Edward handed off his hat, striding past the butler toward his library. The Duke felt no better now that he was home. He could not dispel the horror of his niece marrying Sir Nicholas Petersham.
After closing the front door, Ralston chased after his employer, preparing to capture his cast-off raiment.
“Yes, I have.” The Duke stripped off his gloves and, without looking, disposed of them somewhere behind him with his outstretched arm. He hadn’t the patience to pause and wait to hand them properly to his butler.
Ralston swiftly captured them in the cast-off hat. “Will you be leaving for another engagement this evening, Your Grace?”
“No, I will not,” Edward replied rather curtly, and pulled at the lapels of his coat, doing his best to divest himself of his outerwear. He soon came to a standstill, nearly tipping over.
“Shall I call for Sturgis, sir?” Ralston trapped the hat under his arm and ran to the Duke’s aid.
“I do not believe that will be necessary.” No doubt the valet would have an opinion of his charge ridding himself of his wardrobe without his expert help. “Just help me off with this confounded jacket, would you?”
“Of course, sir.” Ralston grabbed hold of the collar and pulled on the sleeves, finally drawing off the jacket.
“Thank you.” Edward paused, feeling perhaps a bit better physically but far from peaceful emotionally. “I will spend the remainder of the evening in my library.”
The butler draped the garment over his arm, then replied, “Is there anything further you wish, sir?”
Edward pulled at the scarf around his neck and held it to one side as he had his gloves, assuming it would be caught. “Have a tea tray brought in.” The scarf fell to the floor. He stopped, several steps later, and turned back, regarding his servant.
“Tea?” came the weak reply. Ralston cleared his throat before inquiring, louder this time, “I beg Your Grace’s pardon, did you ask for tea?”
“With sugar, and a sprig of mint on the side.” Edward tried to recall the ingredients he thought were in the wonderful tea he’d enjoyed at the Conduit Street townhouse. He wasn’t sure if it truly had healing properties, but he always felt more the thing after breathing in the aromatic steam and sipping the most perfect beverage, served hot but not too hot, and sweet but not too sweet.
If only he knew exactly what herbs or spices it contained. He would have to make do with what he had.
“Sugar and mint, sir?” The butler repeated, sounding uncertain. “Shall we be expecting a guest?”
Edward did not need to justify why he wanted what he wanted to any member of his staff and answered rather sternly, “No, it’s for me, and only me.”
A few seconds elapsed while they both stood silent and motionless.
“Is there a problem?” Edward inquired with a whisper, repressing his temper. He bent, snatching the scarf from the floor, holding it out to the butler.
Ralston retrieved the scarf. “Of course not, Your Grace,” he replied with his eyebrows raised, his eyes open a bit wider than usual, before turning to carry out his task.
Edward strode into his library, pulling at the cravat around his throat, unwinding the linen. If he wasn’t careful, he might choke himself. He flung it aside.
Couldn’t a man order a simple beverage from his own kitchen nowadays?
Almack’s had been dreadful—unimaginably horrible!
Unable to calm himself, Edward paced before the hearth. As well as his morning had begun, he had never expected his day to take such an ugly turn. The news of Sir Nicholas Petersham marrying his niece was beyond belief. It was an outrage that the Baronet would be a member of Edward’s family—his family!
He’d marched out of Almack’s to the plaintive cry from one of the Almack’s Patronesses, Lady Jersey: “You cannot leave now, Your Grace. It is so very near eleven that if you should change your mind it will be impossible for you to reenter!”
Good. If he should trip, fall down the staircase, and be knocked unconscious, he would not awaken in the assembly room to relive the nightmare again. After circling his library a number of times, Edward dropped into one of the chairs near the fire.
The single moment he’d felt elated that night came to him, sudden and unbidden: the thought that Lady Vernon might be in attendance. Even her presence could not have staved off the horror he’d experienced this night.
He had passed the previous evening in Lady Vernon’s companionable and amusing company. He’d enjoyed himself very much and, unless he was mistaken, she did not find his presence objectionable. Edward ran his index finger along the edge of his nose in contemplation.
The last engagement he had to attend was an alfresco party tomorrow afternoon. And he had no intention of keeping company with any females his family, or friends, championed as their choice for the next duchess of Faraday. Edward wondered if there was something he could do to prevent that unfortunate situation.
Yes, yes…he had the perfect solution.
Pushing himself up from the chair, he crossed the room, heading for his desk to pen a letter and put his plan into motion. Upon the surface sat a sealed missive. Edward eased into the chair, took up the correspondence, and broke the seal, revealing a lengthy narrative in Abernathy’s hand. The Duke skimmed the words down to the pertinent part of the message:
…The Earl Lambert owns the property on Conduit Street where his widowed sister currently resides. In recent years the widow has spent the Spring months in Somerset at the invitation of their elder sister. I am also told she is acquainted with one of your daughters.
That was all Edward needed to know. One of your daughters… Muriel. It had to be his youngest. Her subtle and usually effective ways were well-known to him. She might have hidden the key in the obvious out-of-place Greek book, tucked in between the Roman tomes on her shelf, in hope he would stumble across it.
Which he had.
He groaned at her light touch in this affair. Edward reread a portion of the paragraph:
In recent years the widow has spent the Spring months in Somerset at the invitation of their elder sister.
So Muriel did not know the widow was not in residence. The lack of staff at the townhouse, for he saw only the gardener and a kitchen maid, did suggest it was nearly unoccupied. He could not fault his daughter’s effort for attempting to make a match, but this time she had failed. She was, after all, half a world away in Italy. It was a valiant attempt, albeit a long shot.
On the other hand, his other three offspring, who it seemed never left his side except for sessions of Parliament, were doing their utmost to lead him to the parson’s mousetrap. That, Edward mused, was much more of a threat—but he had come up with a solution to keep him safe. After reading to the end, the letter, which gave no further worthwhile information, was set aside. Now he would attend to the business at hand.
Pulling out a piece of paper, Edward took up his quill while he contemplated the wording of his proposal. He did not know Lady Vernon’s direction, but he would leave the note for Augusta to see it reached the Baroness in time. Reaching out to open the inkwell and load his quill, he stilled. Exactly what should he say?
He wrote: Dear Lady Vernon, then paused.
How could he word this request without sounding…desperate. Edward bent to his task and penned: Although our acquaintance has been brief, would you do me the great honor…
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Edward sensed the questions drifting across her eyes.
Augusta sat across from him in the coach on their way to the Drysdales’ garden party the next afternoon. Now at four and twenty, a wife and mother, she had acquired the ability to persuade any individual to do her bidding with a single glance, usually employed to her own child. In this case, the recipient was her father. Frederick, seated next to his sister, seemed oblivious to what was going on before him.
The coach stopped, and a few moments later the door opened and the steps were let down. Edward alit first and noted the gray skies, hop
ing there would not be rain. He then handed Augusta down, and soon Frederick emerged. The Duke was not the only guest inspecting his raiment, adjusting his gloves, and resetting his hat.
“They dashed better have vats of hot coffee waiting for us after sending us around their gardens.” Frederick pulled up the collar on his heavy greatcoat. “Thank goodness Sturgis insisted I wear this. What featherbrain thought to have a picnic today of all days?”
“Lady Drysdale, I’m sure.” Augusta glanced quickly at her father, letting him know she had not forgotten about him. Yes, she was well practiced with her subtle signals. “No one could have known we’d be fighting the elements.”
“How could they not know? We haven’t had decent weather for months.”
“I vow someone will catch their death today,” Augusta commented, clearly detesting the cold. “I hope no one takes a misstep and ends up in the water. We are to walk along that narrow path near the edge of the brook, are we not?”
“Don’t worry about that, it’s bound to be iced solid,” Frederick joked, and Augusta chuckled, slapping him on his well-padded arm. “You should have worn heavier gloves. Those ain’t going to do the trick. Your fingers will be numb by the end of this dashed do.”
“I didn’t think to bring my winter clothes to Town, silly.” Augusta arranged her shawl. “No one would guess that it’s June.”
“Nonetheless, shall we attempt to make the best of it?” Edward refrained from scolding them in public. He kept careful watch on the guests milling about and the new arrivals, waiting for the sight of Lady Vernon in anticipation that she should join their merry party. In his missive, he had offered to convey her himself. Alas, she had declined, stating she already had transportation and would meet him there.
“Since you’ve no interest in accompanying me, Your Grace”—Frederick, in a stern manner, directed this at his parent—“I shall be off to seek my own amusement.”
“Looking for Fieldstone, are you?” The Viscount was a step up from the young bucks with whom Frederick normally kept company.
“And we’ll be off on some other jolly lark once this dull affair is over, I vow.” Frederick took up his sister’s hand and drew it to his arm, resting it on the inside of his elbow. “Come now, Gusta, let us be off.”
“Oh, no, Freddie,” she protested, glancing to her father. “I have no reason to seek out Lord Fieldstone.” With her brother leaving Edward and Augusta alone, she could then quiz him about his note to Lady Vernon. Accompanying her brother would be the last thing she wanted.
“You must come along with me. I should look the sad flat if I am to parade about by myself,” Frederick complained.
“What do I care?” She continued to resist.
“You can converse with our aunts, give advice on Constance’s upcoming nuptials. Don’t old married ladies delight in such pursuits?”
“Old married ladies?” Augusta recoiled. She lifted her arm to box his ears.
“Well, I mean to say not old, exactly”—he attempted to take back his words, realizing he’d offended her—“but I daresay you know what I mean, dear sister.”
“And you expect me to keep you company after a comment such as that?” She tried to pull her hand from her brother, but he held tight.
“Don’t kick up such a fuss!” he admonished.
“You wretched man!” She stilled, and the pleading look directed at Edward did not convince him to intervene. In addition to enduring the abuse from her brother, Augusta would need to endure the frustration of not yet having the time to beg answers from her father for questions she dearly wished to ask.
“Now let us see if we can locate Fieldstone, shall we?” Frederick urged his sister with a gentle tug.
“I promise to behave if you do,” Augusta retorted, fury burning bright in her cheeks.
Frederick straightened and gazed down at her, trapping her hand where it lay on his arm with his own. “Brave words coming from you, my girl.”
“Papa?” she beseeched with a plaintive expression.
“Off with you both, I say.” Edward gestured them away with a single brush of his hand. “I shall be here when you return. And do not concern yourself that he will abandon you. I have every confidence that Lord Fieldstone will not. I vow he would make the added effort to return you safely to my side.”
She lifted her chin, not standing nearly as tall as her brother, and replied, “A lady can always count on him to be a proper gentleman.” Augusta seemed to realize she would not have the privacy to interrogate her father as she had wished and, without further objection, left with her brother.
Now alone, Edward could search for Lady Vernon in earnest. He spied Lord and Lady Cumberland across the way, mingling with other guests. On the other side of the green were Mr. and Mrs. Plumley. If Edward was not mistaken, the small congregation near the Plumleys was comprised of his own relations: the Kimballs.
At the moment, he would rather not meet them. His present task would not seem impossible, as Lady Drysdale had invited the whole of London, making it easy for him to disappear into their number. At the same time, the attendance of the whole of Society would make the odds of finding Lady Vernon one in a million.
Louise had barely disembarked from Lady Gelsthorpe’s carriage and relayed her thanks when Augusta came out of nowhere. “How very fortuitous this is!” she exclaimed.
“What is it, Gusta?” The young man escorting her paused, glancing past Louise and her newly arrived party.
“There is my friend, Lady Vernon,” Augusta said to her distracted companion.
“Off with you, then. I daresay I can find Fieldstone on my own.” The young man released Augusta, who approached Louise. “Good day to you, Lady Vernon.”
“And to you as well.”
“I am so very glad to have found you. You must come with me at once.” Augusta took up Louise’s arm and linked it with her own.
“I am happy to see you as well.” Louise chuckled and willingly went with her friend, who was dressed in a similar warm pelisse. “Who was that young man?”
“That was my brother, Freddie.” Augusta amended, “Lord Brent.”
“It was too bad of you to send him off before you could introduce us.” She would like to have had the opportunity.
“There will be time enough for a proper introduction.” Augusta drew Louise down the path, away from her brother, which must have been the very same from which she had originally come. “I am a little bit curious, my lady…”
“About what, my dear?” Louise contrasted her wool bonnet with her friend’s typical summer straw poke. The headwear choice was a last-minute decision, made when Louise spied the overcast sky just before her departure.
“The missive from Papa.” Augusta proceeded somewhat timidly. “He asked me to see to its delivery since he did not know your direction. I was very happy to be of assistance, of course.”
“I am sure His Grace is most appreciative.” Louise would not offer any further information. If the Duke had not, neither should she.
“And I cannot help being most curious. I can scarcely believe the two of you only met yesterday.” Augusta sounded far too excited. “What was of such importance he needed to write to you?”
Certainly she had given up any idea of playing matchmaker. “We are not complete strangers, you know. We are known to one another through you and Sir Samuel.” Louise needed to choose her words carefully.
“I suppose that is true.” Augusta produced the slightest of frowns. “Still…I cannot imagine why he needed to send you a message on such a short acquaintance unless…” Her eyes went wide and she brightened. “He desires your company, and perhaps he even fancies you!”
“Now, Augusta, you know that is not possible.” Nothing could be further from the truth. How could Louise ever convince her friend of that?
“Oh, rubbish. In fact I believe there is a very good chance—”
“I have already made my thoughts on that subject quite clear, have I not?” Louise
would not be party to any matchmaking scheme.
“Yes, you have, but what if Papa has formed an instant tendre?” Augusta’s excitement dimmed but still existed and probably would continue until she could see for herself no such thing had happened.
As if that could be true! Not only had the Duke wished to escape female attachments, he did not want to give anyone the slightest encouragement. That was why he had asked her to accompany him, so he would have someone to escort and appear to be occupied with her company.
“I thought you did not believe in such things? Did you not tell me only yesterday that your brother foolishly had the very same notion?”
“I do not mean to say he might be correct, but I cannot think that possible.” Augusta made a face and shook her head.
“If His Grace has, indeed, been struck with Cupid’s arrow, you would gladly accept the notion?” Louise would keep the Duke’s confidence but could not allow his daughter to continue to believe such nonsense. “I can assure you that is not the case. Let this be the end to your questions.”
“Then what did he write? Why…” Augusta stopped, held tight to Louise’s arm, and peered into her face. “What—”
“It is impossible.” Louise could not, in all good conscience, reveal his message.
“What am I to think, then?” Augusta’s slightly insistent tone told of her growing frustration. “He was very anxious for his letter to be delivered first thing this morning. What can I think?”
“Augusta—his message is not mine to reveal. If you wish to know, you must ask your father.”
“Oh, he will never tell me!”
“Then you must accept that fate or wait until he decides otherwise and takes you into his confidence.”
“I do not wish to insult you, but—” Augusta paused to rein in her displeasure. “I daresay you are as vexing as my father.” She stepped forward, urging Louise with her captured arm.
“Papa, look who I have found!” Augusta approached Edward, her arm linked with Lady Vernon’s.
The other guests seemed to dissolve from Edward’s sight upon Lady Vernon’s approach. Her smile was genuine and cheerful.
The Duke Dilemma Page 17
