The Duke Dilemma

by Shirley Marks

  “I cannot say, ma’am.” Rebecca moved away from the window. Her expression brightened as if she’d suddenly remembered something. Moving her reticule aside, the lady’s maid pulled her small bag closer, unfastened the clasp, and reached inside. After digging around for some moments, her arm finally stilled and she produced a key from her bag.

  “Bless you for your foresight to have such a thing in your possession, Becca.” Louise had the silly notion that if she couldn’t enter her house she would have to turn around and travel to Bath to rejoin her sister.

  “Allow us to disembark, if you please,” Rebecca asked the footman on his way back to the coach. “If you would please use this.” She handed the key to the footman and turned toward her mistress, appearing to share Louise’s eagerness to enter their home.

  Louise stepped down and followed the footman up the walk to the front door with Rebecca in her wake. The footman turned the key, opened the door, stepped inside, and held the front door open wide for the ladies.

  Rebecca moved down the entrance hall to the small but finely appointed foyer. “It is so very good to be home!” The lady’s maid, it seemed, could not contain her delight. She stripped off her gloves and turned to the footman. “Bring in the luggage, if you please.”

  Louise strolled to the dining room and pulled the heavy drapes open, allowing enough light in for her to see the holland covers over the table and sideboard. She continued to the rear parlor and drew the drapes aside. Sheets of white cotton concealed the two rose-and-yellow-striped sofas and the numerous tables and chairs occupying the room. Her small sitting area must be similarly shrouded. She and Rebecca would need to manage by themselves until the staff returned. Exactly how that would be done, she wasn’t entirely certain.

  Rebecca appeared in the doorway then stepped inside. “The luggage is abovestairs and the coach is preparing to depart.”

  “Please give this to the footman.” Louise pulled out the missive she’d penned that morning, thanking her sister for her hospitality and Sir Giles for providing private transportation and an outrider for the safe journey home. “Instruct him to deliver it to Sir Giles.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Taking the correspondence, Rebecca retreated, leaving in the same direction from which she had entered.

  A moment later, a small voice came from the dining room, “Goodness, I thought I was hearing voices.”

  Louise turned toward the newcomer, who instantly recognized the mistress of the house.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. I beg your pardon.” She bobbed a curtsy and blushed, pulling the apron she’d clutched in her fist to hide her face.

  “Betty!” Louise recognized the downstairs maid. “Are you the only staff member in the house?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. Dora, the second kitchen maid, she’s in the scullery putting the pots and pans to rights, I ’spect.” Betty glanced about, clearly nervous conversing with the lady of the house. She stared at the crumple of apron in her hands, leaving the top of her mobcap all that was visible.

  “I can send a lad to fetch Mr. Baines. He gave me an address, just in case there was some emergency.”

  “There is no need to disrupt his holiday. I am here with Miss Blake, and I’m sure we ladies can manage just fine.” Louise did not wish to deny her butler his well-deserved holiday. She was sure the staff looked forward to some time off. “How is it you remain behind?”

  “Dora ’n me don’t have nowheres to go.” Betty shrugged and Louise finally saw the housemaid’s round face and her wide-open eyes. “Besides, someone’s got to look after the house whiles you’re away and care for your flowers too. Although there ain’t any to speaks of.”

  “That’s very strange.” It was odd that her flowers were not in bloom.

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.” Betty’s voice sounded softer than before. “I’m afraid I must ’ave done somethin’ wrong…”

  “Oh, no, that’s nonsense.”

  “But it’s me who’s carin’ for your garden.” The maid’s voice grew fretful. “There’s usually blooms aplenty, ’specially this time o’ year. It must be my doing.”

  “Please, Betty, do not blame yourself. There is something amiss with the weather.” Louise stared out the window, noting the gray outside did not hint that it might lighten. She suspected London had cooler than normal temperatures for the very reason Somerset, and Sir Giles, suffered. “However, if you have a trick to coax the sun to shine down upon us, I suggest you try it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Betty giggled.

  “Now what do you suggest we do to get started?” Louise unfastened her bonnet and lifted it from her head.

  “I’ll have hot tea and somethin’ ta eat sent in, at once. Travelin’ can take the best out of anyone.”

  “That would be splendid, Betty, but I hate to be a burden to Dora.”

  “No bother at all. It’ll only be a few minutes, I daresay.” Betty’s hold on her apron had gone and her posture straightened as she spoke. “We be running out to do a bit o’ shopping this afternoon. Dora’ll need to prepare supper for your ladyship and Miss Blake, and I’ll need to see that your bedchambers are aired out as well.”

  “Yes, of course.” Louise set her bonnet on the back of a covered chair, allowing it to balance. “I think we should open this back parlor, and we can have all our meals in the breakfast room.” There was no need to bother with the dining room or her small sitting room at this time. Louise was not exactly a recluse, but she kept to herself for the most part. She did not venture out much and expected no callers.

  “Good ’nuff, milady.”

  “Is there something Miss Blake or I can do to help?” It hardly seemed fair that this young maid and one kitchen servant should do the tasks of many.

  Betty’s eyes widened. “It’s not your place. Me and Dora can manage o’ right, we can. Don’t cha worry none about that.”

  “Very well, I shall leave the arrangements up to you. I have no right to expect you to carry the weight of running the household on your shoulders alone. If there is anything you need, I expect you to ask for help.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I shall.” Betty bobbed a curtsy and went on her way.

  Louise moved to the back of the house, toward her garden. She opened the French doors and stepped onto the terrace. While strolling down the far path, she unfastened the front of her traveling cloak.

  Instead of the welcome sight of flowering plants, new buds, and the bright green foliage of new spring growth, it was far from looking its best. Spindly stalks and wilted leaves covered the numerous pots and planters of Louise’s well-loved garden. She could pull some weeds, replant those plants that needed larger containers, and fertilize the plants. Somehow Louise had the feeling that it would take more than any mere human could do to heal her ailing garden.

  There was not even an opportunity for Edward to get comfortable in his seat. Not ten minutes had passed after he entered his box that night at King’s Theatre when the intermission descended upon them and the lights came up.

  “I cannot believe our frightful timing,” he groused.

  “You have the wrong of it there, dear Pater. We have impeccable timing,” Frederick returned. “Just in time to stroll down to the green room and mingle with the other guests.” He leaned forward in his chair, gazing over the edge of the box down to the guests filing out below. “We best wait a bit longer. It doesn’t do any good to arrive too early.”

  “Making another entrance?” Edward equated tardiness to rudeness. They had arrived in the Park fashionably late to make an entrance, to the theater to make an entrance, and now the green room. What purpose did this serve?

  “After this afternoon’s dismal display in the Park, I believe we must make an effort to recall those acquaintances that we previously ignored,” Frederick said, finally rising in preparation to depart. “It is usually the ladies who have the most miraculous memories for such things. In lieu of the fairer sex, we must rely upon ourselves.”

  “I have never ignored any acqu
aintances,” Edward said. How could one make the effort of an acquaintance only to ignore the introduction?

  “Oh, perhaps that was only me, then.” Frederick brushed away any wrinkles that might have appeared on his sleeves. “I regret that I took a less than serious view of such formalities. I suppose I should learn something from that.”

  “It would be wise if you did.” The Duke stared up at his son, knowing he must stand and accompany him.

  “Shall we move on to the green room and renew our acquaintances with other members of the ton?”

  Such trials and tribulations, the planning that seemed to be going on in his son’s addlepated head, was inconceivable to Edward. Had he met his Sarah over twenty years ago merely by chance or was it fate? There were no lengthy measures or plots incorporated for them to make a successful match. None that he had discovered, at any rate.

  The green room overflowed with people standing in the corridor by the time he and Frederick arrived. The guests made an effort to move aside, and a small opening appeared before them. They shouldered their way through the throng. On the far side of the room were Frederick’s friends, Lord Anthony Shelbridge and Mr. Thomas Norton. Edward wondered why his son had chosen not to keep their company but his father’s. His son acknowledged them with a nod of his head yet kept by the Duke’s side.

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Brent.” A lovely light-haired creature dipped a curtsy before Frederick, whose graceless expression almost outright embarrassed Edward.

  “Have you met my father, the Duke of Faraday?” Frederick stepped back, allowing her to see past him.

  “Miss Julia Shrope, Your Grace.” Miss Shrope’s curtsy was a fraction lower and lasted a bit longer than the one performed for Frederick.

  Quite apparent to Edward was Miss Shrope’s ability to recognize that his son had not remembered her.

  “We met last year, was it not?” Frederick said.

  “Yes, my lord, at the Rushworth party. It was a musical evening, I believe.”

  “Rushworth’s? Are you certain it was not at the Devonshire party?”

  “I do not believe so.” Miss Shrope’s gaze dropped to her small clasped hands.

  “Shrope?” Frederick closed his eyes, making more of an effort to bring some long-lost recollection to mind. “I believe there was a Sir Douglas Shrope at Eton; any relation to you by chance?”

  “He is my younger brother.” By Miss Shrope’s pale pink gown adorned with small pink rosebuds, Edward understood that this was not her first Season. It must have been her second. She appeared too young for it to be her third. He wondered what had happened that she would not have made a match last year. She was truly very lovely.

  “As I recall he came into his baronetcy at the age of seven.” How could Frederick not recall something as simple as her name? Where he had come up with these details about her family was completely unknown.

  “Yes, sir. He was very young when we lost our father, a hardship on the entire family, but it has been many years and we have quite recovered.” Something, or someone, caught Miss Shrope’s eye, and she waved.

  Why Frederick could recall such unpleasantness as the demise of a parent, Edward could not guess. He did not think it was an appropriate topic for conversation, at least not a savory one for such an informal social gathering.

  “Your Grace, Lord Brent, may I present my mother, Lady Shrope.” Miss Shrope stepped back, allowing the newcomer to step before the two gentlemen.

  “How do you do, Lady Shrope?” Frederick greeted her with the same, if not more reverence as he had her daughter minutes before.

  Dressed in a handsome green gown edged with lace, Lady Shrope looked to be a young widow. Still attractive, she had what Edward called a matured beauty and could have easily been Miss Shrope’s elder sister instead of her parent.

  “How do you do, my lady?” The Duke bowed over her hand. “Do you and your daughter enjoy the opera this evening?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, we both find it vastly entertaining. The music is—”

  The sound of the gong brought a halt to their conversation and announced the end of the intermission. Frederick followed Miss Shrope, who returned to her mother’s side.

  “How I regret that we must return to our box,” Frederick lamented. “Do you attend Almack’s tomorrow?”

  “We do,” she said, encouraging him.

  And it appeared he allowed himself to be encouraged. “Excellent. May I bespeak the first quadrille?” From the look of him, he was not about to take no for an answer. Edward hoped his son would not make a cake of himself by asking for a second dance right here before a roomful of people.

  “You may, my lord.” Miss Shrope glanced from him to the Duke.

  “I will look forward to our dance.” Bestowing upon her the smile that was known to charm females without fail, Frederick bowed.

  “As shall I.” She colored a most becoming shade of pink, nearly matching that of her gown. How could the shy smile she offered Frederick not have captivated him to the ends of his dancing slippers?

  “Come, Julia, we must return to our box,” her mother gently urged, touching the tip of her fan to her daughter’s shoulder.

  “Yes, Maman.” Miss Shrope turned to Frederick and eased into a shallow curtsy. “Until tomorrow, Lord Brent.”

  Frederick inclined his head. It surprised Edward that his son seemed so taken with her. While obviously pretty, Miss Shrope was no diamond of the first water.

  “Our time is always so limited with the ladies.” Frederick stared after her. “One must make the most of every moment in their presence. One does not go about searching for a bride as one would a new hack.”

  Edward wondered where his son had gained this wisdom and commented, “That, Frederick, is good to hear.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Wednesday morning Edward headed belowstairs for a late breakfast. He never enjoyed the late up-at-noon-and-to-bed-at-four-a.m. Town hours; this was not the manner in which he cared to run his life. The easier up-after-the-sun-rose-and-retire-at-dark was more to his taste.

  Upon passing by his library on the ground floor, he noticed his secretary, Abernathy, sitting next to the desk. He stood upon seeing the Duke. There was something about attending afternoon outings and keeping late nights that made Edward forget about keeping to his schedule. It was as if he lost track of the days that passed. He’d completely forgotten about this early-morning appointment.

  “Have coffee brought into the library,” the Duke instructed a footman who stood at the breakfast room portal farther down the corridor. The footman pivoted away to carry out the request.

  Edward altered his path and entered the library. “Good morning, Abernathy.”

  “Good day, Your Grace.” He unfastened the clasp holding his stack of papers, readying himself.

  “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.” Edward walked around the front of the massive wooden desk and eased into the seat behind it.

  “Not at all, sir.” The secretary pulled a handful of papers from his satchel sitting on a side table.

  Edward tapped several sheets of paper together before setting them out of the way, and then placed two books to one side, clearing the desktop before him. “What do you have for me?” He moved his blotter closer, knowing its use was imminent.

  Abernathy laid several sheets of paper before the Duke. “These are the copies of your letter regarding revision of the statute book, ready for your signature.” He handed Edward the draft, written by the Duke’s own hand. “The original, sir.”

  Edward glanced at the copies, scanning the top neatly written missive, making certain all was in order. He glanced over the other two before signing and handing each to his secretary. The Duke trusted Abernathy, who had assumed the post from his father, Ronald, at the conclusion of his education. Edward expected Reginald Abernathy, and in turn his son, Robert, might dutifully serve Frederick when his time came to succeed to the dukedom.

  “Very good, sir. I
shall send these out at once.” Abernathy handled each with care, cautious to avoid smudging the recent signature.

  “Frederick and I would like to attend Almack’s.” Edward replaced his quill onto the standish, pushed back a bit from the desk, and leaned back in his chair. “I trust we shall have vouchers at our disposal.”

  “You may depend upon it, Your Grace.” Abernathy would apply to the Patronesses on the Duke’s behalf if need be. “This morning’s correspondences include: various communications from members of the house”—Abernathy placed several letters before the Duke—“communication from Mr. Tierney regarding the civil list accounts”—a thick packet was then laid next to the first stack—“a multitude of social invitations”—the secretary set at least a half dozen smaller correspondences, using higher quality paper, next to the packet—“and the accounts from your steward at Fletchling Green.” A final, and the largest, bundle was placed on the desk.

  “Mr. Kittredge’s recommendations for repairs before winter’s arrival, no doubt,” Edward mused aloud. Kittredge was a good man and kept the village and its tenants happy. Perhaps exposing Frederick to estate business might be in order. He must, especially if he were to marry soon, take on the responsibility of running his own lands and households.

  “I would assume so, sir.” Abernathy placed a sealed missive before the Duke. “The final item, I believe, is from one of your daughters.” After delivering this last, the secretary wordlessly withdrew, leaving the Duke to enjoy his correspondence.

  At this last, Edward brightened. Charlotte’s handwriting immediately bought a smile to him. After breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment, the Duke relaxed into his chair, indulging in the comfort of her correspondence.

  Dearest Papa,

  I hope my letter finds you well. Truly I need not ask you to relay how you are going on, for I have the most wonderful news. I shall be in Town and will see for myself. Since I have not had the opportunity to visit London, as have Gusta or Moo, I look forward to attending some parties, balls, making new acquaintances, and seeing a few of the sights in the city.