“Sorry, been busy, you know.” Frederick strolled into the room toward the massive desk where his father had been seated. “I have a confession to make. The ladies aren’t the only interest I have this Season.”
“Yes, I do know.” The Duke moved to the coffee tray across the room. The pleading to help him find a wife placed him on the top of the list. Oh, how Edward was ashamed to admit how he had been taken in by the claim. He had even put off matters of Parliament since the arrival of his son. “May I offer you some coffee?”
“No, thank you. I just finished breakfast.” Frederick stepped toward the sofa near the fireplace. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“If you wish.” Edward lifted the pot and paused before filling his cup at his son’s entrance.
“Why were you conversing with all those women last night?” Frederick shrugged. “I was amazed that every time I looked in your direction, it seemed you were in the company of a different lady.”
“Was I?” The Duke could have guessed what his son was thinking, but Frederick would have been wrong. Edward was not seeking out any woman for any purpose.
“Spending an inordinate amount of time in chatting with Lady Whitlow? Lawks! What could that be about? And you did nothing short of leading Mrs. Dumont to the card room. I thought you were going to partner her for a rubber or two. Then I come to find you taking a turn about the room with Mrs. Raley? Can’t imagine you’d find anything about her interesting.”
“Mrs. Raley is an acquaintance of your aunts. She is just out of her widow’s weeds and is returning to Society.” Edward addressed him rather harshly. Did his son have no compassion, no manners at all? “I cannot imagine you would frown upon showing her a bit of kindness.”
“Well, no. I would not.” Frederick’s flippant manner ebbed, soon falling into an uncomfortable silence. He perched on the corner of the desk and glanced about the surface. “What are you working on here?”
“I’d like to think I’m crafting a well-thought-out response to the argument against the Corn Laws for the Prime Minister this afternoon. I am finding it uncommonly difficult to concentrate.”
“This afternoon? I thought you might come along with me to—”
“That’s what I wish to speak to you about. I’m afraid I shall be attending to business at the House.” Edward replaced the coffee pot upon the tray.
“I see.” Frederick sounded unhappy with his father’s agenda. “It does not seem to me you are as enthusiastic about accompanying me as you were a mere week ago.”
“I am not convinced of your sincerity to find a wife, much less marry.”
“My sincerity?” Frederick appeared shocked but could not have been, as far as Edward was concerned. “I’ll have you know, Your Grace, my ambition of finding a wife is utmost on my mind.”
“I have no doubt you think it important.” What bothered Edward was his son did not specify whose wife. He finally got around to pouring himself a cup of coffee, dark and strong. It resembled his current outlook.
“Do you mean to tell me you refuse to…to lend me your support in this matter?”
“It is not my support I rescind, it is my presence. I shall no longer accompany you for an afternoon in the Park or balls in the evening. If you continue to pay court to any young ladies, you will have to do so alone.” Edward meant every word.
“Very well, if that is your final say on the matter.” Frederick’s posture stiffened. The news did not please him.
“It is. You may depend upon it.” Edward set forth across the room to return to his work. “I will finish my remaining obligations, which continue to the end of this week, and I shall henceforth limit my activities to the running of this country and to visiting my own family members. If you will excuse me, I’d best be getting back to my speech.”
“I bid good day to you, sir.” Frederick lifted a pad from the desk and regarded it. “The Prime Minister, eh?” He glanced toward his father and remarked, “I would rate Lord Liverpool a handsome gentleman, but I do not believe he is in possession of eyes quite this lovely.” He allowed the pad to fall before making his exit.
Eyes? What was Frederick going on about now?
Moving to his desk, Edward retrieved the pad, the one his son had only just discarded, the one he thought he had been drafting his speech upon…and there they were, a beautiful set of eyes sketched onto the paper.
Of course he must have drawn them. How could Edward have thought he was working on a speech! And to whom, he wondered, did they belong?
It was permissible for females to shop on Bond Street before noon. Augusta had arranged for Lady Vernon to accompany her to search for a pair of much-needed long gloves. Heavens, Augusta’s old ones were years old, purchased before she had married.
“I thank you for your company, Lady Vernon. Shopping alone is sadly dull.” Augusta pulled off her gloves, preparing to try on some new pairs. “It’s been an age since I’ve attended the opera.” She gazed compassionately at Louise, hoping she could somehow persuade her friend. “Will you please reconsider attending?”
“What of your sister?”
“Char accompanies her relatives in her own box, and necessity deems I must join them, but I cannot attend alone. I do not wish to contemplate what an evening with Miss Orr and Lady Margaret might entail. It would be so much more comfortable to have the two of us share Papa’s box.”
“And what of His Grace or your brother? Can either one of them accompany you?”
“Heavens! Freddie at the opera?” Augusta could not imagine. Lady Vernon had yet to meet Freddie. After she had the pleasure she might better understand. “No, I don’t expect you’ll ever see him attend willingly, at least not to hear the music. As for Papa…I believe he is already occupied for the evening.”
Augusta could not understand why Lady Vernon did not wish an introduction to His Grace. A match between them would be splendid above all things.
“Good morning, ma’am,” the approaching merchant greeted. “I am Mr. Bing. How may I assist you?”
“I am interested in a pair of long gloves,” Augusta informed him.
“Very well.” He reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a tape measure. “If I may measure your hands?”
“Of course.” Augusta set her gloves upon the counter next to her reticule, then held out her hands for study.
“Oh, my,” Mr. Bing exclaimed softly, clearly taken aback.
“Is there something wrong?” Augusta pulled her hands away, clasping them protectively together.
“Nothing, my lady. I beg your pardon.” His brows rose when he widened his eyes, observing, “You have very delicate hands, I must say.” Mr. Bing straightened and his cheeks flushed, divulging the impropriety of his observation to excuse his overly familiar comment.
“Well, I don’t know, really…” She extended her hands before her once again.
Mr. Bing placed the measuring tape around the fullest part of her right hand, then the left. Then he measured the tip of her middle finger to the wrist, first the left, then the right. “Were you interested in silk or kid leather? And what color did you wish to see? Is there a swatch of fabric or a sample of your gown you’d like to match?”
“Definitely kid, and what color was decided?” Augusta gazed at Lady Vernon, hoping her friend’s memory was better than her own. “Was it not ivory, or had I finally decided on white? I cannot recall.”
“I believe your final verdict was white,” Lady Vernon reminded her. “I’m not sure which shade of white, as you were not quite certain which gown you would wear.”
“Oh, that is right.” Augusta turned to Mr. Bing. “White, if you please, a soft white, I think. Not too bright.”
“At once,” he excused himself. “I shall only be a few moments.”
“You see,” Augusta turned to her companion. “I daresay I might have asked for yellow or puce if it were not for you.”
“I very much doubt that,” Lady Vernon remarked, then chuckled. Some ite
m in the nearby glass case caught her attention, and she stepped away for a closer look.
As she stood waiting for Mr. Bing to return, Augusta’s thoughts turned to the most pressing issue—her father. He and Louise Vernon would make a splendid match. If only he were willing to meet her, and—Augusta drew in a long, slow breath—if only she could convince her friend to meet His Grace.
If only…if only…if only Augusta could contrive a meeting between the two of them. It shouldn’t be too difficult. All she need do was be a bit more clever. She glanced over to Lady Vernon, looked beyond her friend’s shoulder, and observed just coming into the shop…“Papa!”
Papa? Louise turned from the display case instinctively toward the storefront, dread rising inside her.
“Augusta!” The Duke grasped her outstretched hand.
“What are you doing here, of all places?” Augusta sounded genuinely shocked by her father’s presence.
“I’m in the market for a small, thoughtful gift for a lady of my acquaintance. It is one I feel I must choose myself,” he informed her.
“It’s that important?” She sounded impressed, and widened her eyes with interest. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Papa, allow me to present my dear friend, Lady Vernon.”
“Lady Vernon—” His Grace touched the brim of his hat.
“My lady,” Augusta continued, “my father, the Duke of Faraday.”
“Your Grace.” Louise curtsied, dreading this moment even more than she had imagined. She hoped he would not recognize her. “How do you do?”
“Ah, here you are, my lady.” Mr. Bing returned with several long, narrow boxes. Augusta busied herself with the new gloves and fell out of the conversation. “I have brought a selection of colors for your perusal.”
The Duke turned toward Louise. She could clearly read his expression: Where had he seen her before?
What could she do? What would she say?
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but have we previously met?” There it was. The question she had dreaded.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Louise dared not let on she’d been the lowly gardener at the house on Conduit Street. “We had a brief meeting at Somerset House at the Royal Academy Art Exhibition this last week with Lady Gelsthorpe. There was no proper introduction at that time.”
“Ah, yes, indeed. I do recall.” The answer seemed to have satisfied His Grace. “You have the right of it. But Vernon…Vernon…your name seems very familiar…is it possible I also may have known you from—”
“I have been acquainted with your daughter Augusta for many years now by way of my nephew, Sir Samuel Pruitt.” If only that answer would satisfy him. If only he would cease asking her questions.
“Sir Samuel! Ah, yes—you are the aunt to whom he has referred so many times.”
“Just as he has spoken of you to me over the years. You are not completely unknown to me, sir.”
“It seems we are not strangers at all,” the Duke announced.
“No, not really, Your Grace.” Finally, they had had a proper introduction. Louise need not fear their meeting any longer.
“An excellent choice, my lady!” Mr. Bing cried out.
“I am happy with them.” Augusta turned, allowing the others of her party to admire the fit of her gloves. “What do you think?”
“She plans to wear them for the opera tonight,” Louise informed His Grace.
“I’ll have these three pairs, if you please.” Augusta indicated two on display and the ones she presently wore. “If you will be so good as to add them to my father’s account.”
“At once.” Mr. Bing inclined his head to excuse himself. “I shall return momentarily.”
Augusta took up her day gloves then turned to her father and confessed in a sad voice, “My others are in shreds.”
“I’m quite certain they are.” The Duke’s brows rose. However, Louise doubted he would say one contrary word to his firstborn.
“Will you not change your mind about the opera this evening, Papa?”
“I’m afraid not, my dear. You know I have promised to accompany your brother.” His answer did not please his daughter, and it would result in her sharing Charlotte’s box.
“It has been a pleasure serving you, my lady.” Mr. Bing returned with Augusta’s bundled purchases and set them on the counter before her.
“Thank you, Mr. Bing.” Augusta took hold of her purchase and faced her father. “Lady Vernon and I must be off now.”
The Duke glanced from his daughter to Louise and back again before tipping his hat. “I bid the two of you a good day, then.”
Louise and Augusta murmured their farewells and headed for the door.
“May I be of any assistance to you, Your Grace?” Mr. Bing made the transition to his new patron in a swift and seamless manner.
The Duke stepped closer to the counter. “Yes, I would like to see your selection of ladies’ fine silk handkerchiefs.”
Louise thought their spontaneous meeting went well. Clearly, by Augusta’s reaction, she’d had no notion of her father’s imminent arrival. And it seemed equally clear to Louise that he had no intention of attending the opera that evening, leaving the way clear for her to accompany her friend.
“I have changed my mind, Augusta,” Louise told her once they had left the shop. “I shall accompany you tonight, if your offer still stands.”
Augusta’s face brightened at the news. “That is what I wish above all things! I shall collect you at six and we shall have a splendid dinner together.”
If Augusta had thought it had been a long time since she had been to the opera, what would she think of Louise’s last attendance? It had been with her husband over two decades ago!
Tuesday afternoon, Lady Gelsthorpe’s carriage went about Town collecting several members of their ladies’ reading group. Once they’d stopped and Mrs. Templeton had entered the transport, Louise learned the first volume of Emma had been sent to the newcomer. Mrs. Templeton would, no doubt, continue with the story, beginning with chapter seven.
“Let us all be seated, if you please!” Lady Gelsthorpe swept through the room in her dark violet gown and clapped her hands to gain the attention of the group. “We welcome our dear Mrs. Templeton as she returns to Town and rejoins us.”
A chattering of greetings took center stage for the next few moments until they all had had their say and caught up on the goings-on in their lives.
Once silence was achieved, Lady Ashton turned to their returning member. “Are you finding Emma’s story interesting?”
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Templeton replied. “I could hardly bring myself to stop at the proper place.”
“But you did, did you not?” Lady Gelsthorpe would brook no deviation from their reading schedule. It simply was not allowed.
“Of course I stopped.” Mrs. Templeton continued, “I cannot wait to learn to whom Mr. Elton has formed an attachment.”
“To whom? What can you mean, ma’am?” Miss Euphemia Dillingham’s pale eyes grew round and wide.
“Of course he is forming an attachment for Miss Smith,” Lady Ashton said with certainty.
“Is he?” Mrs. Templeton intoned with a questionable lilt. “I can see how Emma might think he displays a marked preference for Miss Smith, but I suspect Miss Woodhouse might also be in his sights for conquest.”
“That is outrageous!” Lady Gelsthorpe finally offered an opinion on the matter.
“Do not say such a thing, Mrs. Templeton,” Lady Ashton exclaimed, affronted. “Mr. Elton is no proper match for Miss Woodhouse. His position as vicar—no, no, no…it is not at all proper.”
“If Emma does not marry Mr. Elton, who would she marry?” inquired Mrs. Templeton as if the connection between Emma and the vicar were quite as apparent to all as it had been for her.
The ladies glanced at one another for an answer. Louise thought it a bit early in the story to even attempt creating matches for the characters. They, as readers, had surely not met them all and could not know the minds of
those who had yet to be introduced.
“Is it not obvious?” Lady Ashton spoke first. “Emma shall wed the only true gentleman in the story…Mr. Knightley.”
“Knightley?” Miss Dillingham quickly brought her hand to her mouth, too late to suppress his name, and her cheeks reddened.
“Why must Emma marry at all?” Louise chimed in at once. When was the right to remain unattached becoming a state she needed to defend?
“Because, Lady Vernon, it is our duty as women to have a husband.” Lady Gelsthorpe had finally found her voice. “We cannot continue as we are in our little group, no matter how comfortable we find ourselves. We keep ourselves quite entertained, but ultimately we should all marry, or remarry, whatever our situation. No man is complete without a wife and no woman is complete without a man by her side. It does not matter if he be a lowly farmer or a duke!”
A duke? Whyever had she said that? The words quite took Louise’s breath away.
“It remains to be seen what exactly the future holds for Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith; their story has just begun. We can continue with the tale as soon as we are all comfortably seated.” Lady Gelsthorpe made a grand gesture for them to properly situate themselves. “Mrs. Templeton, you have our book. Will you do us the honor of reading chapter seven?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Once they’d arrived at the Shrope ball, Edward had barely removed his coat before Frederick whispered to him, “I’m off to find Miss Shrope and see if I can stand up with her straightaway.” He brushed down the sleeves of his jacket, setting himself to rights, and departed.
Edward understood that Miss Julia Shrope was in Town for her second Season. Her mother had to make every effort to contract a marriage this year, thus Frederick’s invitation as a suitor and his son’s subsequent request for His Grace’s company this evening.
The Duke inclined his head, acknowledging the effort his son applied to the fallacious romance, though he did not believe Frederick held any affection for the young lady. In fact, he might be the only person who knew the Shrope females were not of any matrimonial interest to either one of them. But there must have been other gentlemen who might wish Miss Shrope as a prospective bride, for the young lady was very pretty and quite agreeable. Her return for a third Season would be unfathomable.
The Duke Dilemma Page 14
