He got to his feet. “Louisa!” he called, “I am leaving. I shall be back later.”
She came clattering down the stairs, clutching a brush of her own, a streak of paint on her left cheek. She looked a picture and he smiled to see her, itching to paint her one more time.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Americus shrugged. “I simply need to get some air.”
Louisa took another step down. “I’ll come with you.”
Americus waved his hand dismissively even before she had finished speaking. “No need. I feel the need to be alone. Go on and finish your painting, my dear.”
She still looked supremely uncertain and so Americus took long strides toward the door, opening it as he threw a smile her way. “I shall see you later. Don’t wait supper for me.”
He closed the door on her concerned face and heaved a deep sigh. He hated lying to her but there was no need for both of them to be consumed with worry. He could do that fine all by himself.
He made his way down to the market, in search of Mrs. Marni. So far, Louisa had been in charge of obtaining herbal remedies from her. However, because she did not know the extent of his malady, the herbs she brought barely controlled the pain. He did obtain some relief but not nearly enough.
He walked slowly, nodding at acquaintances as he passed but not stopping to talk. A few people congratulated him on his new commission, others were curious about the new Duke. What kind of gentleman was he? Would he continue his father’s legacy? Americus had no answer for them and thus did his best to hurry along.
Mrs. Marni was sitting outside her stall, and she seemed unsurprised to see him.
“I see you have finally come,” she said.
His eyebrow arched. “Have you been waiting for me?”
She did not answer, simply gave him an enigmatic look and got to her feet. She bent down in order to enter her shop, whose entrance was simply a thick velvet curtain that she stood aside and held open, watching him expectantly. He bowed down and scooted in after her, straightening up and waiting to see what she would do next. She let the flap fall into place so that they were shrouded in darkness aside from a single candle burning on a low table.
“Sit,” she whispered, pointing at a stool. He took it with a sigh and turned to face her.
“I–” he began.
She held up her hand. “I did not ask you to speak.”
He nodded awkwardly, lowered his head and waited for her direction. She picked up a clay bowl and filled it with foul-smelling herbs, all the while murmuring some things. She then set it on fire and acrid smoke filled the room.
Americus found himself coughing and choking up while Mrs. Marni sat serenely, watching him. He felt his face heat up and knew that he must be turning quite red. Trying to stumble to his feet so as to make his way out to the fresh air, he found that he could not.
Suddenly the herbalist reached forward, her hand fisted over the bowl. She dropped something into it and all the smoke dissipated. Then she bent down and picked up a jug, pouring a liquid into a stone cup. She stood up and came to his side of the table. “Open your mouth.”
Americus was doing as he was told before he could really think about it. She poured the liquid down his throat. It burned as if it might contain pepper or some other astringent. He swallowed it without protest, but could not help wincing. She held the cup over his lips until every drop was gone. Then she put it down and picked up a glass that was also filled with a liquid – this one colorless unlike the murky green of the other.
“It’s just water,” she said, “it’ll help with the burning.”
Americus gulped it down. She was right. It did help. He looked up at her, with wide eyes. “What was that?”
She gazed serenely at him. “Let’s see your hands,” she said holding out her own. He stared, unable to comprehend her callousness in the face of his hurt and confusion. She continued to wait, her hands held out patiently and eventually he put his own in them.
She examined them closely, ignoring the glare he was directing at her. Then she looked up and met his eyes, her own a smudge of black, long lashes framing them in a way that drew one in. “Look,” she said. Her lashes dropped down and then back up at him.
“Look at what?” he asked, quite displeased at her arbitrary bullying.
She dropped her lashes again, clearly wanting him to look down. He did and then gasped as he noticed it.
His hands had stopped shaking.
* * *
Jeremy was self-conscious about his scars. That was why, despite it being the height of summer, he kept himself covered up. Being back in the thick of things helped because a member of the ton was supposed to observe certain standards of dress. Being unable to leave the house without a coat on was – for once – a blessing. Nobody had to see the disfigured markings on his hands and his arms. His neck was duly covered by his cravat. Only the mark on his face was apparent for the world to see, and for sure, they did not demur in asking him where he got the scar.
His mother had accepted an invitation to a ton event on his behalf, she was not very subtle in her efforts to get him on the marriage mart. He accepted the invitation to the Venetian breakfast because he did not want to upset her. Also, it was in the neighboring county of Dunbarton and not in London. It was no skin off his nose if he turned up and let people fawn over him. He made sure that the Earl of Shearcaster was going too. His friend enjoyed these occasions and always made sure to divert attention off Jeremy – for which the Duke was grateful.
One of the benefits of being above the average height was the ability to scan a room quickly and effectively. The fact that his quarry had brilliant, champagne-blonde hair would make it that much easier to spot him. A cursory glance around the gathering of people in the drawing-room told him that Daniel hadn’t come in yet, however, and he relaxed a little. He would be here soon.
He made his way to the side of the drawing room with that thought in mind, it would give him the most advantageous view of the entrance and allow him to quickly join his friend once he arrived. Even with the limited number of eligible bachelors on the guest list, there was still a small army of marriage-minded gentlemen. Hopefully, it would be easy to get lost in the shuffle. Now if Daniel would only appear, that would be perfect.
The corollary to those bachelors was a sea of young ladies wrapped in pastel morning gowns, most of them as dull as the colors they wore, and their mothers, as shrewd as their daughters were simple. An unfortunate side effect of being the newest attraction at this particular ton entertainment was that each of those mothers and daughters felt it necessary to speak with him in the hopes that he might take an interest.
When pigs flew.
“Your Grace...”
Jeremy turned around and came face to face with Lady Dorothea Kester. He knew her to be one of the Dowager’s friends – although that might be stretching the term – and a few years older than his mother.
“Lady Dorothea.” He took her hand and bowed over it, observing the niceties he hated so much. “Charmed.”
“I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter,” Dorothea said, roughly pushing a young lady forward.
No, and I have no interest to.
“I’m afraid you’re right; I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Georgiana, this is the Duke of Munboro. Your Grace, my daughter, Georgiana.”
The lady in front of him had been shoved into an ill-fitting pink gown, her hair was done up with curls poking out every which way. He supposed it was meant to look stylish, but he thought she just looked ridiculous.
Nothing like the painter’s daughter. He shook his head slightly, wondering why he should think of her now.
She sank into a curtsy, and he gave a bow as courtesy dictated. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Georgiana.”
“Oh, the pleasure's all mine,” she gushed. Her mother elbowed her covertly. “I mean, thank you, Your Grace.”
And so it went for what seemed
like an eternity. As soon as he stepped away from one group, another took their place. He managed to avoid agreeing to dance with any of the insipid young ladies that were presented to him but knew that he’d likely not escape that fate all night. He breathed a sigh of relief when the crowd of eligible ladies dried up and he was left alone.
For the moment.
When Daniel finally made his appearance, Jeremy was in a conversation with Dudley Penfield, Viscount Kingston just lately arrived from the island of Jamaica. He was filling Jeremy in on the state of piracy on the seas. When the other gentleman saw the object of Jeremy’s scrutiny, Dudley turned to him with a smile. “Oh I say, I didn’t know you knew the Earl of Shearcaster. Would you mind providing an introduction?”
Jeremy smiled. “Of course. Follow me.”
Dudley clapped him on the arm with a knowing grin. “I understand he’s quite the rake. Hope he’s not averse to sharing?”
Jeremy ignored the words. What Shearcaster got up to in his own time was none of Jeremy’s business. He set out across the floor toward his friend – Dudley on his heel - while doing his best not to appear rushed. He hoped no one tried to stop him before he reached Daniel. He was already all talked out.
“Daniel,” he said cordially, holding his hand out to him. Daniel shook his hand with vigor, a smile on his face, eyes already scanning the room.
“Sorry, I’m late old boy. Hope you weren’t waiting too long.”
Daniel knew him too well. Knew that he would be looking to hide behind his friend’s exuberance. People were watching them; he knew that his every move was of great interest, and he did his best to keep the relief he felt out of his gaze. He guessed from his flushed cheeks and wide eyes that he’d done a poor job. He turned toward Dudley.
“Daniel, let me introduce you to Viscount Kingston, late of the colony of Jamaica. He was just telling me how it goes on the high seas.”
Daniel shuddered visibly. “You’re a braver gentleman than I’ll ever be,” he said, giving the gentleman a slight nod. Jeremy knew just how much Daniel hated the sea, not least because of the scars it had left on Jeremy. No amount of explanation would convince him that it was not the sea per se that was to blame.
“If you hadn’t been at sea, you would not have a mark on you,” he would say before rapidly changing the subject. Daniel did not even like to talk about the sea. Dudley fidgeted uncomfortably at his side.
“Dudley thought you might oblige him by agreeing to debauch with him,” Jeremy remarked idly, with an impish grin. “I think he means to find himself a wife.”
Dudley’s eyes widened and he stammered a bit. “I-I thought t-that…,” he said almost defensively, softening when he saw no censure in either of their eyes. Daniel clapped him on the shoulder, “Cheerio, old gentleman. I should be glad to show you all my tricks. Jeremy here insists on being a boring fellow who won’t so much as join me in some gambling.”
Daniel sent him a reproving glance which Jeremy met with equanimity.
“I’ve had my fill of adventurous living, I just want to sit in a corner and perhaps read a book,” Jeremy told him, facetiously.
Daniel’s answer was a disbelieving grin. He caught sight of some other young ladies looking at them speculatively and pointed them out discreetly to Daniel. “I see some prey just praying for your attention,” he murmured.
Dudley and Daniel both turned and it was all Jeremy could do not to cover his eyes in embarrassment. “Have either of you ever heard of the phrase ‘discretion’?” he asked in exasperation.
Daniel laughed not bothering to look back at Jeremy. “Didn’t you hear? Discretion went out of fashion while you were at sea.” He clapped Dudley on the back, “Come along my friend. Let us see what we can do with these delectable debutantes.”
He walked off, Dudley trailing after him. Jeremy could see that the ladies were already coloring in anticipation although a few still cast hopeful glances in his direction.
He moved toward the terrace doors, suddenly desperate for some air. When he looked up and met Daniel’s eye, he inclined his head to indicate he was going outside and his friend gave him a tiny nod, indicating that he understood. He nodded back.
He took a deep breath and began to walk determinedly toward the door, pushing aside the curtain and stepping out onto the terrace. He closed his eyes, breathing in the clean air and wished to be anywhere but here.
The tinkling sound of merry laughter had him opening his eyes and looking below where two figures were just walking out of the wood, engaged in animated conversation. Their high, excited, feminine voices carried up to him although he could not hear what they said. They walked toward the kitchens, a large basket of flowers in the hand of the redhead. Suddenly the dark-haired one turned her head and he gasped.
What is she doing here?
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Also by Olivia Bennet
Thank you for reading Guilty Pleasures of a Bluestocking!
I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? It would mean very much to me. Reviews are very important and allow me to keep writing the books that you love to read!
Some other stories of mine:
Tempting the Ruined Duke
The Devious Seduction of a Wayward Duke
An Immoral Dilemma for the Scandalous Lady
The Marquess in Her Bed
Lusting for the Broken Earl
An Untamed Governess for the Rogue
* * *
Also, if you liked this book, you can also check out my full Amazon Book Catalogue HERE.
Thank you for allowing me to keep doing what I love!
Olivia Bennet
About the Author
Having obtained a degree in Journalism, but with an affinity for literature and creative writing, Olivia Bennet knew from a young age that her future lay in the romantic ideals of the past. With a fascination for the Regency era and a good romance, she started her career as a historical romance author the old-fashioned way: with pen and paper.
Born in rural Devon, Olivia draws inspiration from the vast farmlands of the British countryside and the people living in the surrounding villages. An avid artist, she takes her sketchbook everywhere with her and captures the beauty of nature, which she then incorporates into her books.
Allow your conscious to be carried away on a wind made of letters and words, of love, mystery and the magic of the Regency era. Start your journey and allow Olivia’s pen to guide you!
Guilty Pleasures 0f A Bluestocking (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 31