Lily giggled at her sister’s scone-muddled words. “If you help her snatch her Duke again, you shall make a supreme match indeed, I imagine.”
Cordelia straightened in her seat. “Truly.” She took the last bite. “We must find a way to get your Duke back!”
“Ever the champion of love.” Blythe rolled her eyes.
“Write him a letter and tell him you love him.” Lily came to stand next to her. “Perhaps it will soften your arrival.”
“No, a letter will not do. You must make him jealous,” Cordelia said firmly. “Go to the ball, Blythe.”
Could she approach him in a public setting?
He’d look at her most politely, observe the required superficial conversation then pat her on her head and send her on her way. Then he would dance with the most attractive woman in the room just to ensure Blythe knew he did not care a whit about her presence there.
No, a public setting wouldn’t do at all.
And she couldn’t wait so long.
She patted the tiny grey and white kitten. She did not want to wait any longer.
“No, I am going over there now.”
Cordelia sighed. “All right, then. Give us but twenty minutes.”
Blythe stared at her. “What for?”
“We are coming with you.”
“We?”
Cordelia looked at Lily. “We could all use an adventure.”
Lily clapped her hands together with a smile. “I could use a bit of fresh air.”
Blythe stared at her sisters. The last thing she wanted was an audience to hear Michael tell her he didn’t care for her any longer. Although, there was safety in numbers. If her sisters were with her, he might at least be nice about it.
She sighed. “Very well. Twenty minutes.”
****
Michael heard the screaming as he approached his home. Without waiting for Avery, his butler, to open the door, Michael strode in to the midst of chaos.
“It’s not true!” Bethie screeched from above stairs.
Michael heard muffled responses, then a rush of pounding footsteps across the ceiling and finally, his little hellion appeared at the top of the staircase and flew down it.
She came to a skidding halt in front of him and smashed her hands on her tiny hips. “Papa, they are lying. You must dismiss them!”
He worked hard to keep his mouth from twitching into the smile that threatened. That would be very bad, as past circumstances had proven. When Bethie was in a fine temper, she certainly didn’t want to be told how cute she was.
“Whom should I dismiss, poppet?”
“All of them!” Tears filled her bright blue eyes, and for the first time, Michael realized she was truly upset. He sunk to a squatting position so he was on eye level.
“Bethie, what is it?”
A big, fat tear spilled down her cheek. “Tell them it isn’t true. You are going to marry Mama.”
His heart stopped for a moment. “What did they tell you?”
She sniffed. “They…they said you were going to marry a darling.”
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He would fire each and every servant who’d told her about this.
“It isn’t true, right? Mama is still going to be my Mama.” She chewed on her lower lip. “She’s going to bring me a kitten and then come to live with us.”
“Ah sweeting.” Michael sighed. He stood up and put out his hand. “Come with me, Bethie.”
It only took him three steps to realize she hadn’t budged. He turned his head around.
“Bethie?”
She continued to stare, her lips set in a grim line. “Tell me. I’m not a baby.”
Oh, but she was. His baby. He looked at her and still saw the warm, snuggly bundle she’d been as an infant. He knew he’d never stop thinking of her as his baby.
And she was in pain.
So much for a private talk in the study. He gave up dignity and sank to the cool tile floor.
Bethie blinked at him. “You are sitting on the floor, Papa.”
He nodded solemnly. “This seems like a good place to have such a serious discussion, don’t you agree?”
She nodded with a frown. She took a step toward him and sat on his lap, leaning into his arms as he wrapped them around her.
Michael could feel her sadness as if it seeped into him through the warmth of her skin. How had he not seen how much she was hurting? In his own pain, he’d simply forged ahead with life as normal in London.
He tightened his arms around her. “Blythe loves—”
“Mama loves.”
He took a deep breath. “Mama loves you very much. And I love you with all of my heart. That will never change.” She stayed silent. “But sometimes, grown ups have things more complicated happen that makes it difficult to stay together. That is what happened to Blythe and me. It just got a little too complicated.”
She titled her head up. “Why?”
He frowned. He’d always thought he’d been given harsher honesty as a child than any child should face, but there was still something to be said for honesty. Children were not stupid. “I made mistakes, poppet. I hurt Blythe by keeping things from her.”
Bethie popped out of his arms, a bright smile on her face. “That is easy to fix, Papa!” She ran upstairs before he could say another word.
Michael sat on the floor, staring at the empty staircase, wondering where his child had gone. Just as he started to feel incredibly idiotic for sitting on his own foyer floor, she appeared at the top of the stairs again, a bundle of something in her arms.
She walked down the stairs—carefully, as he’d made her promise she always would—and dumped the bundle in his lap.
He looked down. It was a pile of her clothing. He frowned. “What is this?”
She nodded emphatically. “It’s a con-se-quint. Just like Mama gave me when I was bad. You do a con-se-quint and then everything will be forgiven.” She gestured at the clothing. “You have to mend them. Then Mama will forgive you.”
He recalled with a flash of memory. He set the pile of clothing on the floor next to him and moved to a crouching position.
He placed his hands on her arms. “Grown-up problems are not so easy to mend,” he said gently.
She shook her head, her eyebrows furrowed. “Mama said it would be forgiven, no matter what I did. She said she would always love me.”
He pulled her into his arms. “She will, Bethie.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “It is me she is not so enamored of anymore.”
She yanked herself out of his arms. “But you aren’t marrying a darling, are you?” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Bethie….”
“No! You cannot give me Mama and then take her away!” she cried. “I do not want the darling for a Mama!”
“Her name is Abigail,” he started. “Abigail Darlington.”
“I don’t want her. I want Mama!” She turned and ran upstairs.
Michael took a deep breath. He’d certainly mucked that up well.
Nothing to do but to get through it. Perhaps together, they could make it not hurt so much. He turned and followed his daughter up the stairs.
****
“You need to in fact leave the carriage in order to visit someone, Blythe.”
Blythe stared at the opulence of the house before her. Nestled in Mayfair like a diamond of the first water among rubies nearly as brilliant, the Ravensdale London residence sat four stories high in a mix of Georgian columns, terraces and opulence. A wrought iron fence surrounded its property, and the grounds were full of color and immaculately groomed.
Good heavens, this man was a Duke.
Not that she hadn’t known that, of course. But she realized now that she hadn’t known that or what precisely it meant in her world.
While her father had been an Earl and her brother held the title now, neither of them had held much for society life. Her father had attended the House of Lords when important votes w
ere required, but lived predominantly on his lands. Her brother, Adam, had maintained the same sort of country life. Their family had never spent much time in London. Although she imagined with her sisters coming of age, that was all about to change.
And this man, the one she loved, was a Duke in every sense of the word. He lived in London. He was a part of Society.
Suddenly, she rather felt as if she were sinking in a muddy-bottomed lake. Out of her depth and frightened to her very toes.
Nonetheless, she had not come so far to turn back now. She clutched the basket with Bethie’s kitten in her arms and took a fortifying breath.
She grasped the footman’s extended hand and alighted from the carriage. Lily and Cordelia stood on the sidewalk, gawking about them and talking in excited chatter.
“Look! Isn’t that Hyde Park?” Lily pointed to a street corner a few blocks down. “How I would love to stroll through Hyde Park.”
“Later. We must secure the Duke first,” Cordelia said matter-of-factly.
Blythe forced her left foot to move, then followed it with the right until she was moving through the gate, up the walkway and onto the porch terrace where she stood in front of the ornate door with a brass knocker.
Before she could take a calming breath, Cordelia reached past her and slammed the knocker against the door. “No time such as the present.” Her annoying sister gave a satisfied smile.
“Remind me to torture you when you fall in love,” Blythe muttered.
“Oh that shall never happen.” Cordelia titled her nose in the air. “I will marry for money. Lots of it.”
The door slowly opened and all thoughts flew from her mind as she came face to face with a slender man with a pointed nose, currently eying her and her sisters with a raised brow.
“May I help you?”
Blythe forced her mouth open. “I…I am here to pay a call on Michael…er, the Duke of Ravensdale, if you please.”
The man stood as stiff as a rod. “You are not expected.”
She shook her head. “Please, tell him that Blythe is here.”
“Have you no family name or calling card?”
“She is the sister of the Earl of Merewood, and His Grace will want to see her,” Cordelia snapped.
The butler blinked at Cordelia, somehow managing to make that small action disdainful. “He is not accepting unknown callers at this time. I suggest you come back at a time at a time you are expected.”
Blythe stared at the closed door. She had considered the possibility of Michael slamming the door in her face, but not his butler. She reached up and rapped on the wood with her knuckles.
The door swung open again and the butler stood in the middle like a guard dog. “Yes?”
“I have a gift for Lady Elisabeth,” she told him and lifted the basket lid to reveal the kitten. “Please, she is expecting it.”
He looked down at the kitten. “Wait here.”
He left them standing on the porch.
“That was rude.” Cordelia gaped at the closed door.
“Oh but Town butlers are supposed to be that way,” Lily said with a nod. “It keeps the riffraff out.”
“We are hardly riffraff. For heaven’s sake, Blythe is engaged to the man.”
“Was engaged,” Blythe corrected.
The door opened, and her heart stopped. Old Pinched Face stood there with arms out. “I shall take the kitten.”
Stunned, Blythe held the basket to him.
“That will be all. His Grace is not accepting visitors at this time, but tenders his thanks for his daughter’s gift.” The stuffy old bird once again shoved the door closed.
Blythe stared at the wood, which had become a mess of watery brown.
“He wouldn’t even see her,” Lily whispered, though for whose benefit, Blythe didn’t know. She heard it perfectly. Felt it even more directly.
He didn’t want her anymore. He’d made that clear.
That was it then.
“Come on, Blythe.” Cordelia’s hands gently guided Blythe’s shoulders to turn her about. “Let’s go home. Who needs a stuffy old Duke anyhow.”
A sob escaped before she could stop it. She did. She needed her stuffy Duke.
****
Three hours later, Michael rubbed his eyes in exhaustion as he trod down the stairs. He only hoped half of the two dozen glowing comments he’d made up about his betrothed were true. Hell, he’d be happy with one.
A soft mewling pulled him from his thoughts. He frowned as he descended the last step.
Mewl.
He frowned again at the high-pitched cry, sounding suspiciously like a cat. He turned into the parlor, where he spied a basket on the floor.
He moved toward it and peered inside. It was a cat. A tiny, striped kitten, in fact.
“Oh, Your Grace.” Molly, one of his downstairs servants, came in behind him. “I was just coming in to feed her.” He noticed she held a small saucer in her hands.
“Where did she come from?”
“Someone delivered her a few hours ago, a sister of the Earl of Merewood who said this was for Lady Elisabeth.”
His heart jumped. “Blythe? She was here?”
Molly frowned. “I don’t rightly know, my lord. Hobson took the kitten.”
“Where is he?” he demanded, then without waiting for an answer, strode out into the hallway. “Hobson!”
Before the syllables were even out of Michael’s mouth, Hobson appeared, as was his custom. Michael somewhat believed that he lurked in the walls to be certain he never missed a passerby.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Why did you not inform me of visitors?”
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I did knock on Lady Elisabeth’s door to inform you. You said under no circumstances were you to be disturbed.”
Michael dragged his hand through his hair. “Who delivered the cat?”
“Three young women.”
“Did they leave a message? A name? Anything for me?”
“One of them said to tell you Blythe was here to deliver the kitten,” Hobson replied with distinct distaste. “I left the message on your desk.”
“Thank you, Hobson.” As Hobson disappeared as quickly as he appeared, Michael went to his office. Was it actually her? Was she here in London? He grabbed the note on top, saw Hobson’s neat handwriting with just Blythe’s name.
No message. It had probably been her sisters delivering Blythe’s message, not Blythe herself.
One of these days, perhaps he would stop caring.
He heard the chatter of voices in the foyer. Dropping the note on his desk, he went down the hallway and slowed to a halt when he saw Abigail and her father.
She smiled prettily when she saw him. “Duke, good evening.”
Ah yes, he’d invited them to join him for dinner. He’d forgotten. Or perhaps he had wanted to forget.
Either way, it didn’t matter. He was betrothed.
But for the sake of his daughter, he would bloody well at least pretend to be happy about it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Isn’t this simply gorgeous?” Cordelia grabbed at an intricately embroidered fan.
“Very nice.” Blythe tried to summon interest.
She followed in her sister’s wake at J.T. Wadley’s “Most Fashionable” store, a smile painted on her face. She was finding it increasingly difficult to pretend to enjoy their shopping excursion.
She kept waiting for the anger to come back. Anger was easier to get through than this pain that felt like sludge inside her. It squished with every movement, sloshed over when she almost managed to forget for a moment.
“Would this dazzle on my first night at Almack’s?” Cordelia pressed an ice blue fabric across her chest.
“It’s lovely, Cordie,” Blythe told her honestly. She looked about the room, noting the young girls, mothers and others milling about, searching for the perfect fabric or previously made gown.
“I cannot imagine anything more exci
ting than court.” Cordelia walked toward the next display of fabrics. “Blythe you would not have believed the gowns! The jewels! A peacock would be envious.”
Blythe chuckled softly. Her sister had made her formal introduction just this week and had walked about with her nose perpetually in the clouds since.
“I’m certain Almack’s will hold its own appeal. It’s a veritable fortress to get into on Wednesday balls.”
Cordie dropped the length of pink muslin in her hand and leaned closer to Blythe. “I heard that Lady Elizabeth Buchanan wore a gown similar to one of the patronesses and had her vouchers revoked for it.”
Blythe smiled as she fingered a burgundy silk. “I imagine there is a grain of truth in there somewhere.” And Blythe had never had a better reminder of why city life was not for her.
Cordelia turned to look at a display behind them and gasped.
Blythe looked up. “What is it?”
Cordelia’s eyes were wide as she snapped her head around to Blythe. “Nothing. I simply saw…a dreadful gown. Let’s go this way.” She grabbed her arm and steered her forward.
“Cordie, what in heaven are you about?”
Blythe started to turn around, but Cordelia grabbed her arm again. “Please, just come with me. Now.”
“A dreadful gown cannot be so bad you must leave the store immediately. Did you not tell me this morning you absolutely could not buy your fabric from any other shop but this one?”
Cordelia’s eyes slid to a point just past Blythe and then right back at her. “I simply do not care for this shop any longer. I’d like to leave.”
Blythe shook her head in confusion. “If you say so. But I do not understand why.”
Cordelia heaved a great sigh and then moved ahead. Blythe started to follow her, but peeked around for a look at such a…
Oh. The breath knocked out of her.
Michael.
He stood at the opposite end of the shop, his profile to her. An elegant morning coat of dark brown followed the lines of his broad shoulders and lean waist. A brown and blue neck cloth was loosely tied over a white shirt and waistcoat of a lighter brown. Trousers in an almost black color completed his casual, yet devastatingly masculine look.
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