Three Weeks with a Princess

by Vanessa Kelly

  “Good God, what are you doing back in Town?” Charles asked.

  “It’s delightful to see you, too,” Jack said. “I do hope I’m not disturbing your cogitations on important affairs of state, Your Grace.”

  His best friend cut him a grin. “I’m reading the on-dits. They are generally more entertaining than your company, especially when you’re glowering at me. Suffering from a little dyspepsia, are we?”

  “Ah, the gossip columns. Is the duchess making an appearance in them this week? She does have a tendency to liven things up, and London is so quiet at this time of year.”

  “That’s a delicate way to characterize my wife’s adventures. We’ve not had any incidents in some weeks, so I suppose we’re due for one.” Charles breathed out a dramatic sigh.

  Jack laughed. “Your wife is utterly charming and you adore her—as you should, by the way. I tried to steal her for myself, but for some demented reason she chose you over me, no doubt because you’re a duke and disgustingly wealthy.”

  He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He’d meant it as a joke, but more than a little bitterness had leeched into his tone.

  His friend simply gave him a smile, rising politely to his feet. “No, it’s because my manners are so distinguished. Or so Gillian assures me. And you know what a stickler she is for polite behavior.”

  The absurd comment made Jack laugh and lightened the moment. The Duchess of Leverton was the opposite of a high stickler. She was also one of the kindest, most intelligent young women Jack had ever met.

  “You’re a lucky man, you blighter,” he said. “I hope you give her all the appreciation she deserves.”

  “She is the light of my life,” Charles said quietly. “I don’t know how I got along without her.”

  “And don’t forget that Her Grace is very handy when it comes to dealing with ruthless brigands or, even worse, jug-bitten aristocrats.”

  “Don’t I know it,” his friend replied with a rueful smile.

  To say that the former Gillian Dryden was an unconventional woman was perhaps the understatement of the decade. Still, there was no doubting that the duke and his new duchess were deeply in love and, in their own odd way, a perfect match.

  “I am truly happy for you and Gillian,” Jack said, turning serious. “You both deserve it.”

  His friend gave him a shrewd perusal. “Thank you, Jack. You, however, seem to be weighed down these days. Care to have a brandy with me and unburden yourself?”

  “I’ll join you in a brandy, although I’m sure you have no wish to hear about the sorry state of my affairs. They’re both mundane and dreary, I assure you.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. I will happily listen to any number of your sad tales. God knows you did it for me in my callow youth.” Charles glanced past him. “But Lord Stalworth is glaring daggers at us for disturbing the peace. I suggest we repair to the club room where we can talk more freely.”

  Jack followed his friend, flashing the elderly viscount an apologetic smile. Stalworth, the very picture of decrepitude, rustled his paper in disapproval. Boodle’s was known for its genteel atmosphere, and the distinguished and mostly elderly members tended to frown on any behavior that disturbed the tranquil atmosphere.

  Jack’s membership in London’s clubs was of recent vintage, after he’d assumed the title. He could certainly see their value; a great deal of business was conducted over brandy or port or at a hand of cards. But the hard truth was that he couldn’t afford the lifestyle that came with club privilege—the gambling and wagering on things from the arcane to the idiotic. He avoided the tables and never made wagers on any of the other sure bets that were so much a part of the masculine life of the Ton.

  As far as he was concerned, he’d won the ultimate wager by escaping the battlefields of Spain and Belgium with only a few minor wounds. To risk his livelihood—and the security of all those who depended on him—by gambling would be tempting fate to a reckless degree.

  Jack’s father had brought his family to the brink of ruin more than once at the tables of London’s elite clubs. Uncle Arthur had rescued them from debt more than once, at great cost to his own purse.

  But Uncle Arthur had squandered great sums of money as well until ill health and Rebecca Kincaid persuaded him to retreat to Stonefell. Jack had no intention of adhering to the family tradition of losing one’s shirt, nor would he ever keep a mistress. Uncle Arthur had at least had the decency to fall in love with his, but Jack’s father had traded in expensive women as easily as he’d entered a wager in the betting book at White’s or tossed down a hand of cards in a gaming hell.

  He and Charles found two seats in a relatively secluded alcove, keeping away from a group of men boisterously gossiping about the Prince Regent and his latest rumored mistress. It was another unwelcome reminder that Lia might also become an object of such gossip. The by-blow of a prince taking to the stage and following in her mother’s scandalous footsteps was as salacious a picture as one could imagine.

  After ordering brandies from a passing footman, Charles stretched out his long, booted legs. While his friend looked the picture of contentment, Jack felt as if he had a swarm of wasps buzzing around in his brain.

  Charles eyed him. “Why are you scowling at that lot over there? They’re just engaging in the usual idiocy.”

  “God knows Prinny and his loutish relations provide them with enough fodder. Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “Why? Because my wife’s father is the Duke of Cumberland, the absolute worst of the lot?”

  Jack cut him a wry smile.

  Charles shrugged. “He’s so disreputable that Gillian wants nothing to do with him. We make a point of not discussing him and avoid him whenever possible.”

  “Does that actually work? The royals are all over the place, now that the war has ended.”

  “Gillian hasn’t been in London that long, so there haven’t been many opportunities to run into them. And most of them are out of Town a great deal, either at their estates or in Brighton with the Regent. So far, our luck has held.”

  “But when the Season begins, it’ll be next to impossible to avoid them completely. What will you do then?”

  “Are you asking out of genuine concern for Gillian?” Charles shrewdly asked. “Or is there another motive at play here?”

  Jack supposed it was obvious he was worried about what might happen to Lia if she stayed in London. “For now, let’s go with the former.”

  “As you wish. Gillian and I have decided that we will treat the majority of her royal relations with the accepted standard of respect and courtesy, but we will not acknowledge any familial relations, especially with her father. Gillian has said that she’ll walk right over Cumberland if she has to. She’ll refuse to acknowledge he even exists.”

  “That’s bound to go down well,” Jack said dryly.

  “You forget a pertinent fact—her half brother is Griffin Steele, who, as you know, is also one of Cumberland’s by-blows.”

  “Are you telling me that he threatened Cumberland?” Jack had only recently met the former crime lord, now a semi-respectable member of the Ton. No sane person would ever wish to cross Griffin Steele, and that would presumably include his royal father.

  “That would be most unseemly. But he did remind his esteemed parent that he was still in debt to him for quite a large sum, left over from the days when Steele ran his gaming hells.”

  “Good Lord, do you mean to tell me Cumberland actually borrowed money from his bastard son?”

  “Does that really surprise you? Most of the princes did the same thing. Steele has quite a lot of influence within the royal family, as you can imagine.”

  Jack couldn’t help laughing. “God, what a pack of buffoons, all of them. So Steele warned Cumberland away from his sister?”

  “Suggested, more like it. But my brother-in-law would do anything to protect her.”

  “As would you,” Jack said quietly. He wished he had that kind of power and
influence, when it came to him.

  “Naturally, but let’s talk about your royal problem,” Charles said. “Gillian is quite eager to meet her cousin. I am less so, but if I don’t support my wife she’s bound to do something drastic, and that would hardly help Miss Kincaid. So, what can we do to assist her now that she’s in Town?”

  Jack stiffened. “How did you know Lia was in London? She arrived less than a week ago and she’s not announced herself in any way.”

  “Let’s just say I have my sources,” Charles said with a negligent wave of his hand.

  “You mean Gillian’s been gossiping with your servants again.”

  Charles sighed. “I can’t seem to break her of the habit. But this time we heard it from Steele, who knows everything that happens in this blasted Town. He came calling the other day with the happy news that Gillian has a cousin living only a short carriage ride away. Needless to say, my wife was more than a bit peeved that I hadn’t already provided her with that information.”

  “And knowing the duchess, I imagine she wanted to run right over to meet Lia.”

  “I was only able to stop her by explaining that Lia might not yet be aware of her existence, and that the responsibility for imparting such news rested with the Kincaid family or with you.”

  When Jack relaxed back in his chair, Charles lifted a sardonic eyebrow.

  “So, I take it from your reaction that you have not yet told Lia about her kinship with Gillian, or any of her other relations?” His friend’s tone was austere and disapproving.

  “I wanted to, but I was overruled. Her grandmother feels it wouldn’t be helpful or fair to allow Lia to associate with a cousin who is . . .”

  “So far above her?” he finished as the footman returned with their brandies. When the man retreated, Charles continued. “Jack, you know we don’t care about that sort of thing.”

  “Believe me, I share your frustration, although I understand Rebecca’s concerns. She feels certain that Lia and Gillian will never move in the same circles. After all, Lia is the granddaughter of an infamous courtesan and the daughter of an actress who was once equally notorious. Gillian’s family lines, on the other hand, are impeccable, and she was raised as an aristocrat. She truly belongs where she is—as your duchess.”

  “And where do you think Lia Kincaid belongs?”

  Jack drank his brandy as he struggled with the question, not liking the answers that sprang to mind. “Not on a bloody stage, that’s for damn sure.”

  Charles’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that what she wants to do? Join her mother on the stage?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to say.”

  “That is a most unfortunate development. Even though Mr. Lester’s troupe is considered respectable, Lia’s appearance on the stage certainly will not help her reputation. Is she pretty?”

  “Very,” Jack said, feeling gloomier by the minute. His friend’s reaction was confirming his fears.

  “Then she’ll be a target for every damn rake in London. Did she discuss this course of action with you?”

  “She did, along with some other alarming potential career choices. I told her that none of them were remotely acceptable for a gently bred girl such as herself.”

  Charles stared blankly at him for a moment before understanding took hold. “Are you suggesting she is considering a life in the demi-monde?”

  Jack waggled a hand. “That was more her grandmother’s notion. Lia’s the one who wants to perform on the stage. Unfortunately, before we could discuss either issue to any degree of satisfaction, she gave me the slip and came here.”

  “That was very enterprising of her—and explains your precipitous return to London.”

  “Lia is exceedingly resourceful. When she puts her mind to something, she generally makes it happen.” While that was fine when it came to managing Stonefell’s gardens or helping the tenant farmers, her current misadventure had all the hallmarks of a disaster.

  “And are you going to let this particular enterprise happen?” his friend asked gently.

  “Don’t be an idiot, Charles. As soon as I get my hands on her, I’m taking her back to Stonefell, where she belongs. It’s the only place she’ll ever be safe.”

  “Are you in love with the girl, Jack?”

  Jack almost dropped his glass. “Are you out of your bloody mind?”

  An unfortunate lull in the conversation on the other side of the room brought a number of heads whipping around to observe them. Charles gave the assembled men his chilliest ducal stare, which had its usual and desired effect.

  He turned back to the discussion. “A little less heat, Jack, or we’ll be the ones to instigate the gossip about poor Miss Kincaid.”

  Jack was already mentally kicking himself for revealing so much. “Sorry. As to your question, of course I love Lia. And of course I feel responsible for her and Rebecca. My uncle left them in a terrible fix and it’s up to me to make it right.”

  Charles turned an elegant hand palm up. “So, your feelings for Miss Lia are . . .”

  “Are those of a brother,” he said firmly. “And even if they weren’t, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it, for a dozen reasons.”

  “Everyone said the same about me and Gillian, and yet here we are, the Duke and Duchess of Leverton.”

  “The extremely wealthy and powerful Duke and Duchess of Leverton. Unfortunately, I possess neither power nor wealth.”

  Charles frowned. “Jack, I’m more than willing to help with your financial situation. I can easily lend—”

  “I appreciate your generosity, but that is the fastest way to ruin a friendship. I won’t risk it.”

  If he were able to secure some significant backing for the proposed mining venture, Jack might then approach Charles with a proposal to invest. But until that point, he refused to be indebted to his friend any more than he already was. Charles had helped him out of more than one sticky patch during the war, when Uncle Arthur couldn’t afford to send along his usual quarterly allowance. He wouldn’t impose on his friend again.

  “I understand,” said Charles with a sympathetic grimace. “But where does that leave you in terms of Stonefell’s current financial situation?”

  “If my bankers won’t help me, then I’ll be on the lookout for a willing heiress,” Jack said with a sigh. “My mother and sister are already compiling lists of candidates.”

  Charles eyed him for a moment before nodding. “Very sensible. I’m sure they’ll find you a most pleasing group of young ladies from which to choose.”

  Whether they would want to choose him, simply another penniless aristocrat up to his ears in debt, was a different question.

  “That leaves us with one more concern,” Charles added. “What do we do about Gillian’s desire to meet her newly discovered cousin? I will not be able to hold her back for long, as you can well imagine.”

  “All too well. And I will talk to Lia as soon as it’s convenient.” Jack gave his friend a determined stare. “She needs to hear it from me. It’s bound to upset her one way or another, and she’ll want to talk it through with someone she’s close to.” At least he hoped so. She might throw him out onto the street instead.

  Charles nodded. “I can get Gillian to agree to that, if she only has to wait a few days. Let me know when you’ve discussed the issue with Miss Lia and we’ll talk about the best way for the ladies to meet each other.”

  “Very privately,” Jack said wryly. One never quite knew how Gillian would react in situations like this. With a boisterous degree of enthusiasm, he suspected.

  Charles’s eyes glinted. “I agree with that assessment. Very well, we will look forward to speaking more about Miss Kincaid in the near future.”

  Now all Jack had to do was run the infuriating girl to ground.

  Chapter Six

  “Lendale, a moment of your time, please.”

  Jack had almost escaped, but fortune was not with him today. In fact, although Lady Luck had been with him for many a long year durin
g the war, the fickle beauty had clearly abandoned him once he’d returned home to England’s verdant shores.

  As he transferred his hat back to the footman who waited by the front door, the fellow gave him a slight, sympathetic grimace. Lady John had all the servants hopping these days, now that she’d finally gotten herself established in the Bedford Square mansion. It had been his mother’s fondest dream for as long as Jack could remember, and although her dream had finally come true, it presented enough challenges to daunt even his strong-willed parent.

  “There’s no need to address me so formally, Mother,” he said to the dignified woman waiting for him in the door of the library. “Jack served quite well for my entire life.”

  Her narrow, clever eyebrows pulled together in a slight show of disapproval, but she refrained from answering until the footman closed the doors of the library behind them. His mother crossed to one of the slender, Hepplewhite-style chairs grouped around a table that looked much too delicate for the masculine décor of the library. The furniture grouping was new, as were the gold window hangings. They were not to his personal taste, but he had no doubt his mother’s choices were bang up to the mark and expensive.

  She took a seat, nodding for him to do the same. Jack waved a hand, preferring to remain on his feet in the hope that she would receive the unspoken message that he was pressed for time.

  “Now that you are master of this house,” she said, “it would be inappropriate for me to address you with so negligent a degree of respect. What would the servants think?”

  “That you’re my mother and that I’m your son?”

  He heard her breathe out a tiny sigh. “My son, as much as I esteemed the previous marquess—”

  “That would be my uncle and your brother-in-law, I believe.”

  “Really, Jack, must you keep interrupting me?”

  He laughed. “I’m sorry, Mother, but sometimes you are remarkably easy to tease. And I did get you to call me Jack, which I count as a small victory.”