“My apologies,” she said softly. “I’m afraid we are more casual in our consumption of pineapple in the Bahamas.”
“No worries, my dear,” said Lord Hartley. “Your method is more efficient, even if there are those who would frown upon it.” He picked up his slice of pineapple and bit off a chunk.
She smiled gratefully and reminded herself that she would have to be more careful when out in society if she was going to win her bet with the duke. And she would win.
After glancing around the table, she decided the Hartleys were likely as relaxed as they would ever be, so it was as good a time as she would find to bring up her desire to purchase Walsley Manor. It would also give them a reason to introduce her properly to the duke, which was necessary in order for her to speak with him now that they were in London. She did not wish to have to explain her trip to Derbyshire if it could be avoided.
“Are you by chance acquainted with the Duke of Boulstridge?”
Lord Harley lowered his paper, but Lady Hartley was the first to respond. “Though it is much larger than New Orleans, you’ll find that society in London is more tightly knit than you would expect.” She dabbed her lips with her serviette. “We are familiar with the duke. Why do you ask?”
“I have been told that he is the owner of Walsley Manor, and my father has authorized me to purchase the property from him.”
Lord Hartley frowned. “I’m afraid it is highly unlikely that he will sell the property. He spent much time and money refurbishing the place, and he isn’t known for being overly accommodating.”
That was an understatement to be sure. “Nevertheless, my father wishes to purchase the property for my mother, so I must try.”
Lady Hartley pushed her chair back from the table and stood. “I have no objection to introducing you to him.” She turned to Lord Hartley. “Darling, isn’t he a member of your club? Perhaps you could speak with him, make him aware of Catherine’s arrival in London and her desire to have Walsley back in the family.”
He raised his brows. “I will come up with something to say to him.”
…
A few hours later, Catherine was no longer as enamored as she had expected with shopping in London. She had purchased a parasol and several pairs of gloves at a shop owned by a very nosy woman and was enduring being measured for gowns by a very talkative French dressmaker.
Madame Rouillard grinned at Catherine. “My dear, you speak as if you were born in France.”
“My father is from France. And we speak French almost exclusively in New Orleans.”
Madame pulled out a measuring tape and laid it against Catherine’s right arm. “I frequently dream of moving to New Orleans. London is so gloomy and inhospitable.”
Catherine shook her head. “I’m afraid your clientele would be limited there. Don’t misunderstand me, there is certainly a market for the latest fashions, but there simply isn’t a large enough population to support a talented milliner such as yourself.”
One of the shop girls brought over several bolts of fabric and dropped them onto a table. Madame Rouillard pushed through them quickly, finally squealing with delight over a small bolt of green silk.
“This is it.” She held the fabric across Catherine’s front. “See how it brings out the color of your eyes? Magnifique.”
She set the fabric on the table next to Catherine, then moved aside some ribbon and more fabric until she seized upon what she had been looking for. “This will be perfect with that fabric. We will overlay the neckline and décolletage with this lace, and trim a pair of gloves with it to match the gown. Yes?” she asked, her brows raised at Catherine.
“It will be lovely,” said Lady Hartley. She turned when the door to the back room opened and stiffened.
A larger than average woman wearing an ill-chosen tan gown entered.
“Lady Grey, how lovely to see you,” said Madame Rouillard.
Jane’s eyes widened, and she cast a glance at Catherine.
“Well, well, who do we have here? Your little guest from the Bahamas, is it?” Lady Grey was quite tall, standing nearly a head above Lady Hartley. A devilish glint danced in her eyes.
Madame Rouillard had placed the lace over the silk and asked her in French how she liked the look. Catherine responded without a thought.
Lady Grey looked down her nose at Catherine. “I hadn’t realized the savages in the Caribbean spoke French. How diverting.”
Without missing a beat, Lady Hartley said, “Lady Grey, may I present Miss Catherine Malboeuf. Catherine, this is Lady Grey. Her husband’s estate is quite close to Walsley Manor.”
Lady Grey inclined her head slightly. “You are Helena Walsley’s daughter, then? We were all so shocked when her father died and she and her mother left to travel to the colonies, of all places. South Carolina, wasn’t it?
“Yes, my lady. She had a distant cousin in Charleston.”
“Yes, yes, now I remember. Her mother died on board the ship and then they were attacked by pirates. And she ended up married to one of the pirates. I can’t imagine how she endured.”
Catherine took a steadying breath. She had known there would be those in society who would believe the rumors about her father’s past and would find her background unacceptable, but she hadn’t expected to be exposed to it here, in the shop. And so soon. Perhaps she had underestimated how difficult it would be for her to be accepted into London society. As much as she yearned to set Lady Grey straight, she must focus on her goal to win Walsley. She simply could not allow the wretched woman to provoke her.
“She is now Mrs. Malboeuf and is living happily in the Bahamas and New Orleans, my lady.”
Lady Grey’s brows rose. “New Orleans? That must be why your French is so developed.”
She nodded. “Yes, ma’am. The other contributing factor being that my father is French. He runs his shipping corporation out of New Orleans, so we spend much time there.”
“How remarkable. Your father runs a viable shipping business. Society in New Orleans must be very lax if a pirate can be accepted as a legitimate man of business.”
Catherine had had enough. She narrowed her eyes and was about to issue Lady Grey a set down when Lady Hartley intervened. “Margaret, I’m afraid you have been misinformed both as to the background of Mr. Malboeuf and how he came to marry Helena. We shall have to set a date to visit sometime soon.”
Lady Hartley widened her eyes at the dressmaker and she nodded almost imperceptibly. “Now, I am afraid we have another appointment and must take our leave. Mademoiselle Rouillard, you will send us a note when Miss Malboeuf’s gown is ready?”
The dressmaker curtsied to Lady Hartley and glared at the back of Lady Grey. “Yes, my lady.”
As they walked toward the door, Lady Grey said, “I want you to make me a gown with this green silk. It is quite an extraordinary color. I’ve never seen it’s like before.”
The nerve of that woman. Insulting her parents and then trying to steal the silk she had chosen for her dress, which Lady Grey very well knew. Catherine’s shoulders tensed as she waited to hear Mademoiselle Rouillard’s response. If Lady Grey was a lucrative patron, Catherine may well need to choose another silk for her gown.
“Non, Lady Grey.” She picked up a bolt of nondescript peach-colored silk and stretched the length of it under Lady Grey’s chin. “This would be a much better color for you. It highlights the decadent chocolate color of your eyes.”
Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. From this point on, she would be on her guard at all times. Not only was her reputation and that of her family at risk, but also her ability to secure Walsley Manor for all of them. She would not fail.
Chapter Four
The weather was unusually accommodating for March, and Nick decided to walk the short distance to Boulstridge House in Grosvenor Square. He tipped his hat to Lord and Lady Osterling and stepped aside so they could pass. Given the weather, he was surprised that there weren’t more people walking about in Mayfair.
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br /> The house came into view. He clenched his jaw and willed the nausea threatening to invade his throat to subside. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. After he took a few deep breaths, his heart resumed its normal pace. His father’s actions could no longer affect him. He wouldn’t allow them to. Mounting the staircase, he lifted his hand to knock when the door opened before him. “Your Grace. How good to see you here.”
Darfield had been his father’s butler, and he resented Nick’s refusal to live in the home that was the traditional residence of the Dukes of Boulstridge. He gave Darfield a curt nod of greeting and asked, “Is Lord Leiston at home?”
“Of course, Your Grace. I will inform him of your presence immediately.”
Darfield settled him in the library and left to locate Justin. Nick walked to the nearest shelf and ran his hand across the spines of the books. This was the only room in the house where he was truly comfortable because his father had not frequented it.
Justin, his cousin and chosen heir, appeared almost instantly.
“Nick,” he reached to shake his hand, “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“I arrived last night. Thought I ought to inform you of my return.” They stood awkwardly for a moment before he sat on the settee and motioned for Justin to take a seat.
He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles in a gesture meant to put Justin at ease. “How are Cassandra and the children?”
“Well, thank you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, perhaps unsettled by Nick’s unexpected appearance. “The children frequently ask to visit you at Walsley.”
Nick smiled. Aside from his mother, Justin and his family were Nick’s only close relations. “I should be pleased to accommodate them when the parliamentary session ends and I head back to Derbyshire. Though I expect it is the children’s playhouse that attracts them more so than my company.”
Justin returned his smile. “To be sure, but they do enjoy your company as well. Would you care for refreshment?”
“No, thank you. I intended only a brief visit to inform you of my arrival in town.” He stood, and Justin followed suit.
“Before you leave, there are a few matters I would like to discuss with you.” His cousin walked behind the desk and began moving papers about, searching for something.
Nick held up his hand. “If they pertain to Boulstridge properties, I want nothing to do with them. You are authorized to act on my behalf in all matters pertaining to the entailed properties until such a time as you inherit them.”
Justin’s eyes met and held his. “Nick, you must cease with your obstinate refusal to be involved in the management of your properties.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Unless you require my signature for something, I do not wish to be involved with anything having to do with Boulstridge. It’s enough of a burden to have to carry the title.” He turned and walked to the window. He would do nothing to harm the title while he held it, but he would be damned before he would willingly continue his father’s legacy. Or his aberrant bloodline.
Justin came up next to him and placed his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “You are not your father. Why not assume your duties as the duke and replace memories of him with your own accomplishments?”
Nick’s shoulders stiffened. “I am not going to continue to have the same conversation with you every time we meet. You are my heir and I wish for you to manage all of the properties entailed to the Duke of Boulstridge.”
Justin turned and went back behind the desk. “You’re still young. What if you decide to marry and produce an heir?”
Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I will never marry.” His father’s legacy assured that. He strode toward the door. “If you will excuse me, I have an appointment. Will I see you at the opera tonight?”
“Will you join Cassandra and me in the Boulstridge box?” Justin asked as he trailed Nick down the corridor.
“No.” Yet another place his father had permanently tainted. Nick allowed Darfield to help him into his greatcoat. “But I will be in the Everstoke box should you care to visit.” He walked to the door and Darfield opened it.
“Cassandra does worry that people will misconstrue your absence in the family box as a sign of your displeasure with us.”
He stopped on the stoop and turned to Justin. “I do not wish to cause Cassandra any distress, but I challenge you to find even one member of society who isn’t aware of my aversion to occupying any space my father once used to flaunt his mistress.” He started down the staircase and called over his shoulder. “Please convey my apologies to Cassandra and assure her that my avoidance has nothing to do with you or her.”
The sun shone brightly and he sucked in a deep breath and willed his pulse to slow. Justin meant well, but the constant reminders of his father were most unwelcome. Now that his obligatory visit to Boulstridge House was behind him, he would focus on locating Miss Malboeuf. First, strong spirits were in order. He walked the short distance to St. James Street and his club.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace.” The butler took his coat, and Nick searched for and found a secluded corner. He sank into a generously stuffed armchair and motioned to a footman, who returned moments later with his scotch. After taking a restorative gulp, he reached for the afternoon edition of the paper on the side table. As usual, little had changed since the morning edition. He kept the paper in front of him to discourage anyone from trying to engage him. After draining his glass, he set it on the side table and was soon rewarded with another full glass.
“Boulstridge, is that you behind the newspaper?”
Nick lowered the paper just enough to peer over it at Lord Hartley. “Hartley.” He nodded at the chair next to him. Hartley wasn’t a bad sort, though he couldn’t imagine what business he might have with him.
“Thank you, Your Grace. Hoped I’d find you here.” He motioned to the footman for a drink and settled into a chair identical to the one in which Nick sat. He clasped and unclasped his hands and squinted at Nick.
“Out with it, Hartley. I won’t bite.” One of the few advantages he enjoyed as a duke was to be able to behave pretty much however he wanted. Though he was extremely careful to avoid any similarity to his father, he could dismiss with many of the pleasantries of society others were forced to adhere to. He preferred to cut to the chase.
“I have a guest in my home with whom you might wish to become acquainted.”
Nick lowered the paper and met Hartley’s gaze.
“My wife is sponsoring the daughter of a childhood friend. Her name is Miss Malboeuf.” He leaned forward slightly, but Nick remained as still as the figure in the portrait that hung behind him.
It couldn’t be.
After receiving no response, Hartley forged on. “She is the daughter of Helena Walsley, the last member of the family to reside at Walsley Manor before the title went extinct.” He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow before continuing. “Thought you might be interested in meeting her.”
“Indeed.” He raised his paper again. He had discovered at an early age that indifference, whether feigned or not, often compelled the other person involved in the conversation to fill the silence.
“Well,” Hartley grumbled. “We plan to attend the opera tonight if you’d care to stop by our box and be introduced.”
He was behaving like an ass. Visits to Boulstridge House always left him out of sorts. He lowered the paper. “Thank you for the invitation. I shall keep your offer under consideration if I decide to attend tonight. If not, may I call on you at home?”
“Of course, Your Grace. You are always welcome.” They both stood and shook hands. Hartley took his leave and practically sprinted away from him.
Feeling restless after his exchange with Hartley, he strolled through the club and entered the card room. A quick glance revealed no one worth conversing with and he decided it was time to leave. Hartley had the right of it. Nick wasn’t fit company for anyone, especially the
dolts he passed by who were gambling away their inheritances at the betting book. He watched them for a moment, coming to the startling conclusion that he was no better than they were after having made his wager with Miss Malboeuf. He nodded his thanks to the butler who brought his greatcoat and helped him shrug into it. For better or worse, tonight he would discover how society was going to receive Miss Malboeuf.
Chapter Five
Catherine wiggled on the seat of the carriage, barely able to contain her excitement at attending her first London opera. New Orleans was hardly a trading post, but the Théâtre d’Orléans was small in comparison to the Theatre Royale at Covent Garden. Everything here was bigger and better and just…more. Pressing her nose the window, she watched the buildings as they passed by in a dizzying rush of colors. Covent Garden came into view as the carriage slowed to a halt.
She noted Jane squirming beside her.
“Be patient, girls. It’s always a crush around the theater. It may be some time yet before we are able to leave the carriage,” said Lady Hartley.
She exchanged a glance with her husband and turned to the girls, focusing her gaze on Catherine. “Lord Hartley had the pleasure of conversing with the Duke of Boulstridge at his club this afternoon.”
Catherine’s stomach leapt, but she worked to school her features. It wouldn’t do for the Hartleys to find out about her journey into Derbyshire. She crinkled her eyes, as if in confusion. “Did he seem interested in my offer to purchase Walsley from him?”
Lady Hartley exchanged another glance with her husband. “Lord Hartley didn’t think it wise to mention your plan yet, but I wanted you to be prepared as Lord Hartley has invited him to visit us in our box tonight.”
Her stomach dropped as if she had swallowed a rock. What if he told Lord and Lady Hartley they had already met? No, it was likely she could trust him, but only because it might harm his reputation if anyone found out he was entertaining unescorted innocents at his home. Sure, he could be charming with his captivating blue eyes and dark hair, and a handsome, wealthy duke probably had ladies clamoring for him. However, he would have to let go of his arrogance and superiority if he wanted to get close to anyone… Although he had given her the journal, so he wasn’t entirely without redeeming qualities.
How to Beguile a Duke (Entangled Scandalous) Page 6
