Bedford sneered, “No. Instead, he tasked me. I believe because he wanted the job done right.”
A heavy pall fell over the group as they each contemplated the danger their friend faced. Newcastle cringed, he should be sharing that burden. He should be fighting the French. Not worrying about which ball to attend or which woman would make an appropriate wife. A sense of guilt filled him mixed with a longing for a stiff wind filling his sails.
“Really, Dear,” the Duchess said as she laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Must we talk of such things, now.? This should be a moment of celebration. Our good friend Captain Jack Hardy is being seated in the House of Lords. It is remarkable.”
Newcastle scoffed but held back from commenting. There was no need to disabuse the fine Lady. But in his estimation, this was a time to mourn, not celebrate.
“Will we see you tonight at the Hawthorn’s?” Her Grace asked.
Newcastle grimaced as he nodded, “Yes, it seems I am duty-bound to produce an heir. It also seems that the only appropriate method to meet prospective brides is at these events. I do believe I would rather work my way through a force five gale in a leaky raft.”
Duchess Bedford laughed. Her husband smiled slightly. But, the new lord could tell the man understood perfectly.
“Come,” the Duke said, “the sooner we finish this, the sooner you can prepare yourself for tonight. You do realize, every mother will be pestering you like a hungry hyena on the plains of Africa.”
“Brock!” the Duchess exclaimed.
“What?” he asked innocently. “You know very well that there is no higher predator than a mother with a marriageable daughter. And their favorite prey are wealthy Lords.”
The Duchess frowned at her husband. But Newcastle noticed that she did not contradict him.
Later that evening as he prepared for the ball, he thought of the Duke’s words and realized he was pleased that Lady Dupont would be helping. He knew she would keep him from falling to some conniving mother or coy young miss.
No, if he was going to surrender to his father’s wishes. It would be on his terms. A cold, heartless marriage to someone that would not try to ruin his life with demands and expectations.
Chapter Nine
Abigail’s heart raced as she entered the Hawthorn’s ballroom with her aunt Maud and cousin Rose. Would he be here already? Would he come at all? Perhaps he had changed his mind. Either refusing to find a wife. Or determining her assistance would not be needed.
Running her hands down her dress she hoped he would like it. A cream-colored, high waisted gown with a burgundy ribbon for a belt. The lace at her collar and cuffs were made with her own hands. Some of her best, she thought.
What would she feel if he simply ignored her the next time they met? Her heart turned over as she remembered the shame of almost falling when she tried to curtsey. Could anything be more embarrassing?
That look of pity in his eyes had been like a knife to her heart. Cringing inside, she fought the anger and sadness in her soul over the accident years earlier and what it had done to her.
“I assume you will be with the older ladies,” Aunt Maud said to her as she reached up to tuck away a stray wisp of her daughter's hair.
“Yes, Aunt,” Abigail said as her heart sank. Even her own relatives had relegated her to the outside.
“Quick Mother,” Rose said as she pulled away from her mother’s attention. “There is Johnathon.”
“Lord Smalley,” Aunt Maud corrected. “Even if he does become your betrothed. You will always refer to him with respect.”
Rose rolled her eyes and left them without responding.
Aunt Maud shook her head, then glanced at Abigail with raised eyebrows. As if asking why she was still there.
Abigail took a deep breath as she turned to work her way across the room. She would have to get over the shame of people seeing her use her cane. There would be no other way, she would be expected to accompany His Lordship as she introduced him to the right women and their mothers.
She wondered what it would feel like when he made a choice? Pleasure at knowing she had assisted a gentleman in making a good match? Not bloody likely, she thought to herself. While she never cursed aloud, obviously. She did occasionally do so inside her own thoughts. And this seemed like a perfectly appropriate time.
As she made her way, she glanced down to ensure she wouldn’t place her cane in the wrong position when a man stepped in front of her. Looking up slowly, her heart jumped at the strong chest, wide shoulders and a handsome face. A face with a soft smile. A smile for her that set her insides alight.
A hint of sandalwood and salt air washed over her. His scent she realized. Unique, strong without being overwhelming.
“Lady Dupont,” Lord Newcastle said as he bowed slightly.
Abigail shot him a quick smile before setting her jaw as she prepared to curtsey. She was determined to do it without embarrassing herself. However, before she could begin, he took her hand and tucked it into his arm.
“Come,” he said, not giving her an opportunity to make a fool of herself. She cringed inside at his kindness. No other woman would have been seen as so … so … inadequate. Not unless they were ancient crones already bent and twisted with age.
Yet, the sense of security his arm provided sent a warm feeling of happiness through her. His arm felt so firm that she barely had to use her cane at all.
“We must see to my aunts,” he added as he led her across the room. As they made their way, she noticed that he moved slower than normal. Intentionally allowing her to keep up with him.
Once again, she was struck by this man. He was observant, and kind when he wished. Yet she knew that a born warrior lurked behind that charm.
Abigail noticed the glances shot her way. It was so obvious what was racing through the mothers’ minds. Who would he select? Would it be their daughter who would become a duchess? Which young woman would live a life of luxury, status, and security? And therefore, pass along those benefits to their mother.
Of course, the looks and glances from the younger women were a mix. Some, like their mothers, could see only the benefits of being a Duchess. Others though, their looks held a touch of something almost primeval. Baser. The looks of a woman who wanted this man for themselves.
Several of the older, married women also looked on with an intense interest.
Her insides turned over at the obvious avarice and blatant longing. She feared that none of them would ever see the man for who he truly was.
“There you are,” Lady Isobel said as she rose to greet them. Abigail noticed that Elizabeth frowned, obviously still upset at the entire idea of this man becoming a Duke. Mary, the middle sister looked at her older sister, then at her younger sister, obviously torn.
“Ladies,” the Lord said as he bowed, perhaps more deeply than he needed to, with a small grin on his lips. He enjoys teasing them, she realized. Most men would have simply ignored the older women. Refusing to submit themselves to their disapproval.
Not Lord Newcastle. No, every time he merely interacted with them, he reminded them of the situation, and the fact that he would be in charge of their finances one day. A day rapidly approaching if the rumors were correct about his father’s health.
The women were placed in an untenable position and he loved exploiting it.
“So, you have agreed to take a wife?” Lady Elizabeth. “I am pleased that you have come to your senses.”
Lord Newcastle laughed slightly. “I have agreed to consider it. But then, I have also considered renouncing the title and returning to fight the French. This war will not last forever.”
The shocked white faces made Abigail want to laugh. Surely, the man was teasing. Then something in his eye told her that it was not a bluff. He really was thinking about making such a radical decision. Was he that desperate to return to battle? What kind of man sought out danger and death?
Lady Isobel was the first to recover as she smiled up at him, “Don�
�t be ridiculous, My Lord. You were born to be a Duke.”
Lady Elizabeth let out a very unladylike snort before she could stop herself.
Lord Newcastle’s brow narrowed for the briefest moment. He really hates being reminded of his birth. No, she corrected herself. He despises others judging him because of it. I slight difference.
“So,” he said to her, “Who will you tempt me with? Which of these young ladies might become the mother of the next Duke?”
All three of the elderly sisters stared at her, obviously wondering about her plans. She could see by Lady Elizabeth’s glare that she wished she were managing this project.
“I believe, My Lord,” Abigail said, “that you should allow me to introduce you. We will see if any catch your fancy.”
He scoffed, obviously doubting it, but dipped his head in agreement and then waved his hand for her to lead the way.
Abigail took a deep breath. Deep down at the base level of her soul, her instincts told her not to do this. Yet, the rational part of her mind demanded she go through with it. He deserved to be happy. It was up to her to make sure he found the right person.
As they approached a small gathering, she made the necessary introduction to Lord and Lady Stewart and their daughter, Sarah. A striking brunet. Tall, slim, with a pretty face. Abigail forced her jealousy down as she held herself back and watched the exchange.
Lady Stewart was obviously pleased. Lord Stewart frowned, as a father should when a handsome man came within his daughter’s orbit. But it was Young Sarah that Abigail watched closely. Dressed in a forest green gown that looked particularly fetching. The woman was considered one of the most beautiful coming out this season. It was surprising to many that she had not yet accepted one of the many offers for her hand.
The young woman played the moment perfectly. Coy, without being too shy. Intelligent conversation without creating any awkward moments or placing herself or his Lordship in a bad light. A true master of the art of social grace. And so young, Abigail thought.
It was the gentle waving of her fan that made Abigail admire the performance. The young woman used it to draw attention to herself. Her mother had taught her well. Or was it natural? she wondered. A skill innate in beautiful women. Women who were sure of themselves and what they had to offer.
His Lordship was perfectly charming, all without showing any obvious interest. Acting as if he had met his lawyer or banker. All business.
After a few minutes, he glanced over at her, his eyes secretly sending her a message.
“If you will excuse us,” she said to the Stewarts. “We must make the rounds. You know how it is.” His Lordship bowed and let her lead him away.
Once they were out of earshot, she pulled him down so that she could whisper, “What do you think?”
He glanced down at her with a furrowed brow. “I’ve seen sharks with warmer eyes.”
Abigail giggled as she quickly brought her fan up to hide her large smile. The man wasn’t wrong.
For the next hour, she led him through the room to different people. The small gatherings would talk while other’s danced. More than once, she noticed a mother hold back a daughter from departing for the dance floor when she saw them approach.
As a result, several dance partners looked at the new Lord with less that happiness at his presence.
People were very interested in meeting the new Marquis and future Duke. Each time, mothers would smile broadly, young women, girls really, would either blush, afraid to meet the eyes of this powerful man, or blatantly bat their eyelashes in hopes of enticing him.
The conversations usually followed the same path. The health of his father? Secretly asking how soon before he became a Duke. Then they would switch over to his service against the French. Abigail noticed that he shifted and dismissed the topic before it could be delved into in any depth.
Everyone would make small talk, inane comments of no meaning. After but a few minutes, he would shoot her a quick look. His signal for her to get him out of there before he said something he shouldn’t. To save him as it were.
“Really, Lady Abigail,” he said as they left yet another small group. “I am surprised. I had hoped to meet someone interesting.”
“No you didn’t,” she said as she gently slapped his arm with her fan. “You wanted to be disappointed. An excuse not to marry. That was why I steered you to the women I knew you would find lacking. Now that it is out of the way. We can focus on the better of the bunch.”
He tilted his head slightly and looked down at her as if he had not seen her before. Then nodded, as if agreeing with her tactics. For some reason, she felt as if he found it surprising. Someone who could outmaneuver him when it came to tactics.
The look of his gave her the confidence to ask the question that had been bothering her since she met the man. “Tell me Lord, why the antipathy to marriage? Most men end up there eventually. Some even by choice.”
He snorted and shook his head. “There are a dozen reasons. As any man with any sense could tell you.”
“Such as?” she pressed.
Sighing heavily, he stopped walking so that he could turn and face her. “There is the normal desire to not want to be tied to one woman for the rest of one’s life.”
Abigail shrugged, “Few men of the ton are faithful.”
His eyes narrowed and she worried that she had upset him. “If I commit to something, I know but one way, with every bit of my soul.”
Her heart skipped. If only all men viewed their honor so intensely.
“There are the normal concerns about being dictated to by another person. Of losing control as it were.”
She studied him for a moment, there was something more. It was there buried behind his eyes.
“I am a sailor at heart, My Lady,” he continued. “I refuse to leave a family on the beach. My children raised without my guidance. My wife alone, probably seeking solace in another man’s arms.”
His birth she realized. His mother and the way he had been raised. Surely, it had impacted him.
“I understand, My Lord. Yet, duty must.”
He sighed heavily, then grinned slightly, “But first,” he said, “I wish to talk to Bedford and his bride.”
Her stomach fell. She would have to curtsey and her leg was growing weaker by the moment. She had been standing for almost an hour. If she stayed in one place, she could lock her knee. But the memory of almost falling the last time she tried to curtsey in front of him poked at her pride.
“Of course, My Lord,” she said. After all, what choice did she have? When they approached the Duke and Duchess, she took a deep breath and prayed her leg would not fail her. Thankfully, Lord Newcastle bowed at the same time, then took her elbow as they both rose.
Had he done that on purpose? Was he afraid of her embarrassing herself, or him? Before she could consider it, Her Grace pulled her into a conversation as the two men turned to discuss something about a man named Duncan.
Just like everyone else of the ton, Abigail knew the story of the Duke who had married a commoner. There was even a rumor that the woman had been his maid, and not an heiress as the dowager duchess had put out.
“Tell me,” Her Grace asked, “Any luck?”
Obviously, the woman was asking about his Lordship’s search for a wife. Abigail gave him a quick glance to see if he had heard. What was she allowed to pass on? These were good friends of his.
Lord Newcastle gave no indication that he had heard the question. She shrugged internally. What was the worse thing that could happen? He stopped asking for her assistance? The thought sent a mixed message of emotions flashing through her. She would not have to watch him choose another woman for a wife. Yet, it would mean she would no longer have a reason to be in his company.
“No, Your Grace,” she said to the young Duchess. “But, it is early yet.”
“Yes, well, if you are successful. Perhaps I should have you assist Suffolk.”
“Assist me with what?” the Duke
of Suffolk said as he stepped up next to the Duchess and her husband. The questioning frown on his face indicated he obviously didn’t enjoy two women discussing him. Abigail felt her stomach fall. How had she gotten into this situation? The last thing she needed was to have a Duke upset at her.
A tall man, well dressed, he was well known as a bit of a rake. With more women interested in him than any man should be allowed.
The Duchess, however, seemed unconcerned. “I was telling Lady Dupont that if she is successful with Jack, … I mean Lord Newcastle, perhaps she could find you a wife.”
“Never,” the Duke of Suffolk said with a stern expression. “That is why I have brothers.”
“Besides,” Lord Newcastle said as he and the Duke of Bedford rejoined them. “What woman would want him for a husband?”
The Duke of Bedford laughed as he nodded, obviously agreeing. Abigail had to fight from gasping with surprise. People did not talk to a Duke this way. But then she saw the small smile of the Duke of Suffolk. She realized just how strong their friendship was. A small part of her felt a pang of regret that she had never had such a bond.
A lonely childhood followed by years of being bedridden had never provided her the opportunity to form such friendships.
As she glanced up at Lord Newcastle, she wondered just how much this friendship had formed him? How much had it shaped the man he became? Quite a bit she would wager.
Chapter Ten
Jack took in a deep breath of the night air. Lady Abigail had been upset when he had announced he was done for the evening. She had remained silent, but it was obvious in her eyes.
A man, however, could only take so much. One more empty-headed young lady or an overbearing mother. It was enough for him to unfurl his sails and beat a hasty retreat. It was only after he had assured her, he would attend the Burnett’s event next Tuesday, had she been able to relax.
“Please remember, we have just begun, My Lord,” she had told him.
He had nodded, bent over her hand, and made a hasty retreat.
It had been a long evening. He had played his part to the best of his ability. But no more. He had felt as if the walls were crashing in on him. That familiar sense of doom had overwhelmed him.
A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club Book 2) Page 6
