She traced the masculine bend to the words, the card stiff, the paper bright white, the ducal crest elegantly embossed.
The ducal crest.
Her heart stuttered as she ran a finger over the red and gold design. It had been one thing to plan to gain a duke’s notice to teach him a lesson. Somehow, it was an entirely different thing to gain his notice with the hope of a future together. And now that she had his notice, the possibility of becoming a duchess brought out every insecurity she’d ever experienced.
Who was she to think she could ever become a duchess?
“What is it?” Julia asked, rising to stand beside her and place a supportive hand on her shoulder.
Lillian pressed a hand over her middle to calm the flutters, but it did no good. As she no longer believed Elijah would’ve trifled so carelessly with Helena’s feelings, she’d abandoned her goal of vengeance. Odd but she felt rudderless without it. “I’m not quite certain what to make of this.”
Julia shifted to catch Lillian’s gaze. “I would hazard a guess that Burbridge is now courting you.”
She frowned at the thought. “Truly?”
Julia chuckled. “I don’t think it should come as a surprise. You are easy to love, Lillian. You’re kind, intelligent, thoughtful, beautiful. What more could a duke want for a wife?”
A wife? That only made the flutters worse. “Do you truly think he’s courting me?” They’d kept their relationship secret thus far, but the idea of making it public was more nerve-wracking than she’d realized it would be.
“Flowers each day?” Julia grinned. “I believe so.”
“These were merely a thank you for spending time with the duchess.” Lillian waved her hand in the air to dismiss them. “So kind of him.”
Julia shook her head. “Then there was the ball last evening where he danced with you not once but twice. I don’t believe he danced with anyone else.”
That move on his part was a little more difficult to dismiss. One dance she could’ve disregarded. Two was much more difficult.
“Now flowers again this morning. Lilies no less.”
Lillian reached out to touch the velvety soft petals. “They’re beautiful.”
“They not only match your name, but they’re different. Special. I would guess that is how he feels about you.”
She considered the idea for a moment—perhaps two—before setting aside the thought. “I think he’s simply grateful as his mother seems to be on the mend. In fact, I think she’ll be at the ball this evening.”
Julia put a hand on her shoulder and turned her then took both of Lillian’s hands in hers. “He might be grateful, but I don’t think that’s what this is.”
Lillian didn’t agree or disagree. It was difficult to believe that she’d managed to capture Elijah’s affections. She’d come to London with that intent, but she couldn’t absorb the idea that it had truly come to pass. Not with doubt as to her own worthiness continuing to whisper in her ear. She needed a reason he might be feeling this way. She could only think this was all a form of gratitude for her help with his mother.
Which meant it would soon pass. Gratitude was no basis for a future.
Could she dare take the risk of enjoying these few days? Or would her heart become overly entangled and her mind start to believe Elijah felt more than gratitude?
That evening, as she, Julia, and Oliver arrived at Lord and Lady Walker’s spacious mansion, her nerves were far worse than usual. They greeted their hosts who stood in the foyer, before moving into the ballroom.
As Lillian perused the crowd, she couldn’t help but note several people staring, several with what seemed like a critical eye. Alarmed, she turned to Julia. “Is something amiss with my attire?” She brushed her cheeks. “Or do I have a mark on my face?”
Julia looked her over from head to toe. “You look just as perfect as you did when we left home. Why?”
Lillian shook her head. “I must be imagining things.” She moved forward, lifting her chin, determined to ignore the sensation of people staring.
Oliver joined them after being caught by someone he knew. “Why are people staring at us?”
Lillian turned. “Do you feel it as well?”
Julia moved between them to loop her arms with theirs. “This is what happens when everyone realizes you’ve caught the attention of a duke.”
Even as Lillian opened her mouth, Julia raised a brow. “Do not bother to deny it,” she told Lillian with a stern tone. “You can invent any reason for it that you like, but you cannot deny it.”
Lillian caught Oliver’s eye, wondering if he thought Julia as mad as she did.
“Do not look at me for answers,” Oliver said with a quirk of his lips. “This is not an area in which I have any expertise. But if I were you, I wouldn’t argue with Julia. That much I can advise with great certainty.”
Lillian chuckled, much as he’d meant her to. His jest served the purpose of lightening her worries, and she appreciated it.
Much to her surprise, Julia held her silence, but the smug smile on her face couldn’t be denied.
“I am not going to argue with her either,” she told Oliver as she leaned forward to speak to him. “However, I’m going to ignore any stares and enjoy the evening.”
“Excellent idea,” Julia said with a nod of approval. She led the way forward, releasing Lillian’s arm when the crowd made the connection too difficult.
The loss of contact left Lillian feeling bereft with no anchor—an odd sensation. After all, this wasn’t her first party. She now knew many of those who attended. Yet she couldn’t help but look about, hoping for a way to find her balance.
“Searching for someone?” The deep timbre of Elijah’s voice sent her emotions spinning, sending her even more off balance.
She turned to greet him. “Good evening, your grace.” He rarely came to functions this early.
“I hope the night finds you well.”
“It does, thank you. And thank you for the beautiful flowers.”
“My pleasure.” His gaze held hers. “Are you searching for someone?”
Only you. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but luckily they didn’t slip out. “Just...noting who’s in attendance.”
He nodded, his gaze moving across the crowd before returning to her. “Will you honor me with your hand for this dance?”
“That would be delightful.”
He offered his arm with a smile.
If she thought she’d felt people staring before, that paled in comparison to how she felt now. It took all her effort to ignore the weight of the stares as they made their way to the dance floor where the strands of a waltz begin to play. He took her into his arms.
“Are you certain this is wise?” she asked, her gaze moving from side to side at the titters and looks.
“What?” he asked.
“You dancing with me. Again.”
“This is our first dance of the evening.”
“I believe you know of what I’m speaking.”
He cleared his throat as they swung around. “Does your comment mean you’d rather not dance with me?”
“No. But I believe we’re creating quite a sensation.”
“Ah. I don’t like feeding the gossip mill, but it seems I have little choice in the matter for now.”
“I don’t want to create problems for you with our...friendship.” There. She’d said it. She’d stated the truth of their relationship. Friends. Or had she been too forward in claiming that?
“Friendship?” He frowned then whirled her across the floor. “This is far more than that, don’t you think?”
Already breathless from the dance, his suggestion only made her more so. “More?” she asked.
“I believe it is called courting.” Another spin. “Or I’ve heard it referred to as wooing. Do you have a preference?”
She could only blink at him.
“I would feel much better if you would be so kind as to select one.” The vulnerability
in his eyes tugged at her.
“Courting, I suppose.” Wooing sounded far too intimate. It spoke of touches and kisses and flutters. Then again, she’d already experienced all of those with Elijah. What did that mean? “Are you quite certain? You are...courting me?”
“Unless you have an objection to it.” A wary caution filled his tone.
She dearly wanted to ask why. Was this because of her fondness for his mother? Didn’t he realize she would continue her visits with the duchess regardless of their relationship because she truly liked his mother?
But as she looked into his blue eyes and the music swirled around them, she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
She was too afraid of what his answer would be.
Chapter Seventeen
“I have no doubt that the working man in search of an hour’s evening amusement and sociable society will be acquitted of anything approaching sottishness, or such an inclination towards mere tipsiness even, as calls for the intervention of the Legislature.”
~The Seven Curses of London
The next morning, D.T. opened the door of the building on Gray Street that now served as their place of business. Work tables stood in the center of the room with twice as many men around them as he’d had working a month ago. He scowled at the sight. His workforce might have doubled, but his troubles had trebled.
“Hurley.” He turned to see Jack McCarthy standing inside the entrance.
D.T.’s breakfast of coddled eggs and kippers roiled in his stomach.
“What brings you by this fine day?” he asked, feigning casualness. Already he could feel a fine bead of sweat forming on his brow. Each time the man paid a visit, he made some request or demand that was out of D.T.’s normal practice. And that led to trouble.
McCarthy gestured toward D.T.’s desk, suggesting they step closer to it. The disadvantage of this location was that it didn’t contain a separate office. While he was better able to watch the workers, he didn’t care for the lack of privacy.
“From the scowl on your face, I don’t believe you think it’s so fine.” McCarthy narrowed his flat, dark eyes. “Can’t say that I do either.”
“Oh?” D.T.’s stomach gurgled loudly.
“What the hell was that?” McCarthy demanded, glancing down at D.T.’s belly.
D.T. patted it. “Bad kippers or some such thing. What’s happened?”
“We’ve got another order.” He glanced about the room. “But from what I can tell, you haven’t completed the last two.”
D.T. studied the stock stacked along the wall that had yet to be mixed. “We’re a little behind schedule, but that will be remedied soon enough.” He swallowed hard. The idea of another order was less than appealing. He was tired. The men were tired. None of them could continue at this pace. Nor did he think he had enough henbane to add to the alcohol.
“I’ll send over more men,” McCarthy offered.
“No need.” From experience, D.T. knew that wasn’t the solution. He’d already had enough problems training McCarthy’s men to work with gentle hands and to measure precisely. “It’s more about properly organizin’ the workers.”
“Truly?” McCarthy frowned, his doubt obvious.
D.T. lifted a casual shoulder. “Consider it a work in progress. More men, inexperienced ones, only confuse the others.”
“Where’s your assistant?”
“Roberts didn’t care for the extra workload.” Or the bad luck that continued to haunt them, especially the police raids. He’d walked out two days ago.
“Ah.” McCarthy nodded knowingly. “Reliable men are hard to find. Unfortunately, the burden of his duties falls on you.”
“I’m trainin’ another.” But D.T. didn’t bother to call over Connelly for introductions. He was undecided if the man was right for the job. The only reason he’d given him keys to the warehouse was so that he could open the door in the morning for the workers. That allowed D.T. to sleep a little longer, something he needed with the long hours he’d been putting in.
Connelly had more brawn than brains, but his size helped to keep the men in line. Several seemed to think they possessed the skills to run the business better than D.T. If it weren’t for McCarthy, D.T. might’ve walked away and let them have at it. Then again, McCarthy was the reason he was in this pickle. Whether he raged at him for it or thanked him had yet to be determined.
“What’s the order for?” D.T. asked, deciding it best to change the subject.
McCarthy smiled, always an unpleasant curving of his lips as far as D.T. was concerned. It gave him the chills each time. “I have a new challenge for you. If you think you’re up to it.”
D.T.’s stomach rebelled once again. A new challenge when he’d yet to master the other ones? But saying no to McCarthy didn’t seem like a wise notion. “I’m always up for a challenge.”
One more lie. He was full of them today.
“Another Society party. A ball or some such thing. This time we need a variety of drinks. Gin, wine, rum.”
“The gin and rum aren’t a problem. Wine is more of a challenge than champagne. The wrong additive changes the taste overmuch.” D.T. still didn’t think he’d had the champagne right for the first party.
“They do like their wine, don’t they? The damn French think no one else can make the stuff except them. We’ll give them what for, won’t we.”
D.T. noted it wasn’t a question. He had to wonder if McCarthy had a personal grudge against the French as this wasn’t the first remark he’d made. However, there was certainly money to be made changing wine. Especially the expensive stuff the ton preferred.
“How large of an order are we talkin’?” D.T. asked when McCarthy didn’t provide any further information.
They went over the details, including the delivery date of a week’s time. That normally wasn’t a problem, but they were behind already with the other two orders. Between the moves they’d been forced to make, training new workers, not to mention the loss of Roberts, D.T. didn’t care for the idea of this order.
“Don’t muck this up, Hurley.” The warning in McCarthy’s voice was unmistakable. “Oversights aren’t tolerated in my organization. Do I make myself clear?”
Hurley nodded, fear giving him chills. He had a good idea of what McCarthy meant and how oversights were handled. His body would be floating in the Thames.
With each order, his troubles increased, but he couldn’t walk away. McCarthy wouldn’t permit it. And without the man’s assistance, how would he continue to evade the police?
Damned if he did. Damned if he didn’t. Funny how that summed up his life so well.
~*~
Elijah stood on the steps of the terraced gardens of the Earl of Pingsley’s home three days later. The guests of the afternoon garden party mingled between the large expanse of green lawn, elaborate flower beds, and clipped hedges. A maze of an impressive size stood at the far end of the property and had attracted some of the more adventurous, if elegantly attired, social elite.
Elijah was sorely tempted to find Lillian and have a go at navigating the tall hedges of the maze himself. Anything to have a few minutes of privacy with her. He’d seen her twice in the past two days but only fleetingly and always surrounded by others. It was maddening. Despite that, no one who was anyone amidst the ton could have missed his interest in her. His actions weren’t so different than the children he’d seen carrying banners only a few days ago, boldly announcing their purpose of stopping people from drinking.
However, he was far from being able to claim his mission a success. Despite the fact that he’d decided she was an ideal fit for him and his life, he wasn’t certain she felt the same way.
Her beauty, intelligence, kindness, and concern for others would make her a perfect duchess. And she’d not only kept his mother’s secret, she seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with her. Lillian filled his own lack regarding his mother. It seemed a wise notion to make her a permanent part of his life.
There wa
s no need to proclaim undying love. Why allow himself to love deeply and subject himself to the pain his mother felt when his father died? His and Lillian’s mutual respect and attraction were more than most couples had and would sustain them through the years. He rubbed his chest at the sudden tightness there but ignored the concern that filled him.
His title should be working in his favor—would’ve worked in his favor with anyone else—but he didn’t think it helped with Lillian.
In truth, it felt as if she’d placed a wall between them in the past few days. Though she smiled and laughed during their brief time together, she seemed to be keeping him at arm’s length.
But he hoped he could change that. He knew he could, given enough time. Given enough damned privacy. But the latter was proving elusive.
He was left to work with what he had. He’d come to the garden party this afternoon, intending to find a way to charm her. It would provide another opportunity for him to win her or at least a little more of her. With determination, he searched the guests for her familiar form.
There.
His physical and emotional reaction at the sight of her left him no doubt that he’d chosen the right person. The sensation made him all the more determined to convince her of the same.
Her gown was a pale pink. Her beauty, so fresh and full of promise, was like a bud amidst a garden of wilted flowers. Her intelligence made speaking with her a joy. Her cleverness made him smile. The sight of her sent his heart pounding. In truth, he wanted her desperately.
He blinked to clear his mind. Now was not the time for desire. He needed to woo her first. There was no hurry. He had all the time in the world.
Or did he? The sight of a man moving directly toward her caused him to frown.
“Burbridge.”
He turned to find Lord Pingsley at his side.
“Delighted you could come, your grace,” the man said then bowed.
“My pleasure. Your garden is quite stunning.”
“The garden? Or a certain someone who happens to be here?” Pingsley asked with a knowing smile as he glanced toward where Lillian now visited with the man.
Daring the Duke (The Seven Curses of London Book 7) Page 20
