompanying the viscount.

  Just what were her intentions toward the man? She bit her lip and forced herself to turn from his handsome mien and focus instead on the view out the carriage window.

  His profile reflected back at her.

  She closed her eyes. It wouldn’t do, she reminded herself. Besides the frivolous reasons that they could not suit—his estate being perfectly run, future children failing to be lords and ladies—his nightly carousing was legendary, and unlikely to alter for someone as negligible as a wife.

  Unless the rumors were greatly exaggerated? She indulged herself in another long look at the golden-haired Corinthian seated across from her. He didn’t seem blue-deviled and bleary-eyed. But if that was because he’d spent the entirety of his daylight hours sleeping off a night of unrepentant bacchanalia, then she couldn’t even fathom a friendship forming between them.

  No. She’d had it from no less than three sources: after she’d gone home from the theatre at two in the morning, he’d traipsed directly to the Daffy Club, where he’d caroused until dawn.

  His eyes met hers and his brows lifted in question.

  She gazed back blandly, thankful the shadowed interior would mask any flush to her cheeks.

  “Guinea for your thoughts,” he said in his low, smooth voice.

  “Prinny has caused that much inflation?”

  The corners of his mouth quirked. “Most people’s ruminations aren’t worth a ha’ penny. Yours, I am persuaded, are worth considerably more.”

  “You shan’t think so once I’ve made them known.” She flattened her lips into a straight line. “I was thinking about those who behave impractically. All of today’s scandal sheets were full of a certain Viscount S—’s adventures with Blue Ruin.” She arched a brow pointedly. “Late night, was it?”

  “Mmm. And an early morning.” He stretched his long legs out before him. “As a lady of clocklike precision yourself, you may appreciate my schedule. I have kept strictly to it every day for the past decade. From eight in the morning to eight in the evening, I devote myself to my duties. Then from eight in the evening to eight in the morning, I...do...not.” He smiled, as if in remembrance of some unspeakable exploit.

  Amelia was horrified. His devil-may-care response had been crafted in just such a way to provoke her displeasure, and so it had. But not, perchance, for the reasons he might expect.

  As much as she tired of the house parties and winter retreats she was obliged to attend, or the two weeks in Bath every year with her cousins the Kingsleys, she could not deny the rejuvenating effect of several days in a row without a single responsibility or effort on her part. While she’d been picnicking at follies or riding in the parks, he hadn’t enjoyed a single ray of sunshine at all.

  She bit her lip. His estate might run smoothly, but it was in shocking want of efficiency. What had he said about the Christmastide party? He hadn’t wanted her to do it?

  “Requiring help does not indicate one is incapable of performing a task,” she said softly. “It simply means it is more expedient not to do so.”

  The darkling look he glowered upon her could have melted iron.

  They were both saved from what was likely to be a lively row by arriving on King Street. Lord Sheffield sprang from the carriage before the great wheels had completely settled, but reached up at once to hand her down.

  She was appalled to shiver not at the blustery chill but at the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his arms. Many a sillier maiden had tumbled down just this path. She was made of sterner stuff. Much more sensible stuff. She and the viscount were involuntary coconspirators until the conclusion of his party, and not a whisper more.

  Dipping their heads against the wind, they hurried to the entrance. Despite Almack’s having been closed for months, a footman stood at the ready to push open the door and collect their coats. There was no way to know whether he worked here year-round, or had been summoned specifically for their meeting. Perhaps he was one of Lady Jersey’s grooms. Amelia had recognized the crest upon the carriage in front of theirs.

  Just as Amelia was shaking out her skirts, Lady Jersey strode up to greet them, flanked by a passel of maids and footmen.

  After paying their respects, the countess turned her sharp brown eyes to Lord Sheffield. “I’m given to understand the Christmas Eve ball has not been canceled after all?”

  He lifted a hand in Amelia’s direction. “It seems everything Lady Amelia sets her mind to, happens.”

  The countess gave Amelia a nod of approval. “Ladies do know best about such things. I would not offer the services of Almack’s to just anyone—and I’ve yet to mention the scheme to my fellow patronesses whose unreserved approval is, of course, necessary—but as we are not yet in Season, and the annual Sheffield ball is the largest and most prestigious of all the winter galas, you may be assured it is no surprise whatever that after lightning destroyed your ballroom, the first and only alternate location that sprang to mind was Almack’s.”

  Lord Sheffield slanted Amelia a wry look. She blinked back at him innocently.

  “You both have held vouchers for your entire adult lives, so I need not point out the splendor of the ballroom or the convenience of our supper rooms. You are well acquainted with what makes Almack’s the best and most exclusive venue in the city. Follow now, however, and allow me to enumerate the full list of rules and conditions. Non-compliance with any one of these edicts does, of course, preclude us from even considering your petition.” She turned toward the card rooms. All of her maids and footmen fell in behind her, as if following their general into war. “This way, if you please.”

  “The first and only location that sprang to mind?” Lord Sheffield murmured in Amelia’s ear.r />
  She stared back at him with wide eyes. “Was it not? You know how dreadful I am with recalling details.”

  He placed her fingers firmly upon his arm. “The only dreadful thing is the bald-faced lies spilling from that woman’s mouth. She cannot possibly believe the venue is what brings hopefuls begging for vouchers. I have never once seen anything remotely edible pass through those supper rooms, and the ballroom! The floor has been ruined for years, and the curtains have got so thin as to be transparent.”

  “Minor concessions,” she whispered back. “You were the one who wanted space to promenade, and a venue not already promised.”

  “I hadn’t even told you that yet!”

  She waved a hand to hush him.

  “All entry shall be denied,” Lady Jersey was saying now, “beginning promptly at eleven. That hour is good enough for the high Season, and it is good enough for your party.”

  Lord Sheffield stepped forward, his eyes fierce. Amelia checked his progress by not releasing his arm. They were lucky so many servants stood between them and Lady Jersey, or she might have taken umbrage at his obvious disagreement.

  “Listen in silence,” Amelia admonished him softly. “As you may recall, this is a fact-finding tour and nothing more. I will present my full report by dawn, and your word on the subject will be final.”

  His expression was skeptical, but he made no move to interrupt the countess.

  “Furthermore,” Lady Jersey continued, the back of her head barely visible beyond the cloud of servants surrounding her. “Proper dress must be worn if a guest is to be granted admission. I am sure your guests will be capable of comporting themselves in line with both propriety and fashion.”

  She strode round the corner. Her maids and footmen scrambled to keep pace.

  “I don’t care about fashion,” Lord Sheffield murmured into Amelia’s ear, “but I’m sorely disappointed whenever a lady I escort decides to comport herself with propriety.”

  Smiling despite herself, she cuffed him on the shoulder. “Pay attention. If Lady Jersey believes you’re not taking her rules seriously, she’ll do worse than deny us the ballroom for your party.”