“The weather has been very odd this year,” Louise repeated. She could not help but feel anxious and glanced to the doorway. “I thought there were others joining us. Your sister, perhaps?” She dared not name the person whom she truly dreaded to meet.
“Oh…I expect Charlotte and her guests should arrive anytime now. Frederick is out and about, paying morning calls, and my father may be with him or he might be attending Parliament.”
That was comforting to know. An enormous relief, Louise admitted to herself.
“Recently Papa has been known to miss afternoon sessions. He occasionally attends Freddie on his morning calls. Although I am not quite certain where he is presently.” Augusta’s head turned toward the foyer as if anticipating her parent. “I do hope he returns so I can introduce you.”
Louise hoped otherwise…presently she could relax and enjoy her visit and need not concern herself with dwelling upon the improbable.
“Charlotte has family visiting at the moment.” Augusta’s normally cheerful tone grew strained, appearing to Louise nearly as anxious as she.
“Do I detect you are not entirely pleased with…not your sister, surely, but her company?” Louise had never heard Augusta say one cross word about her sister.
“Well, I must admit I am not pleased with their presence in Town at the moment.” The bitter tinge to her voice was very unlike her.
“You are usually so amiable. How could they make you unhappy, dear?” Louise was very concerned that her friend was so altered. “I do not see that their attendance takes away from my joy of seeing you at all.”
“No, it’s not that.” She stood, wringing her hands while checking the corridor just outside the room. “It is only…I have something to ask you, and I hope you will not mind the intrusion into a personal matter. The last thing I would want, for the world, is to cause you discomfort.”
“What is it?” My, she looked uncomfortable. Of course Louise would do what she could to aid Augusta, especially if it would calm her.
“I was wondering if you might have given some thought to ever marrying again?”
“What?” It was not a question Louise had expected. From her own relatives, perhaps, but not Augusta. “Why? Did you have someone in mind?”
“Yes, I do.”
Louise wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any more. The notion actually frightened her. “To tell the truth, I have no reason to remarry. I’m happy to say I am very pleased with my life as it stands.”
“Of course, if you are content I would not suggest such a thing, but still…that is too bad.” Augusta sounded disappointed. “I thought you might make a very good wife to my father.”
“The Duke? What has given you that idea?”
“Well…we think it is time he marry again.” Augusta tilted her chin up and stood straight.
“We?” Which small uprising would dare challenge His Grace?
“Muriel, Charlotte, and I.”
And that was the real purpose for the siblings’ presence in Town. “What thinks your brother? Has he an opinion?”
“I do not believe he gives a fig about the matter, but if you press him for an answer I am sure he would agree with us.”
“And what are your father’s thoughts?” His Grace could not have liked this in the least. No one would.
“He does not know.”
“Is he not in the mind that he should remarry or has he no knowledge that his children are plotting against him?”
“Either…both.” Augusta laughed. “You make it sound as if we were planning his demise instead of thinking of his future.”
But they were. Louise had experienced the very same by her own relatives just after she cast off her own widow’s weeds. It was an unpleasant time for her. Perhaps she had been a burden to her husband’s family, but she was the Dowager Baroness and had every right to her jointure. Thank goodness to her brother George for his support and his offer of the use of his London townhouse as her home.
“I’m sorry, Augusta, I must protest on behalf of your father. Pursuing this matter in this fashion is not at all acceptable.”
“You do not even know him and you side with him.” Her smile widened and her eyes lit up with delight. “You see how well you will rub along?”
“You cannot think he will approve.” He would be angry, very angry. Louise could completely understand his reasons why. Unfortunately his daughter, it seemed, would not.
“He will be ever so thankful once he has married. He will wonder why he did not think of it himself.” Augusta clasped her hands together and gazed toward the heavens.
The girl was living in a fairy-tale story.
“Is this why Charlotte’s guests are here? Are they…” Louise had the most unsettling feeling the wheels of His Grace’s matrimonial conspiracy were already in motion.
“Miss Orr and Lady Margaret.” Augusta lost her elated tone and returned to the unpleasant disposition she’d displayed earlier.
“They are possible contenders for the position of duchess?”
“He thinks them tiresome,” she said with some satisfaction.
“Does he?” Louise had no wish to involve herself in the family intrigue of the Worth household. Certainly there were many factions at work, perhaps more than just the two sisters presently at odds.
The rap of the front door knocker was followed by the immediate entrance of the newly arrived guests. The mezzo-soprano voices of some number of women rang through the foyer. Their words gushed forth at an extremely rapid pace.
Augusta’s gaze met Louise’s, both fully aware what was about to come down upon them. The trio entered.
The young, fair-haired lady Louise presumed was Lady Charlotte. She’d heard much about Charlotte over the years, from her nephew Sir Samuel and from Augusta herself. Louise silently noted that there had been no exaggeration. Lady Charlotte did have an angelic appearance, especially when clothed in colors of ivory and soft lemon.
The other two ladies were both tastefully attired, one in a velvet hamlet hat and a sea-green round robe with gold trimming, the other in a Spanish blue dress and a swan’s down tippet around her neck. Although both were handsome, they were clearly not young. Their marital status: unmarried, from what Augusta had told her. Whether they were agreeable, Louise could not yet determine.
Even before they all had taken the time to observe the niceties of proper introductions, the lady in blue turned toward Louise and Augusta, who stood in center of the room, and inquired with great feeling, “Do tell, Lady Augusta, is your father at home?”
Edward followed Lord Rutherford into White’s Club for an afternoon’s respite from Parliament. They handed their hats, canes, gloves, and coats to the footmen. One of them held a note for Lord Rutherford.
“Thank you.” Rutherford took hold of his message and paused at the portal of the morning room.
“Safe enough in here with Brummell gone,” he commented to Edward and veered left instead of continuing on to the first floor.
It was a well-known fact to Edward that Rutherford did not wish to make the trek to the upper floor, the large club room, simply because it was the upper floor; he detested the effort. They passed several groups of members seated at the tables next to the windows and eschewed the ones lining the wall for what Rutherford would consider the prime spot before the warm hearth at the far end of the room.
“Nothing has changed, has it? Corn Laws, Corn Laws, Corn Laws. Will we never hear the end of it?” Rutherford collapsed into one of the chairs and rubbed his thighs.
“It is a continual problem, and it’s getting worse, not better.” Edward eased into the chair next to his friend.
“I understand the importance. What you say is true, no doubt, but—odds fish, man…enough is enough!” He leaned over the arm of the chair and motioned for a waiter. “Bring a glass of claret for me and my friend the Duke, will you?”
The waiter moved away with all alacrity.
Rutherford returned to his position. “Where
were you yesterday, Faraday?”
“I spent the afternoon with my daughter Charlotte. Despite also being in the company of her husband’s relatives, it was a fairly pleasant day at Somerset House.”
“You attended the Art Exhibition? Gracious!” thundered Rutherford in such a booming voice it rattled the display over the mantel. “Couldn’t drag me there if you promised me a beefsteak served on a silver platter with the best bottle of port in Town!” He fumbled to open the note he held and coughed away his prior outburst. “Let’s see what this is, then.”
Edward chuckled, then glanced up at his friend who, at the moment, perused the message the footman had handed him.
“Anything important?”
“Lady R has a mind to have you over for supper again.” Rutherford folded the paper until it was small enough to be tucked into one of his vest pockets.
“I’d be delighted. However, I must check with Frederick first.” Edward steepled his fingers, weighing the mounting time constraints of his social obligations. “May I remind you my time is not my own.”
“By all means, bring him along if you must.” Rutherford claimed a glass of claret from the waiter who appeared at his side. Edward took the other.
“I think that might be a very good idea.” His friend’s granddaughter might appeal to Frederick. It occurred to Edward that an alliance with Rutherford would be far preferable to any connection his son might arrange himself. Actually, a union between their families would do quite nicely. It appeared he was not the only one thinking that an appealing possibility.
“If we make an effort, we might discover some beneficial arrangement which would be to our mutual advantage, eh?” Rutherford smiled, winked, lifted his glass, and drank.
Edward raised his glass, taking part in the toast. However, introducing the young people and seeing them engaged and subsequently wed was, as of now, a very remote possibility. Still it couldn’t hurt to make the attempt.
“I believe Elizabeth would welcome the attention.” Rutherford never was one for outward displays of emotion, but at this moment he wore a broad smile, looking as delighted as Edward had ever seen him.
“I thought her name was Jane.” The Duke held the rim of the glass from his lips and narrowed his eyes, wondering how he could have misunderstood.
“Oh, my granddaughter, yes, her name is Jane,” Rutherford concurred. “I was speaking of a match with my daughter.”
“Is not Mrs. Jeffries a bit”—Edward did not wish to appear indelicate, and he chose his words carefully—“mature for Frederick?” He sipped his wine, watching Rutherford for his reply.
“Heavens, Faraday!” Rutherford sat forward, straightening. The wine from his glass sloshed over the edge. “Not for Brent, for you!”
“Me?” Edward choked, nearly spitting his claret. He set his glass on the small table between them before he dropped it. “What the devil?”
“Ain’t you looking for a wife, Faraday?”
“No, I—” Edward was struck momentarily speechless. “No. That is emphatically not true. Why would you…” Where would Rutherford get that ridiculous idea? Edward stood and walked around his chair, glancing at those seated around him. Of course they had overheard, but they had the good manners not to react as if they had.
“I thought…well, I had heard you’d been thinking ’bout remarrying.” Rutherford put forth as if he had not heard Edward’s denial. “It would make a good match, the two of you.”
Edward did not wish to offend his friend and answered, “Walter, Elizabeth is a fine woman. Any man would be most fortunate to win her as his own, but I am not that man.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to restore the circulation to his fingers, which had turned ice cold. “I am in no mind to marry.”
“You ain’t, you say? Everyone says otherwise.” Rutherford stood to face him, stepping before the hearth. “I can see why you hesitate. Want your pick, eh? And why not? You’ve got position, looks, and the blunt.”
“Everyone? What the deuce do you mean everyone?” Edward took up his glass from the small side table, swallowed the contents, and took another glance about the room.
“Lady R’s told me the ladies are all atwitter over your arrival into the Marriage Mart.” Rutherford drained his glass, then laughed. “I see.” He must have realized his error. “I don’t suppose you are looking for a wife, then. The thing is…a good number of mothers want you for their daughters, and all the widows want you for themselves!” He laughed again.
“This cannot be.” Edward failed to see the humor in this. “It is an unmitigated falsehood. I can assure you I have not—”
Well, if this was a rumor as Rutherford suggested…there was nothing for it. Edward would need to go to the highest source and verify this for himself.
“If you will excuse me.” He handed his glass to Rutherford before striding toward the entrance hall. He approached swift-moving waiters, who scrambled out of his path. Other club members smartly avoided him, not even making eye contact. The footmen stationed on duty stepped back, allowing the majordomo to approach.
“May I be of assistance?” he inquired with all due decorum.
“I would like to see the betting book, if you please.” Edward kept the volume of his voice low.
“At once, Your Grace.” The majordomo retreated into the office with a footman who had been alerted to accompany him. Edward had no wish to be observed and followed the staff.
“Bring the light!” the majordomo barked to the footman. A book was set upon the desk and opened to the last written page. “Do you wish to enter a wager?”
“Not at this time,” Edward replied with equanimity. The majordomo stepped back when the Duke moved forward to gaze at the wagers on the page. He read:
Lord M wagers Mr. L twenty guineas that Mrs. B will be the lucky widow the Duke of F chooses as the new Duchess.
The entry before that said:
Mr. F promises to pay forty guineas to Lord C when the D—of F—becomes engaged to Lady D-H.
Edward glanced to the first wager at the top of the previous page:
Mr. T bets a certain gentleman a certain sum that a certain duke will not become engaged to Lady D-H. Then a notation in a different hand: The gentleman has paid.
Because Lady Davies-Holmes was now already engaged to Lord Ormesby. Edward turned back a page, noting that the subject of the recorded wagers remained constant, then flipped another page back, then another before choosing a random entry:
Lord G bets Lord P twenty-five guineas that a certain duke will wed before the end of the Season.
At the top of that page, the first line read:
Sir N P—endorses Lady T as the new Duchess of F—betting odds three to one.
Names of those accepting this wager were squeezed in below: Lord T F, Mr. H B, Lord C and Mr. D M. Edward could easily guess the identity of each club member, not to mention the obvious: Sir N P—, Nicholas Petersham. That good-for-nothing bounder had once again cast the Duke up into the boughs with his confounded involvement. Was there no end to his plaguesome involvement in Edward’s life?
There were more than three pages that had been devoted to the outcome. The very idea of wagering on the course of his life disgusted him. Rutherford had the right of it. The fictitious tale was very well known to everyone except Edward.
Anger welled inside him. If he did not remove himself from the premises at once, he would not be held accountable for his actions. Edward slammed shut the book and left.
The Duke’s rage finally subsided some time later—several hours, perhaps more. He’d been walking, just walking without thinking of his direction. When he had come to his senses and could observe his surroundings, he recognized the green of ivy crawling along the familiar rock wall, which lent relief to the harsh surface and hinted to the comfort that lay inside.
At the moment he felt as if the Town, all of Society, had turned on him. His life was some trivial game on which wagers were made. He hated the very idea of it. He wanted
none of that and none of them. What he wanted was peace.
He needed to go inside. His hand grasped the bars at the upper part of an iron gate in an attempt to gain entry in his desperation.
“Sir?” A familiar woman’s voice called from the other side of the gate to him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
What was he doing here?
The golden flash of a signet ring upon his hand attracted Louise’s attention. She had recognized the Duke of Faraday even through the limited view her iron gate provided. Before her arrival, she pulled her scarf over the lower half of her face, concealing her identity as she had the first time they’d met. She unlocked the gate straightaway and drew it open. The hinges made their customary creak, an imperfection she would never repair. The noise served as an alarm of sorts, alerting her to anyone who entered from the street.
Opening the gate revealed the Duke, without a smile, without the spark of any sort of recognition or expectation. He gazed upon Louise the gardener.
“I beg you do not stand in the street, sir. You will call undo attention to yourself.” She could not incorrectly call him my lord, nor correctly address him by Your Grace, which would let on that she knew his identity. “Is there something I can do for you?”
The Duke entered and pulled his hat from his head. “I’m afraid I’ve made a bad habit of dropping by unannounced.” He rotated the hat by its brim, inch by inch, in what Louise considered a nervous gesture.
“It’s not a crime.” She closed and locked the gate behind him.
“No; however, it may be an inconvenience.” He glanced not at her but down the pathway flanked in green. His voice did not have its normal commanding tone—in her garden he did not play the role of duke, but neither had he impressed her as a common man. “I suppose I was hoping to lose myself in here.”
“Lose yourself, sir?” Louise thought he sounded troubled. He appeared so. “I do not wish to be presumptuous, but surely you must have friends who hold your confidence?”
“Friends,” he whispered nearly inaudibly and continued to stare down the path. “Friends do not influence your behavior for their own advantage, nor should they benefit from your misfortunes. At the moment I doubt whether I know anyone to whom I can attach such a label.”
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