Of course. Because Annabelle never thought about the consequences of her own actions, nor anyone else’s, for that matter, which is how she came to be unfortunate herself.
Caroline huffed. “She has to remember her place,” she said, emphasizing the last three words. “Because he won’t.” Then turning to Lily, she added, “And then where will you be?”
In his bed?
She didn’t think that was what Caroline meant.
Luckily, the question seemed rhetorical, since Caroline continued talking. “You’ll be on your own with a ruined reputation, and maybe worse. Not to mention the agency will suffer. As well as having your own heart broken,” she added, as if in afterthought.
Well. That was all very bad, wasn’t it? She’d been hoping that someone, somewhere, would say she could explore and have fun without risking everything and everyone she cared about, but that kind of ending was only in fairy tales, and she did not have a fairy godmother to care for her.
All she had were two strong young women who had fought the hardship sent their way and emerged better on the other side.
All in all, she preferred what she had. And that meant she could never have what she didn’t have currently. Ever.
“Your Grace.” The butler held his hand out as Marcus shook himself out of his coat and removed his hat. “The countess is in the drawing room, if you will just come this way?”
Marcus took a deep breath and followed the stern butler—not as stern as Thompson, but definitely stern—down the hall, a feeling of trepidation in his throat. Not that he should feel that way, he’d certainly paid calls before, except he hadn’t done much socializing since assuming the title. He hadn’t wanted to, nor had he needed to. Until now.
So while the prospect of spending the evening with men such as Smithfield, Collins, and the other men he’d spoken and drank with brought him pleasure, the prospect of sitting as he was inspected—and perhaps found wanting—by a group of proper ladies was enough to make him actually nervous.
No wonder he had eschewed it before. He hadn’t realized just how ill-prepared he was to be a proper duke. To be a proper aristocrat, even. He’d had a succession of tutors, was given a few careless instructions as to how he should behave, but nothing more substantive. By the time he might reasonably have taken his place in correct society, his parents were dead, his brother didn’t care, and he didn’t want to bother with it. So he hadn’t.
Which made this walk down the hallway feel as though he were on his way to his death.
Not that he was being dramatic or anything, he thought ruefully. This was hardly death, this was just—tea, and biscuits, and polite conversation. So death of a slower sort. Death by tea and talking. Death by boredom.
Thankfully, the butler stopped in front of a door before he could run away. The man flung the door open and held it wide as Marcus stepped through. “His Grace, the Duke of Rutherford,” the butler announced.
The Countess of Daymond, the very thin woman he’d met the previous evening, rose and approached him, a very polite smile on her face. “Your Grace, what a pleasure. Thank you for the visit. Can I get you some tea?”
Tea. He really couldn’t face any more tea. But it was the polite thing to do, so, “Thank you, tea would be fine.”
“Or coffee?” she added. “I understand some gentlemen prefer coffee, although I cannot stand the appeal. So dark, and strong, and intense.”
That was precisely why he did like it, but he wouldn’t argue the point with her. “Coffee would be perfect, thank you.”
The question of which beverage he would be drinking settled, the countess began to make the introductions. There were at least half a dozen ladies sitting in the room, all with teacups either in their hands or beside them on small tables, and he’d be damned—most certainly—if he could tell any of them apart. Except for Lady Lucinda, who was regarding him with that cool, slightly amused expression she’d worn the night before.
“You met my daughter, Lady Lucinda,” the countess was saying, “and this is Lady Hall, of the Yorkshire Halls,” as though that meant anything to him, “and Miss Charles and Miss Alice Charles—they are Lucinda’s most devoted friends—and Lady Townsend, she is Lucinda’s godmother. And that is everyone.” She gestured to an empty chair. “Please do sit down.”
Marcus sat, as instructed, feeling the weight of six pairs of eyes, twelve eyes in all, on him, wishing there was at least another male in the room so he didn’t feel quite so on display. Especially since he knew just from the introductions that at least three of the women were unmarried, and therefore might be interested in snagging a duke. Would be interested in snagging a duke, since he could say without any modesty that he was one of the more attractive possible husbands a young lady could have. Or at least one of the most arrogant.
He wished Lily were here so she could take him down a peg. He liked it when she got that wry, disapproving look on her face after he’d said something particularly peremptory or commanding. Or both.
But thinking about her was not going to get him successfully embraced by society, nor was it going to find him a wife, a well-bred woman who could ensure that Rose was able to navigate Society on her own, despite the stigma of her birth.
“Thank you for the invitation to the party,” Marcus said, accepting the coffee the stern butler handed him. “Your house is lovely, and the weather remained tolerable.” And with that sentence, he realized, he’d just used up all of his polite conversation. Uh-oh.
“You have just arrived in town, Your Grace?” the countess asked.
Actually, he’d been here for a few months, hadn’t he? But if he said that, they would all wonder what he’d been doing, and that was not fit for polite conversation. “It seems so, doesn’t it?” There. An answer Miss Blake would be proud of. Or not, if she couldn’t decide whether or not to be proud of it.
“And what other parties do you plan on attending?” That was the other older woman, Lady Townsend, who shot a quick, knowing glance at her goddaughter, Lady Lucinda, as she asked the question.
“I am not certain,” he replied. It was not to his benefit that he was mirroring Miss Blake’s type of conversation.
“Do not pester the duke,” Lady Lucinda said in an amused voice. “He will be where he wishes to be when he wishes to be. Won’t you?” she asked, regarding him with her wry smile.
He had to admit she was a surprise. A definitely pleasant surprise. She was witty, pretty, and eligible. Why did that thought not please him?
The conversation turned to the party the night before, including the quality of the musicians, an unnamed young man drinking a bit too much punch, and how the refreshments were so delicious each lady present declared that she’d had at least one more than she should have.
“Your Grace?” Lady Lucinda had somehow displaced one of the ladies who had been sitting next to him. He nodded, as though she might possibly be in doubt of his identity. Thankfully she didn’t make note of that.
“I apologize for all the questions, it’s just that there aren’t very many dukes who normally grace our drawing room, and so of course we are all ridiculously curious about you. Especially,” she added with a roll of her eyes, “my mother.”
“Should we obtain a piece of paper and a pen so we might write down our conversation?” he asked, in a low tone matching hers, glancing over at Lady Lucinda’s mother. Who was, indeed, keeping an eye—a gleeful eye, to be more specific—on the two of them as they talked.
Now he knew how the animals in a zoo felt. Maybe he should just put himself in a cage and allow Society to stop by to view him, perhaps poke a stick through the bars at him.
Although that wasn’t fair. He was a rarity, he knew that, which was why he’d kept himself away from this for so long. He hadn’t wanted this inspection, not when he’d managed just fine not being inspected for most of his life.
Why couldn’t his brother have just stayed on that horse? Then he’d have to be the one dealing with all of this. And wo
uld probably like it a lot more than he did, given how he and his brother were such opposites.
Lady Lucinda’s voice interrupted his musings, thank goodness. “Biscuit?” She held a plate out to him, a gentle smile on her face.
She was rather attractive, he had to admit that. “Thank you,” he said, helping himself to a particularly delicious looking treat. He popped it in his mouth, glad he could have some biscuits today, since Rose had done away with all the ones they’d had at tea.
Rose. Just thinking about her made him smile. He’d always liked walking on his own, but with her beside him, holding his hand, it elevated the solitary activity nearly into a joyful pursuit. Just as he’d been hoping for.
“I hear you have another inhabitant in your house, Your Grace?” It was Lady Lucinda’s godmother who spoke, her voice cutting through all the other chatter in the room. “A young girl?”
There were several other inhabitants in his house, but one didn’t count the servants, did one? “Yes. Miss Rose, my . . . ward. My cousin’s daughter.” The lie was getting easier to say.
“She has just arrived? And you have already hired her a governess?” The lady’s voice was not approving. Not entirely disapproving, either, but Marcus felt himself grow defensive.
“Yes, I wish her to have a proper education.” He finished the biscuit, but now it felt like ashes in his mouth.
“That is very Christian of you,” the woman continued, as though he had done something incredible by taking her in.
No, I did something incredible and terrible not to know her before this, he thought.
“She should be grateful to you for the condescension,” Lady Townsend said, before turning her attention to one of the Miss Charleses.
“Don’t mind my godmother,” Lady Lucinda said. “She has very firm opinions of what should and should not be done.” Marcus hoped she never ran across Miss Blake, because one of them would likely not survive. “But it does seem . . . unusual for you to have taken in a ward, so soon after your own arrival.”
“It is what had to be done,” Marcus said, deliberately not explaining precisely what he meant. He felt his jaw tighten. He did not want to be defending his decision to take in a child who had nowhere else to go, who had his blood in her veins, who needed him.
“Of course,” Lady Lucinda said in a placating tone, as though she knew just how irate he was getting. “Another biscuit?”
It is required of a duke—or any gentleman of good breeding and fortune—to ensure the title and fortune passes to a descendant upon the duke’s demise. In choosing a bride, a duke—or any gentleman of good breeding and fortune—must look for a woman who possesses good breeding herself. Anything more she has to offer should be seen as bonus attributes.
—THE DUKE’S GUIDE TO CORRECT BEHAVIOR
Chapter 21
“You’ve already had five biscuits,” Lily said as Rose reached her hand out again. For the sixth time.
Rose halted mid-reach and regarded her governess with one eyebrow nearly raised. It seemed the duke’s daughter already took after him. In the most arrogant ways, of course. “But I am hungry,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Then we can see what Mrs. Partridge might have in the kitchen. It is not good to subsist solely on biscuits.”
Rose shrugged. “I never had many before. Mama usually just gave me what she brought home.”
“Brought home from where?” Lily slid the plate of biscuits out of arm’s reach.
“From the pub. She worked there. I stayed with Mrs. Tolliver when she worked, but she didn’t have any girls my age. Just boys.” Her expression showed what she thought of that. No wonder she’d been so pleased to play with Mrs. Porter’s children.
“And what did your mama bring home?”
That shrug again. “Food.”
Perhaps Rose was taking after Annabelle in the literal sense. But never mind the food, of course, what was more important was that Rose was talking about how she’d lived before without being questioned about it. Lily worried about the girl; she knew how hard it was to lose one’s parent. In her case, she’d lost two, and even before her mother had died, it felt as though she was gone already.
It was what forced her to work at the brothel, and yet also what prepared her to survive by starting the agency. She hoped Rose would find some benefit as well in having suffered at such a young age.
“Mama always saved the carrots in the stew for me. I like carrots. And potatoes. And stew,” she added.
“I like all those things, too. We should ask Mrs. Partridge if she would make us stew sometime. Would you like that?”
“Mm-hm,” Rose said, her fingers reaching toward the biscuit plate.
Lily swatted her hand away. “Let’s see if the kitchen has anything you’d like to eat—besides biscuits—and we will take a walk. Your father won’t be home until dinner, I don’t think.”
Rose nodded enthusiastically. “I like walking.”
Just like your father. Lily made a mental note to take Rose out as much as possible—she was thin and pale, and it didn’t sound as though she’d had much chance just to be outside in the relatively fresh air.
Once outside, she took Rose’s hand—the one not holding a warm piece of freshly baked bread—and the two of them walked to the small park where Lily presumed the duke had taken Rose before. It was cloudy but not showing signs of rain, and there was a mildness to the air that was refreshing after being indoors.
There were other governesses and children walking about as well, and Lily nodded to some of the other young women and their charges. It was so pleasant, she could imagine herself being happy at this position. It would make it all even better if the agency thrived because of this. Because of her.
“Will the duke keep me with him?” Rose didn’t sound anxious about it, but it made Lily’s throat tighten. That Rose had thought of it meant it had crossed her mind. Lily was startled at the ferocious response that unfurled inside her at the thought of him sending his daughter away.
It seemed he knew better than anyone what it felt like to be sent away, to be unloved. He couldn’t do that to his daughter, could he?
“I am not aware of your father’s plans, but it sounded as though he wished to get to know you. He would not have hired a governess for you if he planned to send you away, would he?”
“Maybe not. But that lady’s girl, she said people were surprised he has me, and she asked me where I would go next. I told her I don’t know.”
If Lily’s throat had tightened before, it now felt as if it were strangling her. She cursed whoever had spoken about Rose in front of the children. It didn’t sound that the girl intended to be spiteful, but if there was talk so early on from Rose’s arrival, it meant many people were talking. The duke had been correct in his thinking—he would have to find himself a respectable wife soon to stem the flow of gossip.
Keeping gossip from tainting Rose’s future, that was the most important thing. She would have to remind herself of that. Frequently.
“And how was your day, Miss Rose?” Marcus nodded at the footman, and the servant began to ladle soup of some sort from the tureen into his bowl.
“Good.” Rose was definitely not one for over-explanation.
They sat in one of the dining rooms, not the biggest one, which looked like it might seat all of London, nor the small one they used for breakfast, but the one in between. This room did not seem to have been touched by the same hand as the one that had decorated the pink room, thank goodness; the table was made of a dark wood, and the walls were done up in gold paper, with maroon drapes. It was very cozy, though, for all that it was still a rather large room.
Marcus had squelched Thompson’s wish to have a full phalanx of footmen waiting on them—it seemed ludicrous to have more footmen than diners—so there were only two, with Thompson popping in every so often to cast a stern eye at his underlings.
“Perhaps you might share more details, Miss Lily?” His governess—well, not his, but t
he governess he employed—sat to his left, wearing another one of the gowns he must have purchased for her.
He was very pleased with himself about that, if he did say so. The gown was some sort of dark plum color whose richness brought out the equally rich tones of her hair, and contrasted with her eyes, which were golden in the candlelight. Not to mention, since it was an evening gown, it was cut lower than her normal gowns, and he was better able to view the slope of her breasts and the creamy whiteness of her skin.
She shook her head at the soup and took a sip of wine. “We went for a walk in the park so that Miss Rose would not eat all the biscuits.” She smiled at Rose as she spoke, and that warmth, the way the smile lit up her face, made Marcus momentarily lose his breath.
“I only had five,” Rose asserted, dipping her spoon into the soup.
“Six, don’t think I didn’t see you grab another one as we walked out,” Lily retorted. She met Marcus’s gaze. “We saw many dogs, and children, and it seems that spring is on its way, finally. We’ll be able to walk every day, as long as it doesn’t rain. Miss Rose very much likes to walk.”
He turned his head to smile at Rose. “Can we walk tomorrow?”
“Mm-hm,” Rose returned, engrossed in devouring her soup as quickly as possible, it seemed. Marcus took a spoonful as well, and thought about how much better it tasted than the biscuits at the earl’s house, likely because of the company.
It felt homey to be here, just the three of them. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so at home before. So comfortable in his surroundings, who he was with and what they were doing. Eating dinner. Taking walks.
Kissing her.
But that, he thought regretfully as he darted another glance at her décolletage, should not happen any longer. It should not. Despite certain parts of his body arguing vehemently with him about that decision.
He needed to avoid temptation. It wouldn’t be fair, to her or the woman he would eventually choose for his wife, the one asked to tolerate having her husband’s illegitimate child in the household. She shouldn’t also have to tolerate having a young woman with whom he had . . . dallied with in the household as well. But she was so good with Rose—Lily, not the unknown young lady to whom he’d be married—and he would not tear Rose away from another woman she cared for, not so soon on the loss of her mother.
The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior Page 16
