“That cannot be true.” Goodness, what had happened to him? What misery had visited for him to take on this bleak attitude?
“It may not be true, but it certainly feels as if that were the case at present.”
“And what of your family?” Louise knew, without a doubt, his children loved him dearly.
“I fear that may be where the heart of the problem lies.” A slow exhale, a sound of defeat, acceptance, or perhaps something else, escaped him. A shadow fell over his noble, once unfettered, handsome countenance.
Louise actually felt sorry for him. “Is there truly no one in whom you can confide?”
“The way I am feeling at this moment, it is as if I have been deprived of the companionship and counsel of my family and friends. I am not welcome in my home or my club. I imagine that is why I am here.”
The poor man. His situation was indeed very sad. “If you are to remain for a time, may I offer you some tea?” Had this to do with Augusta’s and her siblings’ plan to find him a wife? It seemed as if betrayal was a more apt description of what he felt.
“Tea?” The Duke sounded polite but uninspired by her suggestion. Clearly he had wished for something more in line with what he could request at his club or was kept in the sideboard of his library.
“You might wish that I could offer you something stronger but, I beg your pardon, this household does not stock such spirits.”
“Tea is fine, thank you.” He turned his gaze to her, as if grateful for the small bit of kindness she bestowed upon him.
“I’ll have it brought to the terrace table.” She bent her head, lowering the edge of her brim to shield her face from his gaze. Louise turned to leave and paused, thinking she might offer him one last suggestion that might ease his melancholy. “If I may, sir?”
“Yes?”
“I find some comfort vocalizing one’s problems into the air, so to speak, while standing amongst the fine greenery. The garden walls provide privacy, and I’m certain you will find the occupants a rapt audience, completely circumspect, and on occasion you might imagine them compassionate.”
“Speak to the plants?” He sounded as shocked and outraged as she might expect.
“My garden does not judge, nor will it argue. You will have full freedom of expression. The plants may not offer solutions, but you shall feel enormously improved after articulating your thoughts.”
“They may not?” he murmured, obviously to humor her. “Thank you, I will take your advice under consideration.”
“As you wish, sir. I shall see to your refreshment.” With a nod of her head, Louise left him in the garden. She walked into the house, removing her gloves and stowing them in the large pocket of her apron.
“I ’eard voices.” Betty emerged from the servants’ staircase. She glanced around Louise to the rear garden. “Your gentlemen friend’s back, is he?”
Louise pulled away the material that covered the lower part of her face and rubbed her nose. “Have Dora prepare a tea tray, if you please.” Preferring not to address the nonsensical question, she instructed the maid. “Allow me to remind you that—”
“ ‘The lady of the house is not at home.’ I do remember, Mrs. Gardener.” Betty chuckled and disappeared down the staircase from which she had arrived.
Was Edward to address a gathering of shrubbery and leaves? He glanced about at the surrounding plant life, doubting the rationality of such an act. It was complete madness, he told himself. But perhaps a short stroll would do him some good.
With his hat and walking stick still in hand, he clasped his hands behind him and wandered toward the back of the property. Various colors of green and layers of branches and leaves lined either side of his path, and the path itself seemed to go on and on for quite a ways. Surely it could not be endless? Soon, the stepping-stones gave way to pea-sized gravel.
“I find the entire notion wholly unacceptable,” Edward finally said, to no one. He moved down the narrow walkway, which sounded with a satisfying crunch for every step he took. “Trying to dictate to me what I should do with my life and having the unmitigated gall to make choices that only I should—” He caught himself addressing the plants and grumbled that he needed to stop such nonsense. Then he stepped forward once again.
He slowed, inhaled, and held his breath for a few moments, considering those who might be involved in this appalling scheme. Lady and Lord Rutherford. His friend had suggested an alliance with his daughter, the widowed Mrs. Jeffries.
Lady Kimball and possibly her sister, Mrs. Parker, he nodded his head, might have been of one mind when he was introduced to Mrs. Raley as their mutual friend. His acquaintance with her seemed obvious now that he had time to reflect upon that introduction.
Next was his daughter Charlotte. His involvement with her in-laws, her eligible female relatives, Lady Margaret and Miss Orr, could not be a coincidence.
Then, the largest offender, in Edward’s opinion, was Frederick. The Duke could clearly see and understand the actions of his son of this last week. Yes, he was in the market for a wife. Not for himself but for his father.
And what of his eldest? The Duke could not see her as blameless in all this. Augusta, if he guessed correctly, must have been unsuccessful in engaging his interest with the gaggle of females she’d invited for her card party. The attendees, no doubt, consisted mostly of single ladies. No, he thought, she must have been in on this conspiracy and only lacked the opportunity to introduce him to any ladies of her choosing, which she was now trying to correct.
This had all the markings of a scheme orchestrated by Muriel. Simply because she was out of the country did not mean he would not lay blame entirely upon her plate. In his mind, Edward could easily picture the guilty expressions of Augusta and Charlotte upon their discovery. Frederick would laugh at the accusation, claiming it was all a farce. If Muriel had been in their company, the Duke had no doubt she would have successfully presented a facade of complete innocence. But if Edward took his youngest daughter’s ability to strategize even further, it might be quite possible that the key and map he had found hidden, or presumably hidden, in the book in her room had been planted there for him to discover. Had she meant him to find this garden? And for what reason?
Lawks! He chuckled at himself. Indeed, surely not everyone could be plotting against him. Paranoia was getting the better of him. What was he to do about it? Cut his friends? His family? That was ridiculous.
This line of thinking would drive him mad. Edward halted when the scent of mint, mingled with a myriad of other herbs, distracted him. A kitchen garden must lie somewhere ahead, emitting the fragrance scenting the air, momentarily distracting him from his trials.
While Edward returned to contemplating his paranoia, a shaft of light shone though the gray skies, illuminating an area on the pathway before him. He neared the area and gazed up past the canopy of branches and vines to the parting clouds above. Raising his hand to his face, he shielded his eyes from the unaccustomed brightness, and a patch of clear blue sky appeared above him. At the unexpected but welcome sight, a solution to what was to be done regarding his difficulty came to him. Edward smiled.
He lowered his hand and focused forward, seeing with his peripheral vision the halo of light surrounding him where he stood. The Duke was not a poor relation to be cared for or pitied. No doubt his family and friends had his best interests at heart. That he knew for certain; no selfish motive needed to be considered. His anger was not necessary. The fraudulent marriage rumors would be no slight to his reputation, whatever that was in the eyes of Society; it could withstand this small infraction.
He must ignore the gentle manipulations of his friends and family. He would do only what he wished. Edward would turn his back on the wagers in White’s betting book and ignore the reaction of the entire ton when it came to his matrimonial future.
Edward rounded the corner, heading toward the left, to the terrace that lay beyond. The metal table was where he had previously sat, and he half expec
ted that when he took his seat he would find a maid walking toward the table with a tea tray.
He soon arrived and there, as if it had been timed to perfection, was the maid laden with the tray. But he was curious, where had the gardener gone? Gazing about, Edward spied her working quietly, without raising attention to herself. She squatted low to the ground, almost completely unnoticeable. Her large hat covered all but her arms and the hem of her skirts puddled on the ground around her.
“Will you be having your tea now, sir?” the maid inquired.
“Yes, thank you.” Edward set his hat down, brim up, and leaned his stick against the table. He lowered into the chair and occupied himself by pulling off his gloves while the maid poured his tea.
“Something to nibble on if you wish, sir.” The maid placed his teacup before him and slid a plate of biscuits within his reach. “Do call if there is anything else you’re needing, sir.”
“Thank you very much,” Edward replied, dropping his gloves in his hat.
The maid bobbed a curtsy and left.
He held the cup to his lips and inhaled the steam. He perceived the faintest hint of mint. He sipped the tea. This was perfect, just as he had remembered. Hot, but not too hot, strong, but not too strong, and sweet, but not too sweet. Tea was not his usual beverage of choice, but he had to admit he had enjoyed the tea brewed here during his first visit. Whatever blend this was, Edward thought it most delightful. Once again he looked upon the wide brim of the gardening hat.
The motions of her arms were minimal; she worked the soil around the various plants and trimmed when needed, discarding the clippings in a basket that sat off to one side. Her slight movements were accompanied by the sound of the crisp snipping of her pruning shears or the crush of dirt with her hand spade.
Edward relaxed in this bucolic setting. He took up one of the biscuits and bit into the soft, warm, savory treat and deemed them a perfect complement. They were fresh and mildly sweet. Time in this garden seemed endless. However, not too much time could have passed before he had finished his first cup of tea. He felt worlds better than when he had arrived.
“You were right about your…plants,” Edward confessed to the gardener. “They are a rapt audience.”
“I’m glad you agree, sir.” The brim tilted back and he could make out the outsides of her eyes crinkled in a smile, then she returned to her task.
Edward wished he could see her entire face, see the smile across her lips. He wondered what she looked like and her age. He had thought her wise but could not believe she was older than he. She was someone who’d shown him kindness and tolerance, someone who cautioned him about reacting too hastily when she had no notion as to what had caused his difficulty. He had not wished to confide so much to her and might later regret that he had spoken so freely.
Until this recent debacle, he thought he lived an exemplary life. It was comfortable and orderly. Edward had accepted his widowed fate. Apparently others around him had not. War over his marital state had been waged. This might be a battle he’d have to fight. He would put an end to any social commitments after attending those he had already accepted, no matter how his son, or daughters, or sisters-in-law might implore him. He was not a willing participant, and there could be no wedding without a willing groom.
“Look there, Freddie.” Augusta nudged her brother, who stood next to her in the reception room of Drysdale Place that evening. At present, she studied the interactions of her father with the other guests. She’d watched him the moment she’d set eyes on him less than an hour ago. What seemed odd to her was that he appeared to pay court to every lady whom he chanced to come upon as if she were the sole inhabitant at the gathering.
“What?” Freddie roused with a small shake of his head as if he had been disturbed during some contemplation or sleeping while on his feet. “What is it you say, Gusta? Oh, yes, you look quite enchanting this evening, absolutely breathtaking!”
“Oh, do pay attention. I did not ask for your opinion of my gown.” Although she did think her new peach confection quite splendid, with its pleated, puffed sleeves and the satin-stitched embroidery detail along its scalloped hem. It seemed to Augusta younger brothers never grew up. They were in a perpetual state of always being younger—puerile was what she actually meant. Did they ever take anything seriously? “Look there—do you not see? Papa attends Mrs. Dumont.”
“Oh, that ain’t right,” he commented in a near drawl, thoroughly disapproving, and brushed the wrinkles from the sleeve of his dark brown Bath superfine jacket. “He would not bother to encourage that dried-up old stick.”
“That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking but, no, I cannot imagine he would wish for her admiration.” What could have happened to the Duke for him to have altered his behavior so? He had always been the epitome of politeness and elegance, but to shower such an excessive amount of attention upon a female such as her…something was truly amiss.
“Unless, of course, one of our relatives put her forth as a candidate?” Freddie swiveled his head to glance at his sister from the corner of his eye. “Why would either of our aunts encourage an association between Mrs. Dumont and His Grace?”
“There is no need to introduce them, ninny.” Augusta directed her most leveling glare to reprimand him. It was a technique that worked on her young children but seemed to have no effect upon her brother. “They have been long acquainted, but I cannot understand how Papa would ever consider marriage to that widow.”
“Gad! The Dumont woman may be his age but she don’t look it. She seems much, much older,” Freddie remarked rather unkindly. “Reminds me of an old, wizened aunt.”
“Freddie, please!”
“I do not have such a relative. My aunts are beyond lovely.”
“Oh, you rogue!” Augusta’s brother could be quite trying. “I cannot think Papa could have any amorous designs regarding the widow, I can almost assure you.”
As always, he was splendidly dressed by his valet, Sturgis, in a dark blue jacket, white-and-gold-striped waistcoat, and exquisitely cut pantaloons, but something about His Grace’s demeanor had changed this evening. Although he might appear as if he were interested in his company, to Augusta he seemed more remote than usual. The tightness around his eyes and his mouth had made it apparent he offered only a facade.
Augusta observed that her father had showed no preference for any female in attendance. He merely paid them polite attention. How lowering for the very best women in Society who tried to be noticed and for him to pay not the least bit of real interest.
“What’s going on, then?” Freddie murmured in a tone that would not be overheard.
“I’m not certain.” She studied her father more closely.
“It is times like this when our Muriel’s talent for eavesdropping would come in handy,” Freddie said, referring to their youngest sister’s ability to decipher words while watching a conversation at a distance. Yes, Augusta had to agree. Since they did not have that luxury, they needed to do what they could to learn what was occurring.
“Follow me,” she whispered and stepped into the room, navigating her way toward her father.
“I can state with some conviction there will be dancing sometime during this evening,” the Duke assured Mrs. Dumont and continued on to say, “Lady Drysdale insists upon it, and Lord Drysdale cannot do without a card room.”
“I do not care for dancing, Your Grace, but I fancy cards.” Mrs. Dumont’s countenance brightened at the mention of gaming.
Augusta had slowed but kept moving, making it seem as if they were merely crossing the room.
“Then may I suggest you exit through the door on the left”—the Duke pointed across the room—“I believe you’ll want the Etruscan parlor. Give my best to Lord Drysdale when you see him, will you?”
“You won’t be joining my table, Your Grace?” She sounded disappointed.
“No, I’m afraid not,” replied the Duke.
“Very well. I suppose I will see if Lady Luck wil
l sit alongside me this evening.”
“I certainly hope she does, ma’am.” He inclined his head. “I bid you good evening, ma’am, and bon chance!”
“Thank you, sir.” Mrs. Dumont made a curtsy and departed, presumably to find the card room.
The Duke took a few steps before stopping at Mrs. Raley.
“I’ve heard enough.” Augusta sped up her pace and moved away from her father, still with her brother in her wake. “He makes the effort to speak to them but says nothing.” She turned to look upon her parent. “I half suspect we have been found out.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Freddie glanced in their father’s direction. “If that were true, I don’t expect he would have bothered to attend.”
“I am still not certain what is amiss, but something is decidedly different about him. He does not appear able to find any lady who can capture his interest.”
“Perhaps she does not attend this evening.” Freddie gazed from one side of the room to the other as if searching among the females in attendance. “As you say, he is already acquainted with the guests. Why would he form an attachment now because you think it time he should take a new wife? I expect, if such a female exists, the attraction would be an instantaneous one.”
“Instantaneous?” Augusta repeated in a mocking tone. “I can attest to the falsehood of instant attraction.”
“Just because it was not your experience does not make it so for everyone.” Freddie did not, in Augusta’s estimation, know what he was going on about. “Perhaps for some of us a single acquaintance may be enough. For the rest of us, it may take as long as a second or third encounter.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Ah, Frederick, you’re here, finally.” Edward laid his pencil next to the notepad he’d been working on for the last hour and half and rose from his desk. “I’ve been hoping to have a word with you.”
The Duke Dilemma Page 13
