A Forbidden Waltz With the Dashing Duke

by Hazel Linwood

  “Quickly,” Betsy urged and Rowena ascended up the narrow servant’s staircase as quickly as she could, rushed down the hall of the second floor, and stood at the top of the steps for several moments to catch her breath. She leaned forward to hear the conversation below.

  “…Eton together,” the deep voice of the Duke carried up the steps.

  “Isn’t that a lucky coincidence, Betsy? How fortunate. I hope you were able to give dear Betsy some pointers on the likes and dislikes of the Portsmouths. She is eager to make a good impression, are you not?”

  “Indeed, Lady Hazelshire. I am ever so pleased to discover–”

  “You want the Duke for yourself, don’t you?” Her sister’s voice suddenly came from behind her.

  Rowena’s heart dropped and she spun around. Her sister stood before her, her usually pale face red with rage and her eyes wide. Her hands were balled into fists.

  “Catherine, please. That is such a silly notion.”

  “Horsefeathers! Do you take me for a fool? I saw you. I saw you in the gardens, sitting beside him as if you were a pair already. Sitting so close to him, it was all but indecent. Wait until I tell Mama!”

  Rowena’s mind raced. Her sister had seen them. Had picked up on their feelings. It was a disaster. An utter disaster. She reached her hands out to her sister and placed them on either side of her shoulders.

  “No, please. Catherine. Do not act rashly. I can explain it all.

  Catherine’s own arms zoomed up and pushed Rowena’s down with such force she felt a pain shoot along her shoulders.

  “Explain how you have your eyes on the Duke of Westmond, when you’re already promised to the Duke of Thornmouth? How one Duke is not enough for you; you must have both to satisfy yourself? What do you want with Westmond anyhow? He’s purse-pinched, compared to Thornmouth.”

  Rowena found an unexpected rage on behalf of Duke Westmond rise within her.

  “If you are so concerned about him being purse-pinched, why are you upset over my liking him?”

  Her sister’s eyes grew ever wider. “So, you admit it! You are fond of him! He is supposed to be for me. Papa will ensure he restores his fortunes in no time at all. And with the Duke of Thornmouth as his brother-in-law, it would take no time at all for him to rise in favor with the other Lords in Court.” Catherine stemmed her hands on her hips before raging on.

  “You just can’t stand the idea of not being the only duchess, can you? It would simply kill you if your younger sister was a duchess too!”

  “What would kill me is to see my own sister wed to the man I desire. There. I have told you. It is the truth. I do desire him. My heart yearns for him. I can’t explain it, it simply is. And I know that it can never be. I know my duty. I know whom I must marry. But the idea of seeing you by his side for the rest of my life, while I am so near him and yet so far, I cannot bear it.”

  Tears shot into her eyes as something in her sister’s face changed. Her jaw, set tight in rage before, grew slack and she blinked at her.

  “Rowena? Catherine? What is all this ruckus?”

  Their mother swiftly made her way up the steps. Before Rowena had a chance to say another word to her sister, their mother stood before them. Changed from her promenade dress into a shimmering, silk evening gown she stood before them, looking sternly from one to the other.

  “Well? What is this noise? It is unseemly for such behavior when we are in the company of a duke.” Right then, her eyes fell on Rowena and for a moment, her expression softened, only to be replaced within seconds with annoyance.

  “Rowena, you look a state! What is the matter with the both of you? Catherine?”

  Lady Hazelshire fixed her gaze on her younger daughter while a feeling of resignation overcame Rowena. If her sister told their mother the cause of their spat, it would all end right here on the steps. Whatever hopes she’d harbored in regard to the young man downstairs would be dashed.

  All she could do was turned her face toward her sister, and silently plead with her once more, knowing the young woman held her future in her hands.

  Chapter 17

  On the following Saturday, Christopher found himself in his seat at the House of Lords at an unusually early hour. A special session had been called in order to respond to the riots which had been broken out in Cambridgeshire the previous day. Cambridgeshire, the home of the Duke of Thornmouth, had been particularly hard hit by rising unemployment and the high cost of grain, causing unrest. In fact, it was he who was currently speaking on the floor.

  “We cannot allow the mob to take over our streets and run amok in such a manner. We must show them the strictest of justice. We must weed out each and every one of these rioters. We must make examples out of them all to prevent this behavior spreading elsewhere. Death to them all, I say!” He presently shouted to the cheer of many of his fellow lords.

  “Disgusting, I declare,” Nestor mumbled beside Christopher. “All these people want is to work and to provide for their families. It’s lords like Thornmouth reveling in their riches while letting their population starve that leads to these circumstances.”

  Christopher turned to his uncle. He was glad to hear him speak in such a manner for the common people. He leaned into his uncle.

  “It is not due to the lords who caused this state by repealing the income tax and by allowing an inflation to occur?”

  His uncle nodded, a look of pride flashing across his face.

  “It is indeed, my boy. I did not know that you have such wisdom of the running of the country.”

  He shrugged. “Mother often spoke of the plight of the less fortunate, and how things came to be as they are. In addition, Father was a keen Parliamentarian, as you know.”

  Just then, the Duke of Thornmouth turned to them, interrupting his heated speech.

  “Has the Duke of Westmond or the Earl of Totham anything to say or do they just enjoy their own personal conversation while the country is aflame?”

  Christopher’s nostrils flared at the direct challenge and he sucked in a breath of air.

  “Topher, it is not wise to–” Uncle Nestor started, but it was too late. Christopher had already risen.

  “Indeed, I do, Your Grace. I question the wisdom of you calling for the death of these men when it is in part your doing which has caused these riots.”

  “My doing?” Thornmouth replied, a smirk on his face as he turned to his fellow lords. “Do you hear this? It is our fault. Our doing.” He turned back to Christopher.

  “Indeed, it is. You have eliminated the income tax which placed undue burden on the poor who are left to pay the bulk of our national debt through indirect taxation. In addition, you have done nothing to increase employment opportunity in Cambridgeshire. It is no wonder they are rioting.”

  “The impertinence of the Duke of Westmond is outrageous,” Thornmouth hollered. “To come here as a new member of our prestigious House of Lords and to lecture us is unheard of.”

  “I will not contradict you in saying I am new. However, I will say that my fellow peers look no further than Lancashire and its surrounding counties to see that proper attention to these matters would have gone far in preventing these riots and discontent.” He looked out over the assembled crowd and spotted two familiar faces.

  “My Father had the foresight, along with Lord Dornton of Cumbria and Lord Westcott of Yorkshire, to ensure the population had proper access to grain and opportunity for work. I, along with them, intended to carry forward that approach. Are you with me?”

  For a moment, Christopher held his breath. The two lords he’d called out, Dornton and Westcott, were strong allies of his father, among the few who had assisted him in his dying days, both financially and with visits. Christopher, however, had been neglectful in maintaining the relationship, given that his focus had been on rebuilding his fortunes, as their alliance was already strong.

  What if they will not stand with me? What if I have made a fool of myself? Am I about to damage my entire future
because I could not help but engage Thornmouth?

  In reality, if any other Lord and stood up and spoken in the manner Thornmouth had, Christopher would have remained silent. He would have felt the same malcontent and the sentiment displayed, but he would have held his tongue. But their mutual interest in Rowena had spurned him to speak out, much to his own surprise.

  Then, to his relief, Lord Dornton and Westcott exchanged a glance, and both called out “Aye, we are.”

  The young man’s face darkened, and Christopher saw how the corners of his mouth twitched.

  “So, what is your suggestion then? As you seem to have all the answers, Lord Duke.”

  He tilted his head to one side and waited.

  He is sure I will fail, and that I will not have an answer. In truth, I do not. I had not planned to speak up and now I am the center of attention.

  It occurred to him that this was his opportunity to shine, to show the other lords that he could be counted on, and that he could lead as well. He took a deep breath and conjured up in his mind the images of those most dear to him. His mother, who had always been proud of him and believed in him, Lady Rowena, who he’d fallen in love with in such a short time but whom he’d love forever if she let him, and even his father. A proud Parliamentarian. Would he too be proud?

  Christopher glanced at his uncle who looked up at him, a smile on his face and expectation in his eyes. Christopher took a deep breath.

  “I agree we cannot allow this behavior to stand, lest it spread throughout the country. However, we cannot execute every rioter, as it will only spread more discontent throughout the entire realm. Instead, we must appoint a Special Commission to deal with the ringleaders. Sentence them. Execute the leaders if you must, though show mercy to the rest. These are men and women who simply want to work and provide for their families. It is we nobles who have made it impossible for many of them.”

  “You are a regular Lord Byron, I see,” Thornmouth quipped but to Christopher’s joy, many of the lords who had previously cheered Thornmouth remained silent. One, an older lord sitting just to the right of Thornmouth, even hissed at him to let Christopher continue.

  “I am certain if we show mercy and give all involved proper fair trials and measured sentences, we will see an end to further rioting. Then, we must ensure there is work for the paupers, access to necessities such as grain. It is our responsibility to ensure events such as what happened at Eyl and Littleton do not occur again.” He nodded at his fellow lords and took his seat. Beside him, his uncle called out “Hear, Hear!” which was swiftly joined by an array of other lords.

  He noted that many of the lords who cheered his notions were of the opposing Whig party. He spotted Earl Hazelshire seated among the Whig members. He did not cheer. However, when he and Christopher locked eyes, he smiled at him and gave him a nod which meant that while he did not approve, he at least respected Christopher’s courage.

  Thornmouth, meanwhile, scowled and continued for a little while to defend his position until, looking spent, he yielded the speakers position to the Lord Speaker.

  Christopher sat, shaking with excitement at this, his first exchange in the House of Lords. His uncle patted him on the back. “Well done, my boy.”

  Christopher turned to his uncle. “It occurs to me that my views appear to align more with the opposition than with our side.”

  His uncle shrugged. “Your opinions may not always align with our party. Mine don’t always align either. That does not mean you cannot forge alliances with the other side when particular matters strike you as important. It is what your Father always did. He followed his conscience, and it is what bought him the respect of his fellow peers.”

  Christopher leaned back; glad he had done what had felt right. He had only a moment to revel, however, for when he looked up, he saw Thornmouth glaring at him. A moment later the man pointed at him and mouthed “You and me,” and pointed outside. Christopher felt a rage build inside him once more and shrugged at the man in a non-committal manner. Inside, however, he was itching for a talk.

  By the end of the special session, a compromise, much in line with Christopher’s suggestion, had been struck. A Special Commission was to be convened and the rioters tried by the judges. Suggestions were made as to suitable punishments, ranging from time served in the local gaol to being sent to the colonies via ship. Execution appeared to have fallen out of favor, much to Christopher’s relief.

  He found himself rather popular with the Whig lords but to his surprise, even a few of the Torie lords came up to him and slapped him on the back, comparing his style of speaking to that of his late father. He was offered snuff by Lord Trattford, an influential peer of the Torie faction. Another, Lord Sunderton, invited him to take dinner at the well-known Whig club Brooks. By the time the Prince’s Chamber had emptied, Christopher was very pleased with the inroad he’d so inadvertently made with his fellow peers.

  “Didn’t know you had it in you, did you?” A familiar voice came just as he was readying himself to leave. He turned and saw Lord Hazelshire approach.

  “I had not planned to speak, but the Duke all but called on me.”

  Lord Hazelshire grimaced. “I will say, my future son-in-law has a distinct manner of handling himself and it usually serves him well. I am not certain the same can be said for today’s events.”

  Suddenly, Christopher’s heart sank. He’d not considered the possible repercussions of him challenging Thornmouth so publicly. He knew how important a peer he was and how much Lord Hazelshire seemed to relish their connection.

  “I hope my speaking out against the Duke’s plans has not placed you in an awkward position,” he started.

  Lord Hazelshire waved his arm dismissively. “This is politics. Isaac knows this well.”

  Isaac? Christopher had to think for a moment and then remembered. Isaac Travers was the Christian name of the Duke of Thornmouth. He was surprised to hear Lord Hazelshire use it with such ease. It was highly unusual to refer to anyone by their first name, let alone one with whom you were not yet related.

  He is trying to show me that he is closely connected to Thornmouth without pointing out the obvious. However, he genuinely does not seem concerned.

  “Well, then, that is good to hear.”

  He shrugged, “Especially if you and he and going to be family one day,” he winked at his obvious reference to the union he sought between Catherine and Christopher. Thus far, he’d been able to avoid having to discuss the matter, but he feared the time would come where that was not possible anymore.

  Quickly, he changed the subject. “Speaking of your daughters, how is Lady Rowena? I was ever so sorry to hear she took ill at our dinner.”

  Lord Hazelshire nodded. “It is indeed. My wife believed it was simply the tea cake she ate. She is not fond of sugar, Lady Hazelshire. She claims it causes headaches and all manner of other ailments, among them Rowena’s sudden illness. But she recovered well after a good nights’ sleep. In fact, the very next day, she and her Mother went to St. James’s Park for a carriage ride with Isaac.”

  Christopher’s heart sank.

  “Is that so? So, the courtship is proceeding well?”

  “Slower than I would like, but proceeding it is,” Hazelshire smiled, pleased indeed.

  He had to think quickly, for if the courtship was proceeding, then he had little time to convince Rowena to give in to what their hearts wanted. He had to find a way to see her again, and soon. Then, it came to him.

  “Lady Hazelshire mentioned a visit to Almack's.” The dance at the Almack's took place each Wednesday evening. While still five days away, at least it would be something to look forward to and a certainty to see Rowena.

  “By Jove, she did. And I was to remind you of it today. It appears our dear Catherine is eager to dance with you again too. To tell the truth, I believe it would be a marvelous distraction for all of my three roses. They are certainly in need.”

  “Is that so?” Christopher wondered what could have
happened in the past three days to cause the need for distraction for the Burton ladies.

  “Our ward, Miss Carmichael–you met her at the dinner. She has departed to take her position with Lord and Lady Portsmouth. She has been a part of our family for so many years and I must admit her absence is felt rather profoundly. Rowena has taken it particularly hard. They are ever so close. And Catherine,” he shook his head. “Betsy was her mentor for so many years. And my wife. Well. Sufficient to say, an evening at the Almack's may do them all well.”

  Christopher bit his bottom lip as he thought back to the lovely young woman who’d all but saved them from being discovered by Lady Hazelshire. He was genuinely concerned for her well-being, for Lord Portsmouth was known to be too personal with his servants. He considered once again raising his concerns with Lord Hazelshire, but after today’s display he did not wish to push his luck.