The Dukes of War: Complete Collection

by Ridley, Erica

  He didn’t lack for money, or materials, or a workspace. What the overworked, under-appreciated Duke of Ravenwood most needed was time to himself. Time to be himself. The luxury of a few hours here and there where his presence or signature or advice or leadership was not required by someone else.

  A chance to be a poet. To enjoy his garden. To experience a moment of freedom. To just…be.

  “Your grace? A package has arrived for you.”

  Her pulse skipped. She whirled around to see a footman bearing a large, flat crate. Thank heavens!

  “Please place it outside my aunt’s bedchamber.” That sounded innocuous enough. A heavy sigh of relief escaped her lungs.

  Now the only trick would be smuggling the portrait out of the crate and back onto the wall.

  She had asked the maids who cleaned that corridor not to enter the parlor for a few days, just in case the painting hadn’t returned in time, but that was no guarantee that curiosity at the strange request wouldn’t propel one of them to peek around the corner.

  She hung back just long enough to give the footman time to drop off the crate and walk away before rushing to Aunt Havens’ guest quarters to retrieve the package.

  With the aid of a small knife she’d sequestered just for this purpose, she was able to pry off the lid and slide out the linen-wrapped frame.

  Her nerves jumped. Before anyone else could chance upon her, she hurried straight to the back parlor. She didn’t unwrap the frame until she was standing directly in front of the empty nails where the portrait had once hung.

  Carefully, she placed it back on the wall then stood back to rake it over with a critical eye.

  It looked the same. No visible nicks in the gilded frame, no dirt or stains upon the cracked canvas.

  She narrowed her eyes as an insidious thought occurred to her. This had better be the original portrait and not the forged copy. A painter like her friend would be talented enough to duplicate every brushstroke, cracks and all.

  No. She shook her head. Her friends would not have done that. Their artistic fingers might be capable of such deception, but their kind hearts were not. They wanted Kate’s gift to succeed as much as she did.

  She folded up the empty linen as if it were no more than a bit of mending and slipped back through the corridors to her aunt’s bedchamber.

  The empty crate had been removed from the hallway. In its place stood an extravagantly coiffed Aunt Havens, outfitted in canary yellow silk from neck to toe.

  “What time are we leaving?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to put on a proper gown?”

  Kate blinked. The Grenville soirée. She’d nearly forgot.

  Aunt Havens had not, of course. She loved parties as much as Kate did, and had attended them all as her chaperone since the moment of her come-out.

  Kate grinned back at her aunt.

  Now that she was married and no longer required chaperonage, she still couldn’t imagine going anywhere without Aunt Havens.

  Her aunt had never been a simple duenna, but rather Kate’s favorite person and closest friend. The most amusing rout was made even more fun by having Aunt Havens at her side to make jests to and confide secrets.

  “Of course I’ll wear a proper gown,” she said gaily, looping her arm through her aunt’s. “Come help me choose one that won’t clash with yours. I had thought cobalt at first, but now I’m starting to think, why not a mint green?”

  Now that the portrait was back and she and Aunt Havens had diverting plans, Kate’s spirits lightened considerably. No more risks. No more prejudice. A heightened sense of responsibility. She was New Kate. Duchess of Ravenwood, in fact. From now on, she would act like it.

  The moment she was bathed and dressed, she and Aunt Havens set off for the Grenville soiree.

  Kate had intended to take her husband’s practical advice to heart, and started to woo potential patrons to her opening gala with the same enthusiasm and respect she’d given to the performers and artists.

  “Miss Grenville,” she said when she caught up with the eldest Grenville sibling. “I quite enjoyed your family musicale a few months back.”

  “That’s fortunate,” Miss Grenville said with a wry smile. “I am pleased to inform you that it was our last.”

  “Pleased?” Kate stared at her, disappointment curving her shoulders. “I thought you loved music.”

  “I adore hearing it far more than performing it,” Miss Grenville confessed. “Now that I am of age, I shall spend as much of my time as possible watching the stage, rather than standing on it.”

  Kate’s spine straightened. “If that is the case, you and your family may be interested to take part in the upcoming Society for the Creative and Performing Arts.”

  Miss Grenville shook her head. “I meant what I said about no longer singing for a crowd.”

  “Nor would you have to. This society will bring together art enthusiasts with practitioners. You would be able to sponsor the singer or singers of your choice, and become a patron of the arts, rather than a performer.”

  Miss Grenville frowned. “Do you mean…sponsor an opera singer like Angelica Catalini?”

  “Not a famous one,” Kate corrected. “A soon-to-be famous one. Someone extremely talented who, without your help and patronage, would never be destined for greatness. Years from now, when audiences are clamoring for tickets to hear the greatest soprano in London, it could be because you discovered her at the Society for Creative and Performing Arts and paved her way to fame.”

  “Me, a patron of the arts?” Miss Grenville’s eyes shone. “What a lovely idea! I cannot wait to tell Mother. I am certain every member of our family will wish to sponsor an artist. Is there any limit?”

  “No limit at all. Please spread the word to anyone you think might be interested.” Happiness soared through Kate’s veins. “With everyone’s help, London’s arts and theatre will be the envy of the world.”

  Miss Grenville clapped her hands. “I cannot wait!”

  “Pardon the interruption, your grace.” Mrs. Epworth, a recent widow, stepped into the conversation. “Can you tell me more about this Society for Creative and Performing Arts? I would love to be a patron.”

  “Absolutely.” Kate grinned back at her.

  In no time, the idea had caught on and the partygoers began to tease each other about whether they would attend as sponsors or as performers.

  Joy filled Kate’s heart. She would spend every moment over the next few weeks continuing to spread the word, but she no longer held any doubts. Her idea was going to work. She could feel it. The energy pulsed everywhere around her.

  Lady Grenville swooped into Kate’s path with a frown. “His grace didn’t deign to join us?”

  “You know Ravenwood,” Lord Grenville said with a laugh before Kate could reply. “Wed to his work, he is.”

  “Well, now he’s wed to his duchess,” Lady Grenville insisted petulantly. “One would think he could at least accompany her on her outings.”

  Kate’s cheeks heated at the sound of her earlier unfair thoughts echoed by those around them. She kept her tone casual, but enunciated her reply. “Unlike me, my husband has more important things to do with his time. I’m always well accompanied, however.” She nodded toward the refreshment table, where Aunt Havens hovered near a plate of biscuits. “My aunt is the perfect person to attend parties with me.”

  “A perfect person to be checked into an asylum, you mean,” came a nasal sneer from just behind her.

  She spun around to find herself face to face with Phineas Mapleton, the ton’s most outspoken gossip.

  “There is nothing wrong with my Aunt Havens,” she snapped.

  Mapleton’s cruel laugh rang loud. “Nothing except she’s been eating off the serving dishes as if the refreshment table were her own private breakfast tray.”

  Kate jerked her head toward the refreshment table just in time to see Aunt Havens replace a half-eaten biscuit back onto a platter.

  “She’s fine,” she mana
ged hotly, before turning and marching through the crowd to rescue the refreshments from her aunt.

  Mapleton followed. “She’s old. You should send her somewhere else to live out her last days.”

  Kate’s eyes stung and she curled her fingers into fists. “She’s not going to die.”

  “We’ll all die someday,” Mapleton corrected with a smirk. “That old biddy is just closer than most.”

  Kate turned her back on him before she stabbed his eyes out. She hurried over to Aunt Havens. As casually as she could, Kate looped her arm through her aunt’s and gently steered her away from the refreshment table.

  “Aunt,” she said softly. “You can’t use serving dishes like plates. Remember?”

  Aunt Havens stared at her blankly, her mouth and bodice littered with telltale crumbs.

  Kate’s throat tightened. “Aunt Havens? Can you hear me?”

  “You’ve lost her,” came Mapleton’s laughing voice from behind her. “Bats in the belfry.”

  She tightened her grip on her aunt’s hands to keep from whirling around and leveling him a facer. The Earl of Carlisle had done it once. Kate was willing to pay good money for him to do it again.

  “I haven’t lost her,” she bit out through clenched teeth. Her skin itched with a cold sweat. She would never lose Aunt Havens. She couldn’t. Swallowing her fear, she bent to her great-aunt’s eye level. “Aunt, it’s Kate. Do you hear me? Can you see me?”

  Aunt Havens blinked and her entire face animated again. “Why are you holding my hands, Kate? This isn’t an appropriate venue for us to dance together.”

  “Oh, that’s rich,” Mapleton hooted. “Her scolding someone else about proper behavior!”

  Aunt Havens frowned. “What on earth is that young man babbling about?”

  “Nothing,” Kate said quickly. Her heart still beat too quickly from the terror of seeing her aunt unresponsive. “Pay him no mind. He’s an imbecile.”

  “And she’s nothing more than a great baby,” Mapleton shot back. “Do you bathe her and change her, too? She’s as helpless and as useless as a child.”

  Aunt Havens stiffened. “I am not a baby.”

  “A dog, then.” Mapleton’s lip curled. “Eating off the serving trays with no more manners than a mutt. You ought not bring her back without a leash. If she’s too old for the nursery, you can keep her in the stables.”

  Kate dragged her away from Mapleton before the blackguard could make any more disparaging comments. She found a private corner behind a painted partition and pulled her aunt out of sight of the crowd.

  “We should go, Aunt,” she said quietly. “Perhaps you’re tired.”

  “I’m not tired,” said Aunt Havens stubbornly. She jerked her arm from Kate’s grip. “I’m not a baby. I’m not useless.”

  “I just…” Kate’s heart pounded and she swallowed hard. “You weren’t yourself for a moment, Aunt. I think perhaps you shouldn’t be alone. I would hate for something to happen.”

  Aunt Havens drew herself up tall, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Don’t patronize me. I am not a danger to myself. And even if I were, I’d rather die as an independent woman than be treated like a child by you.”

  Kate’s chest tightened with guilt. She wrapped her aunt in her arms. “I’m sorry, Aunt. You’re right. You’re a woman, not a child. I promise never to treat you like one. I swear it.”

  Only then, finally, did Aunt Havens hug her back.

  Chapter 18

  Ravenwood was in the east wing listening to his wife explain the provenance of various artifacts she’d used to decorate what had once been an ordinary sitting room into a Greek dayroom when the unmistakable sound of carriage wheels rolled up toward the house.

  “Just a moment.” He bit back a sigh. He wasn’t expecting company or deliveries of any kind, which was why he’d picked this moment to accept Katherine’s invitation to view the changes she’d made to her section of the manor. He should’ve known he would never even have a quarter of an hour free. “Let me see who or what has just arrived.”

  To his surprise, Katherine pulled a pocket watch from the folds of her skirt. His eyebrows rose. He hadn’t known she possessed a watch of any kind. Or pockets.

  “It’s your cousins,” she said once she’d consulted the hour. “Early, I’m afraid.”

  “My cousins?” He reared back. Now the day was shot completely. He had ledgers to tally… A committee meeting to prepare for…

  “Never fear,” she assured him. “It’s just tea. They’re in town for other purposes and will be gone within two hours.”

  His spirits fell. “I don’t have time for tea.”

  She nodded. “That’s why I told them you had meetings scheduled all day and must send your deepest regrets about being unable to join us.”

  He stared at her. “I don’t even have to greet them?”

  “Never again, if that’s your desire,” she agreed cheerfully. “You hate entertaining people. I love it. This way we both get what we want.”

  “You want to take tea with my cousins?” he repeated, unable to hide his skepticism. The Blaylocks meant well. Some of them, anyway. But even five minutes in their company made him feel like he was drowning.

  “I like taking tea with pretty much anyone,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. “It will be fun for Aunt Havens, too. We haven’t left the house in a fortnight, so it’s past time to be a little social.”

  He frowned. Was that true? He vaguely recalled mention of some Grenville rout a while back, but his nights had been too busy with the House of Lords for him to pay attention to anyone else’s schedule.

  Parliament was to adjourn in less than a week, which would free up his evenings to spend more time with his wife.

  The impending end of the Season also meant far fewer entertainments were to be had… which was why Kate had picked the final week for her opening gala.

  His shoulders tightened. He couldn’t believe he was just remembering.

  “Your event is this week, is it not?” he asked, as if it hadn’t just occurred to him. He’d been so busy lately, the best he could do was take each day as it came. He did have the date highlighted in his diary, however. If Katherine believed the success of the evening hinged on his presence at the event, then he would ignore his hatred of crowds and sit there with a smile. He just hoped he didn’t have to share a box with his cousins. “Will you be inviting the Blaylocks?”

  “Only in town until tomorrow, I’m afraid.” The knowing smile that accompanied her words indicated she’d seen right through the question.

  Ravenwood couldn’t be disappointed. Once his cousins left, perhaps Katherine could resume the story she’d been telling him about Argonauts and the Golden Fleece. A smile played at his lips. The enthusiasm in her voice indicated she felt as at home among antiquities as he did amongst his flowers. He hoped there would be many more such shared moments in their future.

  The butler appeared in the doorway. “Pardon the interruption, your graces. The Blaylock family is in the front parlor.”

  “Thank you, Simmons. I’ll be right there.” Katherine waited until the butler left, then touched the tip of her fingers to the back of Ravenwood’s hand. “I’ll keep them to the front of the house in case you need to visit your garden.”

  Before he could think of an appropriate response, she swept out into the corridor to go take tea with his family.

  He stared after her, stunned.

  She wasn’t doing him a favor because she—rightly—believed him to be overwhelmed with all his concurrent duties to Parliament and his estate. She was letting him know that it was perfectly fine for him to spend this time doing whatever he wished. Even if that meant nothing more critical than a walk to his garden.

  She understood him, he realized in surprise. No. More than that. She understood and accepted him precisely how he was.

  In a state of some bemusement, he found himself heading not toward his garden, but to his office. He retrieved a key f
rom his inner waistcoat pocket and unlocked the top drawer of his desk.

  Once his book of poetry was open before him, he leafed slowly through its pages. He didn’t often reread what he had written. The themes were always the same. Hope. Family. Love.

  Something had changed over the last few weeks, however. He was no longer writing poetry about a vague hope for a future love, but rather writing poems about someone specific.

  His poems were no longer about old dreams. They were about Katherine.

  Initially, he hadn’t been able to see past her exuberance and chaotic life. But just because it was chaos to him didn’t mean it was chaos to her. His heart warmed just thinking about her.

  Over the past weeks he’d discovered how surprisingly organized she was. What he’d always assumed was the capricious whim of an idle socialite was actually strategic appearances to boost the success of this event or that.

  She was far from the selfish debutante he’d once believed her to be. She opened museums, pioneered support for an artistic community, facilitated fundraising for other people’s charities, treated her aunt with more love and caring than he’d ever witnessed anyone display in his life.

  Katherine was responsible and driven. Yet she never failed to put family first.

  He jerked his head up and stared at his empty office. She never failed to put family first.

  Family.

  Him.

  There were a thousand other things she would surely rather be doing than entertain his well-meaning cousins while he took refuge in his office.

  He stared at his poetry. All this time, he’d been yearning for a family, yearning for the day when Katherine would want a family—and he already had one. He’d just had to open his eyes.

  He shoved his journal back into its drawer and yanked a blank sheet of parchment from a fresh stack.

  What Katherine could do that he could not was entertain anyone and everyone with a smile on her face.

  What he could do that she could not was pen personal invitations to summon every influential member of the ton to Katherine’s upcoming gala with the irresistible promise that the reclusive Duke of Ravenwood himself would be present in the front row.