A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club Book 2)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Abagail’s insides tightened as a shivering fear flashed through her entire body. Surely not. The woman could never believe she should be such a possibility. His wife! The thought disturbed her on so many levels.

  “… You know the young women. Their true selves. Your help will be invaluable in finding the right wife for him.”

  Of course, no, they would never have thought she would be acceptable. The realization sent a pulse of shame through her, but she refused to show her disappointment. Instead, she stared off into the distance as if she were trying to think of someone else who might be acceptable.

  “I don’t know the man,” she told Isobel, “It would be impossible to match him to someone else. What are his wishes? His preferences?”

  “Yes, I agree,” Isobel said. “Thankfully, now would be an excellent opportunity to learn.”

  Abigail’s stomach dropped when Isobel dipped her head, indicating behind her. A sinking feeling filled Abigail when she turned and saw the tall Lord walking towards them. Without thinking about it, she stood a little straighter and hid her cane in the folds of her dress. For some unknown reason, she despised the idea of this man thinking less of her.

  The thought of a look of pity on his face would tear her into a thousand different parts.

  “Lady Isobel,” he said as he bowed slightly, then looked at Abigail with a strange expression on his face.

  “Lord Newcastle,” Isobel said, “May I present a dear friend, Lady Abigail Dupont.”

  Abigail had taught herself how to curtsey while still gripping her cane close to her leg. Hiding in the folds of her gown. A delicate balancing act. It wasn’t as deep as is should be, but it was enough to get by, especially with people who knew her situation. As she rose, she examined him closely.

  Black hair, cut short. Wide shoulders. Small wrinkles at the corner of deep hazel eyes. As if he had spent a life looking into the distance. Tanned skin that set him apart from the normally pasty-faced men of the ton. Men who avoided such things as wind and sun as if they were death themselves.

  He was dressed in a conservative black frock coat and pressed pantaloons. A rather striking man, she thought.

  “You are not wearing your uniform, My Lord,” she said before she could stop herself. Why? What was wrong with her?

  He shrugged gently, but she could tell in his eyes that he was not happy about being out of uniform.

  “I was informed that my aunts believed a Lord should dress appropriately. It seems a mere naval captain is not enough.”

  “Oh, Newcastle,” Isobel said as she gently slapped his arm with her closed fan. “Elizabeth was simply making a suggestion.”

  Lord Newcastle scoffed, “Aunt Isobel, I have spent my life-giving and receiving orders. I know one when I hear one.”

  Isobel’s face turned slightly pink. Abigail watched the exchange between them. The scowl on his face showed his obvious distaste for the ton and its unwritten rules.

  “I have also been informed,” he said to Abigail. “That I will be considered a failure if I do not dance. Would you care to dance with me, Lady Abigail?”

  Abigail cringed. Inside though, a small part of her screamed with joy.

  Isobel gasped. “Don’t be ridiculous,” the older woman exclaimed.

  Lord Newcastle’s forehead creased in confusion for a moment then relaxed as understanding filled him, But, there was a hint of anger, Abigail realized. He thinks I won’t dance with him because he is a bastard.

  “Of course,” he said as he bowed again. He will leave, Abigail thought as she realized the man believed she had just cut him. What other option did he have? If she had been a man, he might very well have challenged her to a dual. But with her, he had no option but to accept her cruelty.

  Taking a deep breath, desperate that he not hurt her, she moved her cane from the fold of her dress and took a small step forward, using her cane for support.

  “My Lord, while I am honored by your request, unfortunately, I have found it best that I not attempt to dance. I have a habit of disrupting things too much.” Here she lifted her cane slightly to emphasize the point.

  He frowned deeply as he looked into her eyes and then down at the cane. Instant awareness filled his eyes. Here it comes, she thought. That look of pity mixed with embarrassment. Instead, he laughed slightly. “My Lady, it appears once again I am very fortunate.”

  Abigail frowned as she looked up at the tall man and tried to understand his meaning.

  His scowl relaxed enough to show a hint of a smile. “I despise dancing,” he said. “Now my good aunts cannot say I did not make an effort.”

  Abigail was trapped by his look of shared pleasure. As if it were the two of them against the silly rules and expectations of the ton. Her world shifted slightly with his unexpected reply. Instead of pity, he had acted as if her handicap was of no consequence, in fact to his benefit.

  She found herself trapped by his eyes as if holding her in place. Who was this man? Every other Lord would have turned up his nose and ignored her. A woman of no significance. Not this man, she realized.

  “Newcastle,” Isobel said with sharp disapproval. “You will never find a wife without dancing. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  His smile deepened as he shrugged and turned to watch the dancers.

  “Lady Isobel is correct,” Abigail said to him, surprised at her own boldness. “It will be difficult enough to find someone appropriate.”

  His small smile instantly disappeared to be replaced with that strong scowl. “Because of my birth?” he said.

  “No,” Abigail answered quickly, terrified she had upset him. Obviously, it was a very sore subject. “No,” she repeated. “Because I imagine a man such as yourself will have high expectations. In addition, it is late in the season and some of the best candidates have already been taken.”

  She watched as his brow softened before he returned to watching the dancers. Abigail sighed internally. It appeared as if he had accepted her explanation.

  “Lady Abigail has offered to help,” Isobel interjected. “Her knowledge will be invaluable.”

  Abigail cringed, Isobel made it sound as if it had been all her idea and not a request from the aunts. She watched him from the corner of her eye, hoping to catch some indication of what he thought.

  But there was nothing. It was as if he were made of stone. No emotion was allowed to be exposed. Instead, he simply nodded.

  Isobel sighed, then gently patted her arm. “Elizabeth is motioning for me to return. I will leave you two alone for a minute.”

  A cold fear flashed through Abigail. The thought of being alone with this man, made her stomach churn with worry. Even a crowded ballroom. Why? she wondered.

  Lord Newcastle nodded to his aunt, then glanced down at her. “So tell me, Lady Abigail, which woman is to make my life miserable?”

  Chapter Six

  What had his world become? he wondered. A few days ago, he had been Captain Jack Hardy. A man in command of His Majesty’s ship, The White Tern, with a crew of ninety-eight. Men who sailed the deep blue. Men who followed him into battle.

  Now, here he was, Lord Newcastle. Destined to become His Grace, the Duke of Oxford. And he was being pushed into something he despised. What was it his first commander, Captain Thornberry, said to him when he had reported aboard HMS Providence as a fourteen-year-old midshipman?

  The ancient captain had stared down at the young man before him with hard, cold eyes, and said, “Always remember, boy. A superior sailor is one who uses his superior judgment to stay out of situations that require his superior skill.”

  Jack had frowned as he tried to understand.

  The Bosun, Thompson someone had called him, standing next to the captain had spit over the side then said, “He means boy, don’t foul your anchor so bad you can’t get ‘er undone.”

  Now, here in this ballroom, he was worried that he was allowing himself to be pushed into something he could never correct. A fatal error that should have been avo
ided.

  Glancing down, he wondered about the young lady next to him. Who was she? He remembered the sharp pain when he had believed she had refused him because of his birth. Then the shame when he discovered the true reason she had denied his request to dance.

  The look in her eyes had surprised him. It hadn’t been anger at him. No instead, she had simply accepted his error and corrected him without a stern rebuke. Unusual he thought. But then so much about this woman seemed strange.

  Her understated beauty, of course. High cheekbones, a pert nose, soulful brown eyes that exposed a keen intelligence. And then, of course, there were the soft curves that pulled at a man’s attention. High, well-formed breasts and hips that curved in such a way that they reminded him how long he had been at sea.

  Why was she here? Was her injury temporary? How? Or had she lived with it her entire life. If so, why attend a ball where almost everyone would dance, stroll about gossiping. Was she married? No, surely not, no husband would allow a woman as pretty as this alone at such an event. Not if he had any sense.

  She looked up and caught him examining her. A pretty shade of pink flushed across her cheeks as she quickly looked away. Something inside of him came to life as he realized how much he enjoyed making her blush. A man could get used to that, he realized.

  “Tell me, My Lord,” she said without taking her eyes off the dancers. “What are you looking for in a wife.”

  “I have absolutely no idea. In all honesty, I never really thought about it.”

  She frowned and glanced up at him, “You never thought about what you wanted in a woman.”

  He snorted, “A woman yes, a wife no.”

  Her lips pursed as she slowly nodded. Good he thought, she was not easily offended.

  “My Lord,” she said, “I would suggest you give the matter some thought. If we are to find you a wife, it would be easier if we knew what we were to look for.”

  He grunted. How had he ended up in such a conversation?

  “And yourself, Lady Arabella, what are you searching for in a husband?”

  Her brow scrunched up as she frowned deeply. “We are discussing your goals, My Lord.”

  The words were not what he had expected. It had been his experience that every young woman knew exactly what she wished in a husband and wasn’t averse to sharing her opinion. It was like sailors discussing the best brothels. Each had a preference and was adamant that their choice was best.

  An awkward silence fell over them as the two of them looked out over the crowd. What was it about this woman that made him feel uncomfortable? As if he’d entered a crowded harbor with hidden rocks and shoals.

  “You really must marry,” she told him, looking up with an almost apologetic expression. “It will cement yourself in the ton. Provide your family stability. And eventually heirs to the title.”

  He started to scoff but stopped himself. The woman was correct and he could no longer deny it. Regardless of his thoughts on the matter, he would have to find a wife.

  “Who would you suggest?” he asked with a heavy sigh.

  The young woman shook her head. “That, My Lord, depends on a great many factors., Beautiful, obviously. …”

  He did scoff this time. As if beauty were the answer to all problems. In his experience, beautiful woman required more care than he was willing to give.

  “… Intelligent,” Lady Abigail continued. “A well-connected family would go a long way to stopping stories spreading.”

  “Once again we return to the facts of my birth.”

  Her cheeks grew pink but she did not deny it. Admirable, he thought, the woman wasn’t willing to ignore reality to save herself from embarrassment.

  “What else,” she asked, “Do you have a preference for hair color? Temperament, a talent you find crucial.”

  “Talent?” he asked with surprise.

  “Musical, painting.”

  The new Lord rolled his eyes. “My Lady, I do not anticipate falling in love with the woman. You and your people deem that I need a wife. From what I have seen of the upper society. Marriage has little to do with love.”

  Her lips firmed into a straight line as she nodded. “While you might be correct. Yet think of it. This will be the mother of your children. Surely there are things, traits you would wish to be passed on.”

  Again, he forced himself to stop from scoffing. Her brow creased in disappointment obviously upset at his inability or unwillingness to help her find him a wife.

  Suddenly, her eyes opened as she smiled up at him. “Think of it as finding a new ship. Surely you wouldn’t wish to have someone else pick out your new ship without providing guidance as to your needs. If you were to design the perfect ship. What would you be looking for?”

  He felt the stern set of his chin relax just a little as he thought about it. The woman was good. She had maneuvered him into looking at the issue.

  He smiled as he thought about it. “Sleek, fast, with a stern soul.”

  She frowned slightly, “Are we talking about a wife or a ship?”

  “Both,” he said as he relaxed with the realization that the woman was right. He must examine all of the candidates to find the right one.

  Once again, an awkward silence fell over them. Lord Newcastle glanced down at the woman. A new thought crossed his mind.

  “Why are you assisting my sweet aunts in this endeavor?” he asked. “The truth,” he added.

  Her lips twitched with a brief smile at his mention of ‘sweet aunts.’ Taking a deep breath, she looked up. “It is how we conduct business in the ton, My Lord. Amongst ourselves. We use favors and connections. It is our form of barter.”

  “I had always thought young women were in competition with each other. Need I worry that you will steer me to your worst enemy in an attempt to make her miserable. After all, I am not exactly the most eligible bachelor here tonight.”

  The young woman laughed. “I assure you, My Lord. The woman of the ton will be extremely pleased to find you are in search of a wife. Your positive assets are quite numerous.”

  He studied her for a moment. “And yourself, Lady Dupont. Which of my assets do you find the most pleasing?”

  Her cheeks grew pink, almost red as she quickly looked down. “Again, My Lord. We were not discussing me, but your potential wife.”

  Yes, making Lady Abigail Dupont blush was an enjoyable aspect of his new life.

  He should probably stop teasing the woman. After all, he was in need of her assistance. He decided to change the subject. “So, My Lady. If you are to help me find a new wife. Then at some date in the future. Should I expect you to make a request for my assistance in return?”

  She smiled obviously pleased that he understood how things worked in this world. “I assure you, My Lord. If I do, it will be a small matter and nothing that would bring you dishonor.”

  He laughed. “My Lady, I have sold my soul to my father and his aged sisters. I have agreed to allow my future to be shaped and manipulated by people who have never shown me the slightest kindness. I have given up command of The White Tern. The one thing I have ever loved. All for a title I don’t desire. To live in a world, I despise. There is little you could ask for that could make my life any worse.”

  She frowned but remained silent for a good half-minute until her restraint could no longer be contained. “Do you really despise us, My Lord? I mean, I know that many of the lower classes resent our wealth, our status. The papers talk of it often. Little do they know how many of us are not wealthy and our status brings only expectations with no resources.”

  Jack studied her for a long moment. This woman was not wealthy, he realized. Who was her family? Her history. Yet, she had been born and raised in this world. Her voice. Her dress. Her intimate knowledge of every unwritten rule. Even the way she stood. Everything spoke of a woman of the ton.

  “You forget my birth,” he told her. “I learned early that a man’s name meant nothing when it came to judging their worth as a human being. At sea,
I’ve seen men who were raised in the harshest of circumstances rise to levels of great bravery. Men who couldn’t read a book to save their life but could read the waves and know more about the sea than any scholar you could ever find.

  She looked up, obviously interested.

  “No, Lady Dupont,” he continued. “I don’t despise the ton. I just find it … unnecessary.”

  Lady Abigail gave a mock gasp with a twinkle in her eyes and a slight smile. “Please My Lord. If we are to be successful in finding you a wife. Do not share that opinion widely. Half the fathers and most of the mothers would find it rather disqualifying. Even for a handsome Marquis and future Duke.”

  He laughed. “I agreed to allow you and my aunts to help. I did not say I would make it easy.”

  Her smile continued for a second. “Again, My Lord. Why?”

  The new Lord froze for a second the shrugged his shoulders. “Call it agreeing to a dying man’s wish.”

  Her eyebrows narrowed while she nodded as it became obvious that there was little else in this world that could have made him go through with this abomination.

  “Well, in that case, My Lord. We will endeavor to find you an acceptable wife.”

  Jack scoffed, “A wife perhaps. Acceptable? Doubtful.”

  Chapter Seven

  Abigail took a deep breath and wondered why she had ever agreed to help Lady Isobel and her two sisters in finding this man a wife. It was obvious that he didn’t want one and she doubted any woman would ever make him happy.

  Such a shame really, for there was something about him that made her feel that he might make a good husband. With the right woman obviously.

  Cringing inside, she tried to push down the small disappointment that threatened to bubble up. Not her of course.

  Sighing internally, she looked up to find him staring intently across the room.

  “Is that Lord Bristol?” he asked nodding to a man walking towards them.

  “Yes,” she whispered quickly before the Lord arrived, portly with a ruddy face. The Earl of Bristol had always made her skin crawl. Even without their history, she would have despised the man. His arrogant attitude mixed with an ignorant view of the world. The man epitomized all the worse aspects of the aristocracy, privileged, unaware, and not very intelligent. Even worse was the way he looked at women. As if he anticipated bending them to his will. Literally.