Mending the Duke’s Pride

by Admirand, C. H.

  “That would not do at all, your ladyship. Mrs. Peele said your mother wished for you to wear the deep rose day dress with the dark blue velvet spencer.”

  “I wish I could wear a day dress of my own choosing,” she mumbled.

  Martha looked as if she wanted to say something but bit her bottom lip instead.

  “Out with it, Martha,” Persephone said, hands on her hips. “’Tis obvious you have something to say.”

  “Er…Mrs. Peele and Mrs. Hughes were discussing your former color choices.”

  Persephone didn’t doubt they had. “And?”

  “They’re delighted your mother has finally taken the reins in that regard.”

  She felt her temper beginning to build, but tamped it down realizing it was not worth getting into a bumblebroth over. “I see.”

  “They don’t mean to sound judgmental,” Martha was quick to add.

  “Not to worry, I’ve known Mrs. Peele and Mrs. Hughes for many years. They speak their minds often and fluently.”

  “Then you’d not hold it against them?”

  “No,” Persephone reassured her. “That would be akin to telling the sun not to shine.”

  Martha nodded and undid the buttons at the back of Persephone’s gown. “’Tis a shame you cannot wear this on your outing. It’s lovely.”

  Persephone agreed. “When I’m in the country, I do not hold with such restrictive fashion dictates. My mother allows me to don one morning dress until after teatime…unless we are expecting visitors…and she always insists I change for dinner.”

  “I’ve heard there are assemblies and dances in the country,” Martha said.

  “Lively entertainment and society I’m more at ease in,” Persephone admitted. “Those who reside in London—or come for the Season, all seem a bit too avaricious.”

  Martha fell silent as she helped Persephone out of her dress. “Mrs. Peele said you preferred seeing to your own toilette—there’s warm water, but I can send for hot if you wish.”

  “This will be fine, thank you, Martha. I’ll need you to fasten me up shortly.”

  “Shall I return in an hour?”

  Persephone shook her head. “Half an hour would be fine.”

  She laid her mistress’ dress over her arm, saying, “Mrs. Peele said to bring this to her. She’ll see to the cleaning of it.”

  At Persephone’s nod, her maid closed the door behind her.

  A glance at the looking glass had her wondering what sort of gentleman she could expect to escort her on the afternoon’s ride in the park. She hoped he would be as easy to converse with as Lord Yarmouth.

  Time would tell.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  To say Persephone was surprised by Lord Harkwell’s appearance would be an understatement. He was of medium height with a stocky build, but the cause for surprise was the contrast of his bushy red eyebrows with his totally bald head. His cherubic smile was infectious and had her at ease in his company from the moment he walked in on the verge of laughter, hand extended to her.

  “Lady Persephone,” he greeted as he bowed deeply and, as Lord Yarmouth had done, held on to her hand a bit longer than was proper. The intensity in his gaze seemed at odds with his guileless grin. “You are not quite what I expected.”

  “I have heard that remark before,” she replied, hoping it wouldn’t sound too forward.

  His gaze had dipped to the bodice of her gown, resting there, leaving her feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

  She had to tug on her hand twice before he released her.

  Lady Farnsworth had been observing the exchange from the other side of the salon and chose that moment to speak up. “Lord Harkwell.”

  He visibly jolted before he composed himself and turned to greet her mother. “Ah, Lady Farnsworth,” he said silkily. “A pleasure.”

  “There has been a change in our plans for the evening—the late Lord Farnsworth’s brother, the Marquess of Ferndale, is in town and extended an invitation to an early intimate supper.”

  When Lord Harkwell did not comment, she continued, “I would be most grateful if you would shorten your ride around the park.”

  Lord Harkwell didn’t seem as amenable to the request as Persephone felt he should be. But she kept that thought and the last-minute change in their evening plans to herself for now. She’d question her mother after she returned from their ride.

  While waiting for Lord Harkwell to answer her mother, she thought of Lord Yarmouth’s manner. He had held on to her hand longer than seemly, but his gaze did not have the same dark intensity to it. He certainly had not let his eyes drift where no gentleman should be staring. Lord Yarmouth had spent an inordinate amount of time staring at her mother’s face, which Persephone knew was not the proper thing to do when first introduced to a lady.

  But his obvious interest in her mother and close inspection of her mother’s lovely face had not had the same unsettling feeling sprinting through Persephone as Lord Harkwell’s decided stare at her décolletage as if he were mentally cataloguing her person.

  Lord Yarmouth had not made her wonder if she would be safe with him.

  Lord Harkwell’s unapologetic lengthy inspection of her bodice—and only Lord knew what thoughts that engendered in the man—had the tiny hairs on the back of her neck bristling and an anxious feeling roiling in the pit of her stomach. Mayhap her mother had felt it, too. Had she manufactured the tale of their change in plans so as not to arouse the gentleman’s suspicions?

  “Most unfortunate,” Lord Harkwell finally responded. “Perhaps we can arrange a more satisfying outing for the end of the week?”

  His suggestion caught Persephone off guard, but a glance at her mother had her answering as Lady Farnsworth appeared to be lost in her own thoughts. “Er…yes, I suppose that would be quite agreeable.”

  He bowed, spun on his heel and left, snapping her mother out of her deep thoughts. “Lord Harkwell took his leave quite abruptly,” her mother commented. “I suppose he was not as agreeable as I was led to believe by Lord Allwood.”

  “His smile had been quite engaging at first,” Persephone said. “I do not believe I’ve ever met a gentleman who openly stared as he did.”

  “Most unseemly,” her mother agreed. “I do believe we shall cross him off my list.”

  “But, Mamma, I agreed he could call at the end of the week for another outing.”

  “I did not hear him ask,” Lady Farnsworth frowned. “For a drive?”

  Persephone shook her head. “I have no idea, though I believe he said a more satisfying outing. I thought perhaps he meant a longer drive than around the park.”

  “I shall send a message to Lord Harkwell that you are not available.”

  “But I accepted.”

  “Persephone, do not question me on this. There is something quite sinister in the man’s gaze.”

  “I did not note it at first. He seemed all kindness with his round face and open smile.”

  “What changed your mind?” her mother wanted to know.

  “The way his gaze slid down, resting for too long on my décolletage.”

  “I had heard the odd on dit he was desperate for an heir,” her mother said. “Whether or not he seeks to add to his nursery, a gentleman should never lower himself to behave in such a vile manner—and to my daughter in my salon!”

  “Phyllida had remarked at the ball that more than a few titled gentlemen seemed a bit over warm in their regard.”

  “Did she mention which gentlemen?”

  “Yes, but I cannot remember their names as I hadn’t recalled being introduced to any of them.”

  “When you see Phyllida at the ball tomorrow night, do ask her.”

  “Of course.” Persephone wanted nothing more than to pull her mother over to the settee and ring for tea but sensed her mother’s thoughts were far away. Lately, her mother seemed to lose herself in her thoughts for longer than was comfortable.

  To bring her mother back to the present, she asked, “Did you
not say Lord Harkwell had three children?”

  “Daughters,” her mother answered, although Persephone suspected she did not have her mother’s full attention.

  “Mamma, did Lord Allwood happen to mention how Lord Harkwell’s wife died?”

  Her mother fidgeted with the lace at her throat before meeting her daughter’s gaze. “Lady Harkwell suffered the loss of three infant sons too close together,” she rasped.

  Persephone willed her mother to tell her what she seemed loath to say. When her mother turned to go, Persephone asked, “Lady Harkwell never recovered from her lying in?”

  Shock had her mother reeling. “How you would even know about such topics has me shuddering to even discuss this further.”

  “Mamma,” Persephone whispered, walking over to wrap her arms about her mother. “I overheard your physician urging Father to take you to the country after you lost…” She could not continue and could have bitten off the tip of her tongue when her mother stiffened and pushed out of Persephone’s arms.

  “Listening at keyholes is another bad habit of yours, Daughter. See that you amend it.”

  “But, Mamma—”

  “You should rest until Mrs. Hughes sends a cold collation. Martha will help you dress in the new ballgown Madame Beaudoine sent along earlier. We must look our best for the marquess, he has been all kindness to us since the funeral.”

  “I had thought to stay home.”

  “In view of this afternoon’s cancellation, and removal of Lord Harkwell from my list of your potential suitors, we would not want word to spread that you’d sent the gentleman on his way due to our change in plans for the evening and then not appear at said event.”

  “Who would know if we are attending a small supper with family?”

  “Persephone, your uncle is the Marquess of Ferndale and quite popular. No doubt, intimate will mean at least fifty members of the ton will be in attendance.”

  “I see.” She didn’t really but felt it best not to beleaguer the subject.

  “I suggest you retire, while I send a message to Lord Harkwell.”

  A sinking feeling had Persephone wondering if it was due to the message, the gentleman’s ill manners, or the fact her mother never spoke of the two sons she lost in childbirth.

  Persephone followed her mother out of the salon, but they parted ways at the foot of the stairs, her mother going to her private sitting room and Persephone to her bedchamber.

  “Doomed to be left in the dark, I fear.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Earl Lippincott sipped from his glass of port with the pretext of playing cards, while he listened quite intently to the conversation at the next table.

  At times, the volume of multiple conversations was a bit tedious. Careful not to appear too interested in the on dit the gentleman behind him was sharing, Edward placed his bet and promptly lost the hand.

  “Must not be my night for cards.” He rose and nodded to the three men at his table. “Have an appointment, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Assignation, Lippincott?” one of his cronies cheerfully asked.

  He’d given his word to his brother and could not let the comment rest. The family name had yet to be fully restored. His glare belied the ease of his tone. “I beg your pardon?”

  The man looked up and must have seen the deadly promise in the earl’s gaze. “Apolo­gies…appoint­ment.”

  “See that you do not repeat or embellish what you just said,” he warned.

  The three men exchanged glances, decidedly uneasy. “You have my word,” the man promised.

  Unsure who could be trusted anymore, the earl inclined his head and left. Intent on following the two men who’d been at the table behind him, he slipped into the shadow of the alley alongside the building and waited. One man walked to the left while the other hailed his coachman and waited to be assisted into a rather smart-looking coach. Quite new.

  Preferring to make use of a hackney, unless he had a lady to escort to one of the many rounds of entertainment of an evening, the earl hailed one and instructed the driver to follow along behind the coach and four being drawn by four matched grays a few blocks ahead.

  The driver obliged. When the coach pulled up in front of a modest home, just outside the fashionable district, the earl instructed the hack to drive on past and let him off further up the street between lighted lampposts.

  The shadows would hide his movements should the gentleman alighting from the coach be watching him. He’d overheard the man tell his coachman to collect him in two hours’ time. Obviously, he hadn’t wanted to be observed, given the way the man had been whisked inside the home after a brief knock.

  Edward made note of the address in the small notebook he’d begun carrying after the conversation he’d had with his brother about his personal guard. Jared had been adamant about not bringing any more of a stigma to the family name. What worried Edward was Jared’s question, asking if it were possible there were those out there ready to discredit him because of their older brother’s actions.

  The conversation he’d overheard at White’s had been unsettling, the barely disguised disgust as the words duke and Wyndmere were spoken had captured Edward’s attention and added to the mounting worry Jared had been correct. Good God, someone intended to discredit his brother, the new duke. Someone with social connections and the monetary means to follow through with the threat he’d overheard. But not if Edward had anything to say in the matter.

  Lurking about, waiting, for the next two hours would no doubt have someone calling the Watch down on him…something he had no intention of doing.

  Walking past the modest home, he heard the all-too-familiar keening cry of a woman in the throes of ecstasy. He sighed. It had been too long since he’d last had that distinct pleasure. “Soon,” he mumbled to himself as he walked quickly past. He had his sights set, the lady selected, and intended to begin wooing her as soon as this latest potential threat had been dealt with.

  “Bloody inconvenient, all around.”

  Hailing another hackney, he ruminated over what he’d chanced to overhear at White’s and observed a short while ago, until the cab stopped in front of the duke’s town house. He paid the fare and stepped down onto the sidewalk. The soft sound behind him had him turning in time to block the worst of the blow from the heavy club. The earl evaded and received more than one blow while returning a few solid blows to his attacker.

  The scuffle turned deadly when the footpad brandished a wicked-looking blade. As he grappled with the assailant, help came from an unexpected quarter. The attacker realized he’d lost the advantage and tried to escape, but the man could not break free from the imposing footmen his brother had recently hired on.

  Edward rose to his feet grimacing at the long tear in the side seam of his new deep blue frockcoat. “You’re going to pay to have that repaired and more,” he said, coming to a halt in front of his attacker.

  The man kicked out, but Edward was quick on his feet and sidestepped the move. Before he could call the Watch, another familiar figure appeared out of the alleyway alongside their home. “Patrick?”

  “Aye, yer lordship. I heard the scuffle.” Turning to his men, he asked, “Have ye called for the Watch?”

  “Nay,” the men replied.

  “Was this fellow lurking about?” Edward asked.

  “Came out of the blue as ye stepped down from the hack,” one of the men answered.

  Edward turned his attention to the man who’d jumped him. “Who sent you?”

  The man’s eyes gave away his thoughts…someone had indeed sent the man. Edward was about to grab hold of the man’s shirtfront, when the Watch arrived.

  “I’d like to question him further,” Edward told the watchman.

  The watchman nodded. “As soon as I deliver him to the constable.” He looked at the three men surrounding the footpad. “Seeing’s how you have him subdued, bring him along, mind?”

  “These men are employed by my brother, the Duke
of Wyndmere,” Edward told the watchman.

  His eyes rounded with respect and fear. “I meant no disrespect ordering them about. It’s just they’ve got a good grip and this one looks a might tricky to hold on to.”

  Edward nodded, admitting, “He is.”

  The watchman held his lantern close to the assailant’s face and then Edward’s. “Begging your pardon, your lordship,” he said, “but that eye looks a bit dicey. You may want to have it looked at and follow along afterward.”

  “Awfully chatty for a night watchman, aren’t you?” Edward drawled.

  The man shrugged. “Not much usually happens on this end of my watch. Less if a gentleman’s taken a bit too much of the drink, mind?”

  The man seemed to be earnest in his job. He could not fault the watchman for it.

  “May I suggest, yer lordship,” Patrick began, “I could go in yer stead and report back with whatever information me cousins and I…” he glanced at the others and the man still held securely between them, “…extract from him.”

  Edward had a feeling they planned to beat it out of the man, given what he’d learned of their reputed skills and coin earned bare-knuckle fighting. “A sound notion, thank you.”

  “We’ll be deliverin’ this amadon to the constable,” he said with a quick glance at his men. “I’ll be reportin’ back to ye,” Patrick told the earl.

  With that, they were off. The night watchman led the way, holding his lantern high and his staff at the ready, while two O’Malleys held the assailant between them with Patrick guarding the rear.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lady Hampton looked up as Viscount Hollingford strode into her salon. She hadn’t seen him for the last two days and wondered how their plans were faring. Should she ask? The last time she’d pointedly questioned him, he’d been irritated, but had grudgingly answered.

  He’d come into her life abruptly. She suspected he’d leave just as abruptly, once she was no longer useful to him. Knowing how her appearance affected him, she’d dressed to distract him, hoping to get the answers to her questions before he took what they both wanted.