Mending the Duke’s Pride

by Admirand, C. H.

  The duke shrugged. “It cannot be helped. Even though I am not leaving town, I have this feeling in my gut.”

  “What would that be?”

  “I need you to assign someone to watch over Lady Persephone.”

  “Is there more here than what I have already surmised?” Coventry asked.

  The duke raised an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

  “You have formed a tendre for her.”

  The duke sighed. “She’s intelligent and caring.”

  “And an earl’s daughter,” Coventry finished for him.

  “That, too.”

  “You did not seem to find her penchant for ill-favored gowns a deterrent.”

  “I do not.”

  “Although as of late, it has been noted she has been seen in a more pleasing palate of colors. And relieved of the spectacles she has been known to wear from time to time.”

  The duke’s gaze met Coventry’s. “Leave it for now. Please see to it she has one of the O’Malleys for protection.”

  “What if she notices she’s being followed?”

  The duke rubbed the back of his neck before answering. “Bloody hell. She would notice, wouldn’t she?”

  “Without a doubt,” Coventry replied.

  “Mayhap I should arrange a meeting with the Marquess of Ferndale to apprise him of the situation.”

  “If I may make a suggestion, Jared,” Coventry said.

  The duke smiled. “Of course.”

  “Be certain to speak with Lady Farnsworth first. It wouldn’t do to appear to be making arrangements for her daughter without consulting her.”

  “Agreed, but would it not appear as if I were too interested in their affairs?”

  Coventry shrugged. “You said you felt there was a connection. I have felt that as well.”

  “And the gossips?” the duke asked.

  “Will say what they will. You have observed first-hand how the latest on dits spread like wildfire amongst the ton.”

  “Is there a way to speak to Lady Farnsworth and the marquess without the whole of society finding out?”

  Coventry seemed to be considering his words. At last, he said, “The ducal carriage is quite well known about town.”

  “Then how in the bloody hell am I to arrange a meeting to protect them?”

  “Send word via messenger to the marquess through your solicitors. Have him meet you there.”

  The duke nodded. “A sound notion.”

  “Now about Lady Farnsworth…” Coventry began.

  “Can I not arrange the same sort of meeting at Roxbury’s offices?”

  Coventry seemed to be mulling it over. “Probably the safest option at this point in time without having all of society believing you to be on the verge of offering for Lady Persephone.”

  “I’d best send word immediately.” The duke walked to his chair and sat down to pen the note. “I need to have the lady’s safety assured before I can give my undivided attention to other matters.”

  “I do believe there is another way…if you are as concerned as you seem to be about Lady Persephone’s safety.”

  The duke paused. “And that would be?”

  “You could offer for Lady Persephone’s hand and dispense with the need to involve the marquess altogether.”

  The duke put the quill in its holder, pushed back his chair and steepled his fingers, tapping them together. “If you will recall, we had a similar conversation about me entering the marriage mart a few months back.”

  Coventry smiled. “Ah, but that was before I realized you have feelings for the lovely Lady Persephone.”

  The duke stared at the closed door to his study. “She is lovely, isn’t she?”

  Coventry agreed. “I do believe it is her eyes.”

  “A rich, warm brown,” the duke murmured. “I shall have to carefully consider this. It wouldn’t do to jump in headfirst.”

  “I have no doubt you will, Jared.”

  “Consider this carefully, or jump in headfirst?”

  Coventry chuckled. “Does it matter which?”

  The duke rose to his feet. “I do not believe it does,” he said slowly. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Coventry opened the study door saying, “May I be the first to congratulate you.”

  The duke shook his head. “I’ve yet to offer for her.”

  “Ah, but after careful consideration, I do believe you will.”

  The duke was smiling as they walked down the hallway. “Indeed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lady Farnsworth received the duke’s missive with a calm she did not quite feel. A duke had offered for her daughter—notorious for wearing bilious-colored gowns to balls. The same darling daughter who’d borrowed a pair of spectacles, undoubtedly from one of their servants. It simply wouldn’t do to think she’d accosted a perfect stranger and begged to borrow them.

  “Good Lord, now I’m beginning to think the way Persephone would.” She sighed and read the message a second time.

  Lady Farnsworth,

  I will call on you at half four to formally ask permission for your daughter’s hand in marriage. I anticipate your agreement to this request.

  JML, Duke of Wyndmere

  “You must have had something to do with this, Samuel,” she whispered, holding the note to her heart. Tears gathered, but she blinked them away. She had much to do in the next few hours. The duke seemed certain of her agreement and, really, who in their right mind would decline an offer from such an inestimably eligible parti?

  The Duke of Wyndmere! She would see to it nothing occurred to change the duke’s present course of action. Especially on Persephone’s part…given her errant daughter’s penchant for preferring gowns of hideous color and involving herself in bumblebroths.

  That brought her up short. Good heavens, the duke knew of Persephone’s latest…adventure—for lack of better word—with Persephone and Phyllida being rescued by a pawn shop owner. Yet he still offered marriage. Was there more here that she needed to know? Why offer for her hand now?

  She yanked the embroidered servant’s bell pull harder than she intended. Immediately, she ordered her thoughts as she waited for either Crompton or Mrs. Peele to answer the summons.

  Crompton was prompt. “Your ladyship?”

  “Any word about Martha?”

  Crompton shook his head. “Not a word,” he answered. “Not like her at all.”

  Lady Farnsworth agreed and dismissed her butler. She had much to discuss with the duke.

  *

  The duke arrived at the Farnsworth town house promptly at half four, as he intended. Not for the first time, he thought how bloody tedious this duke business was. All manner of ducal and societal mores and strictures to be adhered to. If he’d been simply the second son…but Oliver had put paid to that when he’d been caught with his paramour Lady Hampton. He suspected she and Hollingford were in league with one another, but required the proof.

  “This way, Your Grace.” Lady Farnsworth’s butler led him to the salon where he’d first met with Lady Persephone and her mother.

  “Your Grace.” She rose to meet him halfway, dismissed the butler and motioned toward the seat across from her. “I thought we would be more comfortable discussing my daughter’s future in the salon. The study is a bit too stuffy for my taste.”

  He waited for her to sit before doing so. He wondered if mayhap a bit of her daughter’s personality quirks were inherited from her mother. He had not had the pleasure of meeting Persephone’s father before the man’s untimely death, so he would not be able to surmise if she took after her father.

  “Tea?”

  Resigned to a lengthier meeting than he’d anticipated, the duke replied, “Yes, thank you, Lady Farnsworth.”

  While they waited for the tea to arrive, the lady seemed to be ill at ease. He wondered if it was his presence, or the nature of his call. He’d never offered marriage to anyone before and was not quite sure he was going about it the pr
oper way. He should have asked for advice…but from whom? Edward? Coventry? Jenkins? That last thought boggled the mind.

  Belatedly, he realized Lady Farnsworth was staring at him. Had she asked him a question? “I do apologize, Lady Farnsworth, unforgiveable lapse. Pray what did you ask?”

  She held his gaze for long moments before clearing her throat. “I said that in view of yesterday’s occurrence, I was surprised to receive your note and offer of marriage for my daughter.”

  He had no idea why and said as much.

  “It is no secret you have been trying to restore your family’s good name,” she told him. “I cannot help but wonder if you had noticed trouble seems to—”

  “Follow Lady Persephone quite closely?”

  “Er…yes, precisely. Not her fault, her father indulged her from a young age.”

  The duke wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, so he nodded, hoping that would suffice.

  “But yesterday was far and away the most difficult…” She never finished the statement, merely staring off into the distance.

  “Since the night I met your daughter, and acted in what some may see as an untoward manner, although that could not be further from the truth or my intention,” he said, “I have felt a certain responsibility toward your daughter and, as of last evening, have had one of my men assigned to watch over her.”

  Lady Farnsworth’s brows raised in question. But before she could speak, the housekeeper and one of the maids arrived with tea.

  While Persephone’s mother poured, he wondered what she had been about to ask. Fortunately, he did not have long to wait. “Might I ask why, Your Grace?”

  “I had not realized at first that my actions might cause her to be the subject of ridicule. I felt I owed it to you and your daughter to protect her. My brother, the fifth duke…” he could not go on without divulging more than he ever intended.

  “It is not easy navigating society without an oar,” she said softly. “I have felt as if I’ve been going about without direction since I lost my husband.”

  He knew what it felt like to lose someone close to him and had felt the loss quite keenly. “I am sorry for your loss, Lady Farnsworth.”

  Her eyes seemed a bit bright, but she blinked and thanked him. “If you don’t mind my asking, Your Grace, was there any other particular reason you have offered for my daughter?”

  His mind emptied, completely and quite rapidly.

  “It would be my hope that feeling responsible for her would not be the only reason you wish to wed Persephone.”

  He thought of the curve of her cheek, the warmth of her smile and color of her eyes…the way they fit together when they’d waltzed in the moonlight. “I assure you, Lady Farnsworth, I would not offer marriage on the basis of responsibility.”

  “Why ever not?” she asked. “There have been many gentlemen who have been a bit over warm in their attentions where a lady is concerned, who have had no choice but to offer marriage out of their sense of responsibility.”

  “Let me repeat, I am not offering out of a sense of responsibility.” His conscience smote him. And what is the name of the man you’ve assigned to see to her safety? A different matter entirely, he reasoned with his conscience.

  “Pray forgive me, Your Grace, but as Persephone’s mother, I must be blunt and tell you she has no wish to marry, and her father indulged her in that regard. Before he died, he promised should she not receive an offer from a gentleman she felt she could accept, then she would be able to retire to our country estate at the end of this Season.”

  “I see.”

  “I do believe she is at ease in your company,” she told him.

  “Not a promising start to this negotiation.”

  “Ah, but it is, Your Grace. If Persephone was put off by your mien, your character, I would, of course, have refused your offer immediately.”

  “Have you refused more than one offer already?”

  She smiled and asked, “Berry tart?”

  He knew then that Lady Farnsworth was not about to answer his question. An ideal quality he thought, if that person happened to be in his employ. Not, however, in his future mother by marriage. “Thank you.”

  They chatted amiably while they nibbled on the confections the Farnsworth cook had prepared. When she’d run out of tea to pour and sweets to tempt him with, she sighed. “I confess, I hadn’t thought to be in this position, having to receive and or reject offers of marriage for my daughter.”

  He nodded.

  “I had thought my husband would be the one to handle this aspect. However,” she said, turning to him, “since it has fallen to me, I would ask that Persephone give her answer before I give mine.”

  “And if she accepts?”

  “Then you have my blessing.”

  “And should she refuse?”

  “Then I would have no choice but to refuse.”

  “Would you allow me a few moments to speak with her alone?”

  Lady Farnsworth stood and the duke did as well. “As long as the door remains open,” she said, “then by all means.”

  The duke returned to his seat. Of course he would have to observe the proprieties in this regard as he fully intended to have his offer of marriage accepted. He’d sorted through his reasons the night before, deciding marriage to the lady would help him navigate society. With her aid, his sister would make an advantageous match. As his duchess, he would be assured of her safety.

  But more, he realized as he retired for the evening, he needed her in his life…for purely selfish reasons. Hers was the face he envisioned seeing over breakfast, and as they snuffed out the candle on the bedside table at night. Jared knew she fit perfectly in his arms. She’d reawakened something he had successfully closed off after his father died and held at bay while his older brother did his very best to bankrupt their estates and ruin the family name.

  He hesitated to give voice to the emotion bubbling up inside of him when he thought of spending the rest of his life with Persephone at his side. It felt too close to an emotion he hadn’t ever thought to feel.

  “Your Grace,” Persephone greeted him as she swept into the room, wearing a gown of subdued color. More blue than gray and, thankfully, without a trace of yellow or green.

  “Lady Persephone,” he replied as he rose and bowed over her hand.

  “Mother said you wished to have a word with me.”

  “I do. Won’t you sit down?”

  When she sat, he stood off to the left and stared at her.

  “Is aught amiss?” she asked.

  He blinked and realized he had yet to speak. Don’t make a muddle of this, his conscience warned. “I confess I’ve never done this before,” he said slowly, going with the truth.

  The friendly look in her eyes gave way to hesitation, yet she waited for him to speak.

  “I have asked your mother’s permission to marry you.”

  Persephone’s mouth gaped open for longer than he thought appropriate. He was surprised by her immediate lack of response. When she closed her mouth a few moments later, he found himself unable to wait. “Well?”

  “Well, what?” she finally managed.

  “Will you consent to be my wife?”

  “Why?”

  Bloody hell! The chit wanted to know why? Hell, he didn’t know if he could explain it in terms she would not take offense to. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d expire if she refused his addresses. He could always rusticate in the country and search for a bride next Season.

  His sister’s face implanted itself in his mind’s eye. No, that would never do. He needed Persephone perhaps more than she needed him. Should he tell her that? What about his prospects? He had much to offer as the Sixth Duke of Wyndmere. But did he want her to accept him for his title alone?

  The man who’d had to accept the mantle of duke, though he had not been raised to, balked at the thought.

  “I have need of a wife,” he said slowly, watching her eyes to ensure he still had her attention. H
e cleared his throat and continued, “I feel we would do well together and would offer you all that I am, my title, and my protection.”

  She closed her eyes and, for a heartbeat, did not move. Nor did she speak for so long, he wondered if she’d fallen asleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes and, meeting his gaze, she asked, “Is that reason enough to offer marriage?”

  “Shall I speak of duty to my title and my family, then?” He had not planned to, but mayhap he should.

  Lady Persephone shrugged. A quite unladylike motion of her shoulders, a brief lift on one side and then slumping. Had he expected a different response to his proposal? Bloody hell, yes of course he did! Then why hadn’t he phrased his question differently, instead of speaking of properties and protection?

  He should have told her how it felt as if he’d been burned that first night when she’d all but fallen backward into his arms. Her eyes entranced him, as he’d pushed her spectacles back onto the bridge of her nose when they’d been askew. The tip of his finger had brushed against the satin of her cheek and he’d wanted to cup her face in his hands and kiss her.

  Had he simply been Jared Lippincott, second son of the Duke of Wyndmere, he might have said such, but as the Sixth Duke of Wyndmere, he had to carefully watch what he said and to whom he said it. He would not—nay, could not—in good conscience do anything that would bring censure upon his family and the title.

  “While I am exceedingly honored by your offer, Your Grace. I cannot in good conscience accept it,” she told him.

  While he reeled in shock from her refusal, she continued, “You see, I do not wish to spend any more time in London than absolutely necessary.”

  He had no reply to that.

  “I feel out of place here,” she confessed. “I prefer spending time in Sussex at our family estate there.”

  “I see,” he said as he sat across from her. He preferred the country life to the crowded streets of London. Above all things, he enjoyed running his family’s estates. “What if I were to offer you the choice of living in London or at Wyndmere Hall in the Lake District, or Lippincott Manor in Sussex?”

  When she did not answer quickly enough, he added, “We have an estate in dire need of repair, a crumbling tower in Cornwall.”