Mending the Duke’s Pride

by Admirand, C. H.

The duke seemed visibly shaken. “And you heard the name quite clearly?”

  “Aye.”

  “You’ve done well, Patrick.” The duke walked to the chair behind his desk and sat heavily. “When Sean returns, please come back with him, I’d like to talk to you both and go over our next steps.”

  “Aye, Yer Grace.”

  Patrick made the rounds of the town house, checking in with his brother and cousins as he did so. Two hours later, Sean returned with his best bottle green coat torn at the shoulder, his one sleeve gaping where something sharp slashed at it, sporting a bruise on his jaw.

  “Was there a donnybrook?”

  Sean shook his head, then groaned. “The man that jumped me had fists the size of matured hams.” He winced touching his injured jaw.

  “We best be reportin’ this at once.” Patrick directed the men to stand watch on the outside perimeter. They slipped outside and he was grateful they were here. They’d watch over the duke’s household as if it were their own.

  The duke was in his study when Jenkins announced them. One look at Sean and he motioned for them to enter his study. Closing the door behind him, he broke tradition and handed Sean a glass of whiskey.

  Sean stared at the glass, sent a sidelong questioning glance at his cousin before meeting the duke’s pointed gaze.

  “Any man in my employ who takes a fist to the face on his first day, while on an errand doing my bidding, deserves two fingers of whiskey.”

  “Thank ye, Yer Grace.” Sean tossed the whiskey back and hissed through his teeth. “Forgot about the damage on the inside of me jaw.”

  “Have Mrs. O’Toole make a poultice for the swelling on your jaw. Where were you and do you know who jumped you?”

  “Just outside Styles’ place of business—he operates out of the Three Bells on Grace Church Street.”

  The duke nodded and, as he had while Patrick relayed his report, let the man finish. At his nod, Sean continued. “Two amadons, near me own height, but three stone heavier.”

  “Amadons?”

  “Large, dull-witted men,” Patrick supplied.

  “Ah,” the duke said, “Did you recognize either of them?”

  “No, Yer Grace.”

  “Patrick, ask Mrs. O’Toole to see to the poultice, while I ring for Stames who’ll see what he can do to repair Sean’s coat.”

  The duke didn’t show any expression until he was alone. He blew out a breath and shook his head. “An urgent message from a mysterious lady, two meetings and four newly hired footmen who’ll add to my personal guard…my life has gone from rather staid to having all the makings of a Haymarket production.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “It’s all rather vexing, Mamma.” Persephone blew an ink-black strand of hair from her eyes, gauging her mother’s mood to be far more amenable than it had been the previous day.

  Thank goodness, she thought, before adding, “I don’t see why one dance…one waltz with the Duke of Wyndmere would convince anyone I was innocent of all charges—which I am—sending the lot of fortune hunters back to our doorstep.”

  “If your father were here, he’d warn you were leaning toward dramatics, dearest.”

  Persephone sighed deeply. Her mother was right. Father would have, but then they’d laugh together, and all would be well. It wasn’t the same without him. She missed him terribly.

  “Mamma—”

  Lady Farnsworth reached for her daughter’s hand. “I miss him more than you know.”

  But Persephone did know. Her mother’s desperate grip was the first indication. She’d best distract her mother else she’d be transported back to that horrible moment in time when they’d had to accept they’d lost Lord Samuel Farnsworth.

  “What lordling have you singled out for me today, Mamma?”

  Her mother let go of Persephone’s hand and sat back. “I do hope you’ll refrain from using that expression in polite company—especially that of Lord Harkwell.”

  “Have I met him?” Persephone did not remember the name at all. Mayhap he was an acquaintance of her mother’s.

  “I have it on good authority he is above reproach and a lovely gentleman, quite well off, you know.”

  “Does not reveal much of his character, does it?” She wondered if she’d be reduced to selecting dancing partners from the list her mother had drawn up. Were their names listed in order of importance…or their annual income?

  “You did give your word, Daughter.”

  When her mother used that tone, Persephone paid close attention, venturing to ask, “What fascinating on dit do you have concerning my latest dancing partner?”

  Her mother frowned, but answered, “Perhaps if we attend this evening’s round of entertainments, you most certainly will dance with him. But for now, he’s escorting you on a drive through the park this afternoon.”

  “Thank goodness I won’t have to entertain him while enjoying our afternoon tea.”

  “As to that, Daughter, I’ve extended an invitation to Lord Yarmouth to take tea with us.”

  “Another mysterious lord I’ve yet to meet.” Persephone turned to study her mother’s face. “Have I?”

  “Er…no, dear. You have not met either gentleman.”

  “And they have impeccable family connections? And not with pockets to let?” Persephone could not help but add how she truly felt. “I do so detest when my escort stares at me as if I’m a veritable treasure chest filled with gold sovereigns.”

  Watching her mother out of the corners of her eyes, Persephone felt safe adding, “Next, they’ll drift off and stop engaging in polite conversation while they contemplate how best to add to their equine stables with my fortune.”

  Her mother’s soft laughter eased a bit of Persephone’s worry. If her mother could navigate society without the staunch support of the man she’d grown to love, then she could brave an outing with Lord What’s-his-name after taking tea with Lord So-and-so.

  Good heavens, the tedium of it all. Life was far more to her liking when she could bury her nose in a book with a pot of tea and a flaky confection to tempt her discriminating palate. Actually, she preferred sweets with her tea above all things…not as discriminating as she’d thought.

  “Ah, there’s the smile I was hoping for today. Now, as far the recommendation of both gentlemen you’ll be meeting, I have it on good authority both are in the market for a wife this Season and have vowed to marry before July.”

  “Who recommended them and why such haste?”

  “Your father’s good friend Lord Allwood.”

  Persephone had a bad feeling about the two gentlemen she would be meeting for the first time today. “And you’re certain I’ve never met them?”

  “Yes, dearest. Both have recently gone through the appropriate period of mourning.”

  “Widowed? Do they have children? How old are they?”

  Her mother’s sigh was long and a bit on the exasperated side, if Persephone had to admit it. “Yes. Three each. Forty and forty-five.”

  Persephone’s head ached. “Do I have all of the facts, Mother? Should I be asking how either gentleman’s wife died as you have not seen fit to tell me?”

  “Do not push me, Persephone.”

  “As I’m the one who will have to tolerate the company of two gentlemen who are nearly twice my age…old enough to be my father, which I find most off-putting…I think it best you impart that last bit of information.” She paused to lock gazes with her mother. “Or are you not concerned I might ask them myself?”

  Her mother pushed back her chair and stood, back straight, dark brown eyes flashing a warning Persephone did not care to heed. “That will be all, Persephone.”

  “I have the greatest respect for you, Mother, but in this I will not be dissuaded. I will know the circumstances, or I shall make my own way to our home in Sussex.”

  “You would not dare.”

  Persephone’s laugh sounded harsh to her own ears. “Do you not recall my doing just that midway through my f
irst Season?”

  Her mother fell silent for a moment before answering. “I had set that distressing time aside as it was too much of an embarrassment to bear at the time. You father was quite unhappy with your attitude and actions, although he never discussed it with you.”

  Persephone felt as if someone had squeezed her heart, wringing every ounce of emotion from her breast, leaving her hollowed-out like her favorite childhood hideaway—the dead tree at the edge of the park near their country home.

  Empty. Dried up. Forgotten…

  “I am sorry he never spoke of it,” Persephone whispered. “I would have reconsidered my course of action had he enlightened me.”

  Lady Farnsworth’s shoulders slumped the tiniest bit, but Persephone noted that fact. “I see my feelings on the matter were of no great import.”

  “I never said—”

  “No matter,” her mother interrupted. “Water under the proverbial bridge as it were.” Lady Farnsworth smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her sleeve and drew in a breath. “Now, as to your choice of clothing. Madame Beaudoine will deliver the first of your new gowns tomorrow. Mrs. Peele and I have discussed the matter and have a lovely plan all mapped out for what you shall wear until then.”

  Persephone’s mouth gaped open.

  “Dearest, do close your mouth.”

  Persephone snapped it shut, and swallowed the retort poised upon her tongue. Instead, she asked, “And I have no say in the matter?”

  Her mother smiled. “None.”

  “I see.”

  “I do not think you do, Daughter,” her mother said, “but by week’s end, I am certain you shall. I will send Mrs. Peele with your lady’s maid.”

  Persephone shot to her feet. “I do not have a lady’s maid. You and Father gave me permission to dispense with that tediousness.”

  “Ah, but you are going to be married by the end of the Season and should get used to the fact all ladies of consequence have personal lady’s maids. It should be a comfort to you, as your maid will, in all likelihood, go with you when you marry.”

  Persephone had not the words. Barely able to draw in a breath, she wondered if shock could kill a person. She’d never thought her mother’s oft-used threat these last four years held any weight. The very idea her mother was serious and intended to marry her off before the end of the Season had her reevaluating her stand. She’d thought it all hum. A jest. Not fact.

  Good God, she did not wish to marry. Would refuse to marry. Her mother could not force her, could she? Walking slowly up the staircase, she realized a truth she had not considered. “She could most certainly force me to marry a man of her choosing. It’s done all the time. Barter me off to the highest bidder with little or no consultation beforehand.”

  Muttering to herself as she made her way to her bedchamber, Persephone wished, not for the first time, she’d been born a boy—she’d have already reached her majority and could do as she wished. Spend her yearly stipend on prime horseflesh at Tattersall’s, or lose it all on the turn of a card at White’s—or dare she even contemplate—one of the infamous gaming hells in the stews of London. She could even set up a mistress or two in a fine home just outside of the fashionable Mayfair.

  “Not quite sure what I’d do with my mistress. Unless what Phyllida and Cressida told me was the truth. But it all sounded so utterly…physical.” She could confirm that bit if her mother was convinced Persephone had accepted her lot and would be requiring such information prior to marrying Lord What’s-his-name or Lord So-and-so.

  Resolved, she opened her door and quietly closed it behind her. She had much to think about and was suddenly quite exhausted at the prospect of going for a drive in the park with Lord What’s-his-name.

  “Bloody hell, I have to take tea with Lord So-and-so first.” She climbed on her bed, lay down and closed her eyes. Maybe she could will herself to sleep. “Either that, or I’ll be tying the bedclothes together and climbing out my window again.”

  She sighed. She wasn’t a green girl of six and ten anymore. Quite grown up and responsible at the advanced age of two and twenty. Groaning, she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling. Most other girls her age had married well and produced the requisite heir and a spare. “I never wanted to marry.”

  Her heart whispered, you’ve never met a man equal to your father…her personal yardstick to measure each and every suitor by. Defeated, she closed her eyes once more. Letting her thoughts fly south to their home in Sussex, she walked the paths to the wooded park in her mind and sat in the library with one of her favorite books and a pot of tea. As she drifted between the unacceptable present and happier times, a tall broad-shouldered devastatingly handsome man clad in black walked into the library. He bowed, took her hand and led her into a waltz.

  The press of his hand at her waist warmed her. His nearness solidified her impression of strength held in check, with a surety that should he need it, he would unleash it. As they whirled to the music swelling about them, the walls of the library faded until they’d disappeared and they were dancing on the terrace in the moonlight. Her head quickly followed where her heart led.

  This was a man she would consider as a life partner. This was a man confident in himself. He would not need to marry her for her fortune for he had one of his own. He would want her for herself…unladylike vices and all.

  She lifted her eyes and was drawn to the intensity of his piercing blue gaze. Approval and amusement gave way to something darker, more intimate…desire for her. She sighed and he drew her closer, all the while whirling her around and around. When his lips captured hers, she melted against him, devastated by the feelings his clever mouth drew from her.

  Held in his strong arms, Persephone knew she would willingly give up her freedom for the duke—

  She woke with a start, her heart racing, as if she had truly been dancing. Hand to her breast, there was no denying who she’d dreamed of. The Duke of Wyndmere had, indeed, succeeded where others had failed. He’d captured her heart while they’d waltzed.

  “Whatever am I going to do now?”

  The knock on her door had her scrubbing a hand over her eyes as if to rid herself of the devastatingly realistic dream. “Come in.”

  “You’ve rested then,” Mrs. Peele said. “Your mother will be pleased.” She turned and glanced behind her to the slim girl waiting in the doorway. “Martha, meet Lady Persephone.” When the girl curtseyed, Mrs. Peele said, “Martha is to be your lady’s maid.” With that, their housekeeper smiled and left them alone.

  “Shall I ring for water for your bath, Lady Persephone?”

  Persephone sighed and got out of bed. “Er…yes, Martha. Thank you.”

  When the servant appeared, her lady’s maid requested hot water for her ladyship’s bath and a pot of tea.

  “I didn’t ask for tea,” Persephone said, wondering if she had and forgotten. Her head was so full of her dream, she could scarcely credit it. “Did I?”

  “Sorry, your ladyship. Mrs. Peele mentioned you often requested tea while waiting for your bath to be filled.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Ofttimes, I do.”

  “Very good. Mrs. Peele advised you would be wearing the deep blue silk with the embroidered sleeves and sheer overdress.”

  Persephone sighed. No use to go against her mother’s orders…which no doubt Mrs. Peele delighted in. Those two had been pinning their hopes Persephone would marry for the last four Seasons. It may be time to consider at least meeting a few of the gentlemen. If she were to appear to acquiesce, mayhap her mother would be more lenient when Persephone received an offer of marriage.

  “I could refuse.”

  “But the blue gown would be so lovely with your coloring, milady.”

  Startled by the comment, she realized she’d said that last aloud. “You’re quite right, Martha, it was the reason Madame Beaudoine suggested the fabric.”

  Tea arrived along with the buckets of hot water. She sipped as Martha supervised the filling of the slipper t
ub, adding dried lilac blossoms. Her favorite scent filled the small alcove where the tub sat and drifted toward her.

  “Shall I help you undress?”

  Persephone shook her head. “I’m sure Mrs. Peele told you my preferences.”

  Martha nodded. “I’ll just unbutton the back of your dress if you’ll turn around.”

  Persephone complied and was surprised at the easy rhythm she and Martha had adopted. While she did not want to have a lady’s maid, Martha was quite capable and performed her duties quickly and quietly.

  “If I may,” Martha pointed to Persephone’s dress, “such a lovely dress, it’d be a shame to rend one of the seams. Let me help you out of it.”

  Persephone found herself in her shift and Martha curtseying once more. “I’ll be right outside. Ring if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Martha.”

  “My pleasure, Lady Persephone.”

  When the door closed, she slipped out of her chemise and stepped into the softly scented bath water. “Ah, that feels wonderful.” Persephone soaked until the water grew cool. Chilled, she was reaching for her drying towel when she heard Mrs. Peele on the other side of her door.

  “She’s still in the tub! Dear girl, this won’t do at all. Lady Persephone could catch a chill. Ring for tea at once.”

  Persephone stepped out of the tub and wrapped the large soft cloth about her. She did feel a bit of a chill.

  “Lady Persephone, may I come in?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Peele.”

  The stout housekeeper bustled into the room, closing the door behind her. “What shall we do with you? You didn’t mean to stay in the tub so long, did you? Lady Farnsworth will be sending for her physician if you show the least bit sign of a chill settling in.”

  “It felt quite lovely and you know I tend to dream among the lilac buds and hot water.”

  Mrs. Peele nodded. “But to stay so long.”

  “I am certain Martha will not listen in the future, should I tell her I’ll summon her when I’m ready for her.”

  “You have the right of it. Now, slip this chemise over your head and we’ll wrap you in that lovely lamb’s wool dressing gown.”