“Thank God.”
She patted his hand. “You are sorely out of your element, aren’t you, Hal? Don’t worry. Once you have a wife, she will take care of everything for you.”
“Can you promise me that?”
Celinda laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no. But the odds are in your favor. Now, tell me about this subterfuge. What do you have in mind?”
Heart of Delight: Chapter Seven
Hal stood once more in front of the dreadful Chinoiserie desk in his father’s study, dressed in a manner that would have done Brummell proud. Hands clasped behind his back, he stood stiffly, his plea to his father chasing round and round his head. Hopefully, his appearance and sober mien would impress upon the duke how serious he took his request.
“So have you found this young woman’s family at last, Halford?” His father held several sheets of paper, staring at one through his monocle then abruptly tossing it onto the table and perusing the next. “You seem quite engaged in finding her antecedents. Didn’t I just see you four days ago? Never known you to be so bullish about a woman.”
“I love her, Father. I want to marry her.” Hal put every ounce of determination into his voice. No doubt, no wavering, only strength and determination. His father would respect that.
“That may be. However, if she’s not of good family, you won’t be marrying her in my lifetime.” He dropped the monocle to stare at Hal with glassy blue eyes. “And I mean to remain above ground for a very, very long time to come.”
“Fortunately, her parentage is not an issue. As it turns out, she’s the daughter of a duke.”
The look of surprise on the duke’s face would have been comical, had Hal’s guts not been gripped by an iron fist.
“Is she indeed? A French duke, I take it.” The old man nodded, though his countenance didn’t soften. “They’re scarce as hen’s teeth since the revolution.”
“An English duke, Your Grace.” Hal stared straight at his father. If he showed weakness now, he and Gabriella would be lost.
“Ah, an English duke. Even better.” His father continued to peruse the documents in his hands in a maddeningly slow fashion.
Drops of sweat trickled down the back of Hal’s neck, but he held his pose. Let his father make the opening move.
“You are aware that I am conversant with the progeny of every Duke in the Peerages of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Great Britain?” At last, his father raised his gaze to Hal’s. “As I turn over the names of marriageable young women of the correct age whose fathers are, in fact, dukes, I find the list extremely short. Two females only come to mind. Lady Margaret Seaton, the Duke of Starkland’s daughter, who is actually six months older than you, and Lady Anne Kerwick, the Duke of Polden’s daughter.”
Hal knew both ladies, although he’d not seen Lady Margaret for some years as she had ceased to show herself during the Season. She was more taken with gardening in Cumberland. Lady Anne he’d seen last at Lady Hairston’s ball a week ago, in the arms of the Marquess of Canterbury. He’d wager his father knew these facts as well. “Neither of these ladies has caught my eye, Father. I’m certain you know that.”
“I do. Indeed, I do, Halford. When last we spoke, you astounded me with the statement that your future bride to be was French. The only way either of those ladies have French blood is if it came over with William the Conqueror.” The duke’s voice rose, rattling the glasses beside the crystal decanter. “What the devil are you playing at?”
“Believe me, Your Grace, I do not play. My future bride is Gabriella d’Aventure—daughter of the Duke of Rother.” He stared at his parent evenly, awaiting the firestorm.
“Halford, I have given you too much leniency in your short life. You will cease these games and give me a straightforward answer.” The vein in the duke’s forehead popped up like a thin, purple snake.
“I am sorry to make this hard for you, Father, but I have given you the truth. I have good reason to believe that Miss d’Aventure is indeed the daughter of the Duke of Rother and his paramour Veronique Dubois. Mademoiselle Dubois subsequently married a wine merchant and Miss d’Aventure was raised as his daughter in France. Rother knows nothing of this—yet.”
The Duke of Brixham sat back in his chair, twirling the monocle by its chain. “Why do you believe this girl’s story? Does she have proof? Does she resemble Rother?”
“Not a bit. She must take after her mother. And she has no proof, per se, but her information about where and when the affair took place is consistent with Rother’s movements that year. Have you heard him speak of a carriage accident during his Grand Tour? Or that he spent time in the Aquitaine during the summer of 1800?”
The duke shook his head. “Rother’s much younger than I. We’ve met socially and in Parliament, of course, but rarely otherwise.” The duke’s stare rested on him so long that he shifted in his highly polished boots and looked away. At last, his father leaned forward. “You didn’t say why you were inclined to believe her.”
“I did, Father. The facts, such as they are, seem to confirm her mother’s tale. The date of Gabriella’s birth matches, Rother’s supposed actions certainly match his character. And Miss d’Aventure tells the story convincingly. I don’t just want to believe her. I do believe her.”
“Because you want to marry her.” The duke chuckled, a grating sound. “I have never seen you so determined about anything, Halford. If I give credit to the girl for nothing else, I will give her that. She’s managed to make you take something seriously for the first time in your life, and that is quite an accomplishment.”
“Does that mean—” Hope fluttered in his heart.
“It does not.” The duke sat back in his chair, arms crossed.
Hal slumped. He should have known better than to believe for one instant that this wily fox would agree to the marriage simply based on Gabriella’s influence on his actions.
“You say Rother has no idea of this young woman’s claim. When will he know?”
“Tomorrow. Lady Celinda is arranging a meeting for Miss d’Aventure with him.” He shrugged. “We will see what the duke has to say then.”
“Do you think he will acknowledge her?”
Again Hal shrugged. “I suppose it depends on whether or not he believes she is his.”
His father rose and stretched, tossing his monocle onto the papers on the desk. “Then we shall all wait and see what Rother has to say. If he acknowledges her, I will give my consent to your marriage. If he does not, I do not. As simple as that.”
Hal nodded. He’d expected nothing less. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will inform you in either case tomorrow.” He bowed and grabbed his hat.
“Very good.” The duke reseated himself and picked up the papers.
With a sigh, Hal turned to the door.
“Halford.”
Hal stopped at the threshold.
“Should Rother deny Miss d’Aventure, I will still require you to marry and produce your heir in the next year.”
Hal gritted his teeth and raised his chin. “I suspected as much, Father.” He rounded on the old man, shooting him a piercing look. “I suppose then you’d better pray to God that Rother accepts her. I should hate like hell to disappoint you, but if Gabriella cannot be my bride, I’ll have none. Cut me off, disinherit me if you like. I won’t live without her.” He strode from the room, the image of the duke’s bulging eye and slack jaw following him down the corridor and out to his waiting carriage.
* * *
Gabriella sighed for the hundredth time as she smoothed down the lace she was using to trim Lady Chalgrove’s new blue lutestring gown. The delicate material kept sliding out of her unsteady grasp. Her meeting with the Duke of Rother was now less than an hour away.
She put the garment aside and paced to the window. Horace’s note yesterday had given her instructions to wait for Lady Celinda to call on Lady Hamilton. She would then take Gabriella to her house where the duke would meet them.
He made it sound so sim
ple. Horace had been true to his word and secured her an interview with the duke, despite their spat two days ago. She had tried to remain angry at him, but had found it impossible even before he’d made good on his promise. Her thoughts had constantly wandered to him, and she’d relived each moment they’d shared, each kiss. She touched her lips, wanting to feel his there once more. Was this love? If so, it was an unsettling feeling.
The clock over the mantle chimed one.
Gabriella trembled, her gaze glued to the door. She could not stand still. Back and forth she strode. If Lady Celinda did not appear soon, she would wear a pathway in the carpet. Mon Dieu, what if Lady Celinda did not come? She could not bear to go through this waiting again.
Back to the window, and she stopped. A huge open black carriage, pulled by a set of matched black horses, had drawn up in front of Lady Hamilton’s townhouse. A gentleman jumped out then assisted a lady to the ground. Callers for Lady Hamilton’s at home day. Which meant her waiting was over. She must be ready to leave as soon as Lady Celinda arrived.
Her bonnet lay on the chair there, her reticule beside it. She had dressed in her best gown, not silk, of course, but a very good quality muslin with fine lace medallions of tambour work she had sewn on it herself.
If only the lady would arrive.
A faint knock at the door sent Gabriella flying across the room, her heart choking her. “Yes?” she called, her breath ragged.
“Miss d’Aventure? It is Lady Celinda.”
Gabriella dragged the door open. A slim girl stood before her. Her blond hair glinted from beneath a pale bonnet, while her white gown, with a very small print and three rows of ruffles, seemed to glow in the streaming sunlight. Gabriella curtsied and opened the door wide.
The lovely young woman sped inside, and Gabriella carefully closed the door with a quiet click. She stared at the woman, too overcome to make a sound. Her long-cherished dream was about to come true.
“How do you do, Miss d’Aventure? I am Lady Celinda Graham, come to fetch you to the duke.” Lady Celinda paused then giggled. “Rather the duke is to come to us at my father’s house in St. James square. Ha—Horace and I thought it best for you to receive him there, as we cannot go to his home. My father will be in residence as chaperone to us while the duke is present. Even though Papa will know nothing about it.” She laughed once more and took Gabriella’s hand. “That should preserve the proprieties and still allow you a more private conversation with the duke when you meet for the first time.”
“I cannot thank you enough, Lady Celinda. Or Monsieur Carpenter.” Heat blazed in her cheeks every time she even whispered his name. “He is not here today?”
“No, his master, the marquess, has need of him this afternoon, but he asked me to tell you that he is very proud of you for attempting such a feat. Most young women of your circumstances would not. He wishes you bon chance.”
Gabriella dashed a tear from her eye. No matter how this afternoon ended, she would not allow Horace Carpenter to leave her life. She nodded and gathered her shawl, hat, and reticule and raised her chin. “Shall we go, my lady?”
The lady peered out the window, a frown puckering her brow. “We must wait for our carriage to arrive. Horace said he ordered it for one o’clock.”
And the clock’s hands stood at quarter past the hour.
“It should be any moment now, my dear,” Lady Celinda said, leaning out the window to stare down the street. “Any minute.”
* * *
Hal perched on Lady Hamilton’s sofa, sipping tea, acutely aware that as Lady Chalgrove chatted to Lady Carmichael about ball gowns, on the next floor her maid was in the process of fleeing the house to keep an assignation with the Duke of Rother. He gulped his tea and stared at the lady, attempting to feign interest in the merits of gold muslin over silver.
Their plan had gone well so far. He and Celinda had arrived on time. To divert attention, he’d engaged Lady Hamilton with a bit of a scandalous on-dit he’d prepared on the way over. Not a lie, exactly, but an exaggeration of a conversation he’d heard at his club last evening. Still, the subject of the gossip was a gentleman whose reputation could use a bit more tarnish to make him truly interesting to the ladies, so no harm done. Meanwhile, Celinda had sped up the stairs after Hal distracted the butler by dropping his walking stick not once but twice while trying to hand it to him.
“I have not had the pleasure, Lady Chalgrove, of being your partner at whist.” Hal changed the subject from fashions and fabrics as soon as he deemed it polite. Fashion interested him not at all, and as a result he knew not one thing about it. Devilishly hard to maintain a conversation when you could say nothing intelligent.
“Then I insist we be partners at dear Lady Hamilton’s upcoming card party, my lord.” Lady Chalgrove arched her neck and smiled at him from beneath lowered lashes.
“I would be delighted, my lady.” Best watch out for this one. Her claws were poised to sink themselves into whatever unsuspecting prey crossed her path. “I suspect your hostess and the rest of her guests will be disappointed when they find we are not to be beaten the entire night.” Hal flashed his brightest grin, while surreptitiously listening for movement in the foyer.
“You may be correct, Lord Halford.” She tapped him gaily on the arm. “I have yet to find a partner who understands the strategy of the game as well as I. But from what I have gathered about you and cards,” she simpered and sipped her tea, “we will make brilliant partners. We will play to win at any cost. Am I correct, my lord?”
“Absolutely correct, my lady.” Hal raised his teacup, and caught movement past the door to the drawing room. He sighed and savored his tea. His ladies had made their escape. So far, so good. Twenty minutes past one o’clock. They were a trifle late, but still should arrive at Graham House within five minutes. He’d give Lady Chalgrove another few minutes then make his adieux, his part in the operation almost complete.
“I fear I must beg to take my leave of you, Lady Chalgrove, Lady Hamilton. I am promised to Lord Haversham for dinner and am on my way now to Fribourg & Treyer’s for a special brand of snuff he particularly prefers.” Hal rose, smiling warmly at his hostess. He bowed to Lady Chalgrove, who beamed at him. Thank goodness he could shortly announce his betrothal and put an end to the lady’s maneuverings regarding him.
“Lady Ivor, Miss Euphemia Graham, Miss Uriana Graham.”
Hal turned to greet them, snagging the edge of his coat on something. He tugged, and it came free. A crash and clatter arose behind him.
“Oh, no!”
The shriek spun him around. Lady Chalgrove sat almost as he’d left her thirty seconds before, except now the front of her pink and silver gown had turned a ditch-water brown. The lady’s teacup lay on its side in the saucer, the contents still dripping onto her lap.
“Do not be alarmed, my dear.” Lady Hamilton rose, her legendary calm in full operation. “James,” she called to the nearest footman, “run and fetch Gabriella to assist Lady Chalgrove. Thomas,” she turned to the other hovering footman, “napkins, please.”
The footmen both nodded and fled, one heading upstairs, one down.
Hal closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. He prayed all would go well with Gabriella and the duke. If it did not, the situation she would return to did not bear thinking about.
“Lady Chalgrove, I do beg your pardon. That was insufferably clumsy of me.” Damn it to hell. “Please allow me to retire, ladies.” Having done as much damage as possible, he bowed and backed toward the doorway. “Thank you, Lady Hamilton. I will see you next for cards on the sixteenth.” Head spinning like a top, he headed for the door, waiting impatiently for the return of his stick and hat as upraised voices in the drawing room spilled into the foyer. He headed down the stairs, slowing with each step.
The space where his carriage should have been waiting loomed vast and empty on the busy street. What the devil was going on? He peered up and down the street, around the corner. The landau was nowhere to be
found. Robbins would get the sack for this. Should he hail a hack or walk back to his house? He could inquire if the butler knew where the carriage had gone, but he’d be damned if he’d go back into that house where all hell was erupting because of him.
“My lord.” Tate, the butler, had appeared on the steps.
Damn. Too late. “Yes?”
“Lady Hamilton would like a moment of your time, if you will.”
With a sigh and a nod, Hal dragged his feet up the staircase.
Heart of Delight: Chapter Eight
“Are you certain, Lady Celinda, that the marquess will not mind us taking his carriage?” Gabriella had been astounded when the lady had urged her down the front steps and into the sleek landau with a large crest emblazoned on the side. “I would not wish to get Horace…Monsieur Carpenter, rather, in any trouble with his master. He did instigate this outing.”
“Do not worry yourself, Miss d’Aventure,” Lady Celinda said with a strangled laugh and an odd twinkle in her bright blue eyes. “The marquess would insist upon it if he know our need. And he would certainly curse the hack that did not appear as promised.” She screwed her mouth into a pout then shook her head and relaxed into the luxurious, black leather seat. “We can send a footman with a note when we reach the house. It is quite near Lady Hamilton’s. Just there.” She nodded as they turned a corner onto a fashionable square of streets, with a magnificent garden in bloom at their center. A large statue of a man on a horse graced the middle of the square.
Gabriella nodded and leaned back, trying to relax despite the nerves that had been singing in her veins since dawn. Her breath quickened, and her mind raced ahead to the meeting she’d imagined a thousand times. How would the duke look up close? Would he remember her mother? And more important, would he believe her story? With answers so temptingly close at hand, Gabriella could fix her mind on nothing for more than a few seconds. She squeezed her hands together as the clop, clop of the horses’ hooves on the stone pavement slowed to a stop.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 58
