How to Beguile a Duke (Entangled Scandalous)

by Ally Broadfield

  “I appreciate the forewarning. I was hoping for an opportunity to speak with him.”

  Lord Hartley was resting his eyes, as he liked to call it, and Lady Hartley smiled and turned to look out the window.

  Catherine tapped Jane on the shoulder. “Have you met him?”

  Her focus directed on the chaos outside, she murmured, “Yes. He is excruciatingly correct about everything. He danced with me once at my coming out ball last year.”

  Excruciatingly correct was an apt description. “Would you be so kind as to point him out to me once we’re inside?”

  Jane reached to clasp her hand. “Of course.”

  She must remember to act as if the duke was a stranger and hope that he would follow her lead. Out of habit, she patted the pocket beneath her skirts in which she kept the journal. If a modicum of privacy was possible, she wished to discuss the journal with the duke. She had read the earlier entries, but so far there had been no mention of the tiara. The passages were simply boring accounts of her great-grandmother’s daily life.

  Once the carriage gained a position close to the theater, they exited. Jane looped her arm through Catherine’s and led her up the stairs and through the entrance to the theater, which was grander than anything Catherine had imagined, though she had spent a lot of time on the ship conjuring up images of what everything would be like in London.

  The building was enormous. Catherine followed Jane through the Salon, a long, high-ceilinged gallery with cushioned benches along each wall. Statues and large potted plants between the seating areas relieved the monotony of the benches and provided somewhat private alcoves in which the theater guests could converse.

  They exited the Salon and climbed a short staircase to the Hartleys’ box. Catherine gasped at her first view of the theater. In the shape of a horseshoe, it rose to impossible heights, allowing for three levels of boxes and two upper galleries, as well as seating on the floor. Red and gold dominated the theater, including the curtains, upholstery, and even the intricate decoration fronting the boxes. Luxurious was an understatement.

  She glanced at her gown, hoping her simple diamond necklace and ear bobs lent her attire enough glamour to compete with the ladies of the ton. Hers was cut in the French style from a pale blue silk. Seed pearls were sewn in an intricate pattern along the bodice, wrists, and hem.

  Jane towed her to the front of the box and they sat, looking out over the theater. She rubbed her hands together. “What do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Of course, but don’t we have a divine view of the theater? And more importantly, of those attending the theater?”

  Catherine shot her a smile. “Yes, we do. Is our purpose tonight to watch the opera or the people attending the opera?”

  “Both, of course, though it depends somewhat on the show. Opera is generally quite diverting.” Jane cast her eyes toward the center of the theater and stiffened in her seat.

  Catherine searched the box her attention was fixed on, but wasn’t familiar with any of its occupants. She leaned to murmur in Jane’s ear. “Who are we looking at?”

  Jane turned to make sure her parents were otherwise occupied before whispering back, “Lord Cavanaugh. He danced attendance on me at the end of the season last year, but failed to make an offer.”

  Catherine wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing. Would he have made an offer for Jane last year if he was planning to, or was it better that he waited for this season? “Which one is he?”

  “Since every nobleman in the theater is dressed the same way, it’s difficult to describe.” She lifted her hand and bobbed her finger. “Let’s see. He’s one, two, three seats from the left in the second row.”

  Catherine figured she expected some sort of response, and said, “He is very handsome.”

  “I concur,” Jane said without looking away from him.

  Movement directly across the theater from them caught Catherine’s attention. The Duke of Boulstridge had entered a box behind a handsome young couple. Jane tapped her arm.

  “That is the Duke of Boulstridge, the man who owns your mother’s house. He is with Lord and Lady Everstoke.”

  “What is he like?”

  Jane turned to her, a questioning look in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Is he a nice man or an old curmudgeon? Does he dance with the wallflowers, or does he consider everyone beneath his notice? Is he expected to make an offer for anyone in particular this season?”

  Jane’s brows rose. “My, my. You sure are interested in the duke.”

  She tapped Jane on the arm with her fan. “I must get to know him if I’m to have any chance of convincing him to sell Walsley.”

  Jane nodded. “His father, the previous Duke of Boulstridge, was a reprobate who forced his wife to accept his mistress living in their house with the family. He even took his mistress to social events like the theater and to balls. Eventually, all good society stopped issuing him invitations, but the damage was already done. The current duke has spent his entire life trying to restore his title to what it once was.”

  Catherine swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat. She had assumed him to be surly and unpleasant simply because he could be. She never dreamed he had a reason to behave the way he did. “Has he been successful?”

  “Well, he is accepted in society, though everyone is aware that he never plans to marry.”

  “What?”

  “He swears that he will never marry. He refuses to live in any of the properties that his father and his mistress occupied, and has named his cousin as his heir because he wants his father’s lineage to end with him. He bought Walsley Manor because he needed a place to live.”

  Catherine made a conscious effort to close her mouth before someone noticed it hanging open. The duke had put a tremendous amount of work into restoring the house, but it was disheartening to think of him living there alone, never having a family to share it with. Though she hated to admit it, she could understand why he wanted to keep it. She still intended to find a way to make him sell to her, but she would feel a modicum of guilt about it.

  “But he seems so young. How could he possibly want to go through life alone?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, but apparently he does. At least that’s what Mama told me. He has always been quiet and polite when I have observed him in society, and I’ve never seen him show favor to any lady. He frequently escorts his mother to balls.”

  Jane paused to watch as Lord Cavanaugh rose to greet a couple entering his box. “Of course, his reticence hasn’t stopped the meddling mamas on the marriage mart from trying to convince him to marry their daughters.”

  Catherine perused their box in what she hoped was a casual manner. Lord and Lady Hartley were in the back, engrossed in a conversation with a lady to whom Catherine had yet to be introduced. “Do you think there’s a chance that he will sell Walsley to me?” she asked Jane.

  “No.”

  “I’m quite serious about purchasing it.” Catherine met Jane’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry, but from what I have heard, I cannot imagine him ever giving it up. He spends nearly all of his time in Derbyshire and comes to London only when Parliament is in session.

  Catherine pinched her lips together and took a deep breath before speaking. “My mother grew up there. Generations of her family lived and died there. Plus, he has no ties to it whatsoever and can just as easily purchase another place to live.”

  “I wish you luck. The duke does not strike me as the type of man to capitulate easily.”

  Jane was definitely right about that. Catherine needed to determine her strategy. Should she be sweet and demure to try to win him over, or simply butt heads with him until he yielded? Only time would tell.

  A cry of, “Down! Down!” split the air, followed by, “Silence!” The noise in the theater morphed from the buzz of many voices to chairs scraping and purposeful footsteps as everyone prepared for the start of the ope
ra.

  Catherine tried to put thoughts of the duke and Walsley out of her head so she could enjoy the opera, Rossini’s Cinderella. She was absorbed as soon as the music began.

  …

  If she hadn’t been in the Hartley box, Nick would not have recognized Miss Malboeuf. Her French gown was more sophisticated than those that many of the ton wore, and her hair was styled much differently than it had been in Derbyshire. He was fascinated by the ever-changing expressions that crossed her face as she focused her complete attention on the stage. Others in the theater, and even within the box she occupied, talked throughout the show, but not her. Perhaps it was a novelty for her to attend the opera.

  At the end of the first act, before the performers had even exited the stage, he stood and departed for the Hartleys’ box. As he waded through the crowds to cross to the other side, he considered what he would say to Miss Malboeuf. As much fun as it would be to put her in her place, he would not stoop to telling the Hartleys that their charge had made an unscheduled visit to Derbyshire before joining them in London.

  Pushing his way through the crowded doorway of their box, he stopped at the sight of three men crowded around Miss Malboeuf and the Hartley chit. Surely they weren’t here to see Miss Malboeuf. He paused for a moment to determine who was speaking with whom. Lord Cavanaugh was clearly here to see Lady Jane, but the other two seemed not to have a preference. He caught Hartley’s eye and waved him over.

  “Your Grace. I’m glad you were able to join us tonight. Catherine,” he called, “there is someone I wish you to meet.”

  Catherine turned toward him and his lips parted. Her gown was cut low, much lower than he thought seemly, and it clung to more curves than he had imagined her to have. A loose lock of hair trailed over her collarbone and teased the top of her breast. He swallowed and managed to refocus his attention on Lord Hartley, who had just introduced him. Taking her gloved hand in his, he placed a kiss atop it, her warmth radiating through the delicate fabric to his lips. Her hand was as small and delicate as a swallow’s wing, yet he knew it was capable of wielding a large weapon.

  “It is lovely to meet you, Miss Malboeuf.” Her lips curved into a broad smile, no doubt revealing her pleasure at his concealing the fact that they had already met. “I understand that your mother’s family once lived at Walsley Manor, which is now my primary residence.” He took a deep breath and willed his heart to slow.

  “Yes, my mother was raised there, but was forced to leave when her father was killed in an accident.”

  “How unfortunate.” He turned so his back was to the Hartleys, who were engaged in conversation near the door. Leaning close to Catherine, he whispered in her ear, “I do hope you don’t have your cutlass hidden somewhere under there.” He was pleased to note her shiver when his breath made contact with her ear. Goose flesh rose along her neck. Perhaps she was as affected by his close proximity as he was to hers.

  She tilted her head toward him and spoke softly from the corner of her mouth. “I’m afraid I had to leave it at home. It ruined the lines of my gown. Though I do have my dagger strapped to my calf just in case. I believe in being prepared for any eventuality.”

  He pulled at his cravat, suddenly feeling deprived of air as he tried not to conjure the image of her legs in the breeches she had worn to Walsley. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was attempting to seduce him. He glanced at the back of the box and caught the curious eye of Lady Hartley. Time for some mundane chatter. “How are you enjoying London? I don’t imagine New Orleans offers the same level of cultural entertainment.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do not fear. Though the Théâtre d’Orléans is smaller than the Theater Royale, it affords us many opportunities to experience culture.”

  “I see. And have you had the opportunity to visit Derbyshire yet?”

  Her eyes widened and she looked from him to the Hartleys and back again. “No, Your Grace,” she said through clenched teeth.

  He slid his hands into his pockets. She definitely had a temper to match her fiery locks. “I would be pleased to host you at Walsley Manor should you ever wish to visit.”

  Lady Hartley moved to stand next to Miss Malboeuf. “I’m afraid we haven’t planned for a trip to Derbyshire anytime soon, but we do appreciate your offer, Your Grace.” Making a point of perusing the theater, she said, “I believe the second act is about to start.”

  After saying his good-byes, he hurried back to the Everstoke’s box. He had sent a note to Justin for he and Sarah to join him after the second act, so he wouldn’t have further reason to dance attendance on Miss Malboeuf for the rest of the evening.

  Unfortunately, his eyes wouldn’t cooperate. Instead of watching the stage, as he ought to have done, he found himself inexplicably drawn to Miss Malboeuf. The play of emotions across her face and the way she balanced on the edge of her seat in anticipation made him long to be sitting next to her, to be the object of her regard. Good heavens. He needed a drink. Several drinks, actually. She was an uncouth, uncultured woman who needed to learn her place in society. Theirs was a business relationship. Nothing more.

  …

  Catherine shifted in her seat as the second act drew to a close. She turned to Jane. “I must visit the retiring room.”

  “So must I. The champagne we drank during the last intermission has passed right through me.”

  Jane stood and Catherine followed her lead. They moved to the back of the box to speak with Lady Hartley, who agreed to accompany them.

  They maneuvered into the bustle of the corridor. People moved about like ants on a mound. Some seemed to have a purpose to their movements, while others simply stood about blocking the corridors. As they neared their destination, Catherine noticed a young woman standing alone in an alcove, her head tilted at an odd angle. She was unnaturally still.

  Catherine grabbed Jane’s arm. “Do you know that girl?”

  “That is Lady Amelia, the youngest daughter of Lord Goodwin.” Jane looked more closely. “It is odd that she is alone. Perhaps we should ask after her.”

  Catherine followed Jane to the alcove. Lady Amelia cast her eyes toward them, but did not move. “Jane, thank goodness. I need your help. My hair has somehow become caught in the curtain and I cannot free myself. It seems as if hundreds of people have walked past, but no one else thought to check if anything was amiss.”

  Jane glanced around and took a step forward. “Oh dear, your hair piece is snagged in the threads of the curtain. I’m afraid we’ll have to remove it.”

  Lady Amelia’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Mama will be so angry if I make a spectacle of myself. I cannot have my hair down out here, in plain view.”

  “I don’t see any other way to free you,” Jane said, moving behind Amelia to get a closer look.

  Catherine reached down and pulled her knife from the sheath on the outside of her calf. Amelia’s eyes widened. She moved behind Amelia and quickly and carefully cut the threads from the curtain, releasing her.

  Amelia smiled. “Oh, thank you, Miss Malboeuf. How clever of you to carry a knife.”

  “I always carry a blade of some sort. A lady should always be able to defend herself.” She slid the knife back into the sheath, taking care not to lift her skirts and expose her ankle. It was then that she became aware of the murmurs of those around them.

  “Did you see how she whipped that knife out? I had heard that her father is a pirate, but I didn’t believe it until just now.” When Catherine met the eyes of the speaker, she and Jane quickly scuttled away.

  She had thought only of freeing Amelia and had never considered how others would react to her being armed at a social event. She lifted her chin and met the gazes of those watching her.

  Lady Hartley stood a few feet away, no doubt startled into silence by her actions. Recovering quickly, she waved them over to her. “Come along, girls. We must hurry if we are to make it back to the box before the next act begins.”

  …

  After the
opera, Lord Hartley snored on the carriage seat across from her and Jane and Lady Hartley discussed Jane’s prospects for the season. Catherine had only met one of the men they were discussing, so she was content to sit back and listen, but her mind soon wandered to her own situation.

  Given her unique family circumstances, Mama and Lady Hartley had decided that it would be best not to hold a ball or formal come out for her, but to simply allow her to be the mysterious girl being sponsored by Lord Hartley. They all hoped it would be enough for her to be accepted into society

  She found it difficult to judge the success of her debut in London. The evening had gone well until she drew her knife in the crowded corridor. No doubt her actions would spread through the ton as easily as butter on warm bread, but she did not feel remorse. She would do the same thing again if presented with the situation. There was nothing wrong with a lady being prepared—whether it was to defend herself or solve a problem as Catherine had done earlier. Though she would try not to do anything else to attract unnecessary attention, she could not change who she was, so there was no point in trying to hide it.

  Aside from the spectacle she had unwittingly caused, and the Duke of Boulstridge and his certainty that she would fail, everyone had been pleasant enough so far. The opera was an experience she would not have missed, regardless of the outcome.

  Catherine scowled. She was more confused than ever about the duke. One moment he was insulting her and the next he was whispering in her ear. Even she had to admit that he was quite impressive in his formal attire, though he was less intimidating in his shirtsleeves as he had been the first time they met. Several heads had turned as he passed through the theater, and she imagined there were many ladies vying to be the one who made him abandon his resolve to never marry.