Never Deny a Duke

by Hunter, Madeline

  “Not so small. As the great-granddaughter of a hero of ’46, she will be famous. She will marry one of her own kind, and be a baroness.”

  He did not ask who Hume envisioned as a good Scottish match for Miss MacCallum. Hume probably saw himself at the top of the list.

  Anger threatened to get the better of him again. Stratton would be appalled. He glanced toward the door, hoping it would open so he would be spared this scoundrel’s presence.

  It did open, but not to Miss MacCallum. Rather a bent old woman entered, her cane taps on the floor punctuating the silence while she walked.

  “Allow me to introduce you to my mother,” Hume said.

  Eric wondered if he was expected to chat with Mrs. Hume, as if he had called on her. Fortunately, after a few words she tapped to a corner and took position on a chair.

  “I know you will not mind if she remains in the chamber during your call,” Hume said. “It threatens rain outside, so the garden will not do this time. Do not worry that she will overhear. She is all but deaf in one ear.”

  The mother’s presence would ensure no rows, so Eric did not mind at all.

  Miss MacCallum finally arrived, her short hair swinging free around her head. She offered half a smile, then gazed pointedly at Mr. Hume until he made his excuses and departed.

  She noticed Mrs. Hume in the corner. “My apologies, Your Grace. It could not be avoided.” She gestured to chairs set near the opposite corner. “Let us sit here, if that will suit you.”

  The front windows sent diffused light over her after she took her chair. It turned her hair a silvery gold and her eyes a deep sapphire. She wore the same pale ocher dress as the last time. A limited wardrobe. Small wonder she wanted those lands.

  * * *

  For reasons Davina could not fathom, the duke did not launch into an explanation of his arrival. Rather, he sat there looking at her. Sizing her up, she assumed. Though he’d had enough time for that in the past, so unless he was indeed slow witted, he should not need to do it now.

  “I assume you have come about my inheritance,” she said, breaking the stretching silence.

  “I have mostly come to warn you that any hope of discretion has been lost. Your claim is being discussed in drawing rooms all over town today. It will continue for some time.”

  She swallowed the curse that almost slipped out. She had wanted to avoid this. It could never help, and might make a resolution harder. In particular, if the king’s negligence about his promise was well known, she no longer had the implicit threat of the world finding out as a weapon.

  “I told no one.”

  “I did not think you had. Even the duchess is vague on the particulars. I think this was the work of someone who thought it would put the king’s feet to the fire. That was a mistaken belief.”

  “Indeed it was.”

  He glanced at Mrs. Hume.

  “She appears to be asleep, but she is not,” Davina warned quietly. “And while half deaf, the ear facing us is very good.”

  “I do not care if she hears what I am about to say. Let her, and let her repeat it to her son. It was he who spread the story of your situation. He admitted it before you came in.”

  She had guessed as much. Who else could it have been? “He thought to help me, I am sure.”

  “He thought to help himself. He has plans about all of this.” His gaze penetrated hers. “But I think you know that.”

  She felt her face warming. “My own plans are very simple, and that is what matters.”

  “It is not my place to ask, of course, but—” He appeared unsure of his words. “I hope he has not—He thinks of you as more than a servant or a tutor, I believe. A woman in your situation is vulnerable. I trust he has not—”

  He suddenly appeared a man discomfited by an ill-fitting jacket. She was certain that was a rare occurrence. So rare that the discomfort only begat more discomfort.

  She let him remain thus for a ten count, wondering if there were some way to document what she was seeing. No one would believe her just on the telling of it.

  “I know of his interest,” she finally said. “I do not share it, and he is aware of that. He has in no way insulted me the way I think you fear.”

  That satisfied him, mostly. “If that ever changes, if he—you are to tell someone. Tell the Duchess of Langford. I am told you are friends with her.”

  “I will be sure to do that. Did you call in order to warn me about the gossip and my employer’s designs? How kind of you.”

  “I came to warn you, yes. As for your employer, that was an impulse.”

  “And here I thought you never had any of those.”

  His smile almost appeared chagrined. “They are not frequent. I did come about him, however. How do you know him?”

  “We were introduced at a meeting. An historical one, lest you assume I share his politics.”

  “I am surprised he attends any other kind.”

  “This particular society has a special subject. Its mission is to reestablish Scotland’s history, lest it be lost in all the romantic notions becoming so popular.”

  “The public likes those notions. Hence their popularity.”

  “They can have as much of it as they want, and wear plaid to their hearts’ content, so long as the true history is not eclipsed. Truth is always best, don’t you think?”

  “It is hard to disagree with the rightness of truth, Miss MacCallum. Some history, true though it may be, is best not to dwell on, however.”

  “I do not dwell. I merely honor it.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say more but declined to do so. Perhaps he had decided to avoid an argument today.

  “I am glad you called, Your Grace. It gives me an opportunity to tell you that I have found more proof.”

  Any indication that he was experiencing an uncharacteristic lack of confidence disappeared. He did not straighten or puff up. If anything, he relaxed in that chair, his strong hands resting on the arms and his feet placed just so in order for his half-outstretched legs to convey his utter lack of concern. His pose turned that chair into a throne.

  “Have you now? Am I to learn what it is?”

  “I have met a man who remembers my grandfather, and that he was called the baron by those who knew him since he was a child.”

  “It may have only been a reference to his manner.”

  “It may have been a reference to his history.”

  “Did this man who remembered him say anything about that history, to give you reason to believe that?”

  She wanted to lie. Badly. She wanted to smugly announce that he had regaled her for an hour with all the details and produced a letter from his own father that revealed the entire episode. That would set this proud duke back on his heels for at least a moment or two.

  “It is enough for me to be even more confident that I am pursuing a just cause,” she said instead.

  “Finding this man was convenient to that cause.”

  “Mr. Hume—” She tripped over her words in mid-thought. Convenient?

  “I wondered if Mr. Hume had not helped you find him.”

  “I hope you are not saying that because Mr. Hume was involved, you do not trust this proof as truthful. Mr. Hume is not dishonest, whatever else you may think of him.”

  “Had the proof been real proof, I would have wondered about the sudden discovery of someone to provide it. However, because it is not proof at all, I will not insult Hume with that suspicion.”

  Insult her too, not that he said as much. “I think that short of resurrecting from their graves those who brought my grandfather to Northumberland, and procuring their testimonies, you will not believe any proof I obtain.”

  “That is not true. However, a passing reference to a man as baron, if indeed that memory is accurate after all these years, does not make him a baron’s son. If I call a man an ass due to his behavior and manner, he will not start braying.” His gaze caught and held hers. “Is Mr. Hume looking for others who might have pr
oof? There are notices in the papers that I believe indicate he is.”

  “Those are my notices, paid for by me.”

  “I am sure you will receive responses. A lot of them.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course. As I said, the word is out. The notices are clearly yours. There will be those who hope to profit from this, who will tell you whatever you want to hear. When it starts, let me know. I will listen with you, and make sure the liars are revealed for what they are.”

  “Perhaps some won’t be liars.”

  He smiled vaguely. “Perhaps. In that case, we will hear the proof together.”

  She did not believe he would ever hear any proof correctly. However, she would love to see his expression if someone came forward with knowledge of that time that was accurate and true. “Should I receive responses that appear they might be fruitful, I will send word to you of my meetings, so you can be present if you so choose.”

  “Thank you. Now, I should take my leave before Mrs. Hume falls over. She has been stretching and leaning in our direction so long and so precariously, I doubt she can keep her seat much longer.” He stood and bowed. Then he paused and gazed down on her. “Primrose.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “In this light, you should wear a dress the color of primrose, I think.”

  He left without further ado.

  * * *

  That afternoon, Davina remained in the library, alone now, reading. Not that many pages in her book were turned. Her mind kept going back to the duke’s call.

  He had almost been friendly at first. Gracious. Charming. He might have been deliberately trying not to frighten her the way Amanda said he did most women. It had been difficult to think of him as an enemy during those first minutes.

  And his concern about Mr. Hume—that had not been feigned. It touched her that he had perceived she might be importuned and felt moved to reassure himself that was not happening. Nor had his concern been misplaced. Sir Cornelius had insisted on accompanying her when she let a room with a family in Edinburgh after her father died. Only later did she comprehend that it was not the chamber he wanted to examine.

  Of course, the duke’s softness could not last. By the time he left, she had almost been as vexed with him as the last time. They did not have a row, but he had still left her fit to scream.

  She forced her mind back to her book, only to be interrupted one page later by Mrs. Moffet.

  “Something came for you.” She handed over the sumptuous letter.

  It was from the Duchess of Stratton, inviting her to the theater the night after next. Davina peered at the page in amazement. Of course she would go. She dared not decline. Only what could the duchess want with her?

  “There is something else.” Mrs. Moffet handed over a card. “He has called. Just now.”

  He was Mr. Justinian Greenhouse. Davina had been introduced to him at the duchess’s salon for Parnassus. She remembered him because he knew Mr. Hume for some reason that escaped her now. As did his face. She vaguely recalled a very thin man, early into his middle years, with sparse dark hair. He also walked like a dancing master. That memory came clearly.

  “He’s still at the door,” Mrs. Moffet said.

  “Mr. Hume will be angry if you leave one of his friends on the street.”

  “He’s not here for Mr. Hume, is he?” Mrs. Moffet pursed her lips. “He is calling on you.”

  “I can’t imagine why. I barely know him.” She sat up and smoothed her skirt. “Well, bring him in, I suppose.”

  While she waited, Davina realized that just possibly Mr. Greenhouse was responding to her notice in the newspapers. He was from Northumberland, after all. It could be that he realized the notices were hers and had decided to—

  “My dear Miss MacCallum.” Mr. Greenhouse advanced on her with long strides and a simpering smile.

  Davina took one look at his eyes and knew for a fact that this had nothing to do with her notices. This was a social call. A special kind of social call.

  How exceedingly odd.

  Chapter Eight

  Eric attended the theater alone. He wanted nothing to do with society tonight, but he did want to listen to music, and the first part of the program had a pianist playing Beethoven.

  He settled on a chair deep in his box and sent the usher away when he tried to light one of the lamps. There, in the darkness, he waited for the music to start.

  As had happened too often lately, his thoughts meandered in the direction of Davina MacCallum. He could hardly ignore her intrusion into his life now. Several rude questions had been put to him in his club last night regarding her claim. The whole world seemed to know his business on the matter.

  Worse, some fellow from a newspaper had waylaid him when he left his house this afternoon, wanting to ask questions. You don’t have to talk to me, but its best you do, the brash pup had said while getting in his way. Otherwise I’ll have to make something up. Oh, how he had chuckled at his own joke. Eric had wanted to use his horse crop on the fool.

  He might have forgotten the incident if not for the last question, thrown after him while he rode away on his horse. So where is this land?

  Inevitable that people would wonder and ask. It was the heart of the story, wasn’t it? Only he did not want anyone—not Davina MacCallum, not Parliament, and certainly not newspaper writers—poking around that property, or asking lots of questions about it.

  He forced his thoughts to more productive matters, like the negotiations at work for bringing the bill regarding slavery to the Commons. It had to go there first. Too many lords owned properties in the colonies that made use of slaves. All fine and good for Britain to outlaw its trade, but to do so on those distant estates would be costly in the extreme.

  The only solution was to pay them off. Unfortunately, he could not make most of the others agree to that. The notion of compensating slave owners for the loss of their slaves sickened right-thinking men. It sickened him too, but this would never progress, not now and not in fifty years, unless it was done.

  While the music started he turned over various strategies in his head. Just when one was forming that held some promise, he was distracted by a broad gesture by a man in a box across from his.

  It was Langford, and he was all but hanging over the balustrade, demanding Eric’s attention. His wife gestured too, only more discreetly.

  Langford realized he had commanded Eric’s attention. With a wide sweep of his arm, he pointed to his right. He clearly wanted Eric to look there. To do so would mean getting up and walking to the balustrade and hanging over like Langford. Eric had no intention of doing any of that. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the music.

  Five minutes later, a firm hand jostled him. He opened his eyes to see Langford hovering above, looking exasperated.

  “Did you not see my direction?”

  “I did. Whatever you thought I needed to see is not of interest. I don’t care if some woman arrived half naked, or if some idiot is falling down drunk. I only want peace.”

  “You want to see this, I promise you.”

  “No, I do not.”

  A firm hand grasped his shoulder. “Come with me.”

  He followed. Langford was easily amused and had probably seen some outrageous gown. He also was a gossip, so it might be unexpected evidence of a liaison that would set tongues wagging. Whatever it was would not be worth the bother.

  He trailed Langford to the door to another box. Stratton’s box. “Unless Stratton has grown two heads, there is no drama in there.”

  “You would think not, but wait.” Langford opened the door to present the box.

  The very crowded box. So crowded that Stratton appeared annoyed. His duchess kept smiling at her visitors, but she also looked dismayed.

  Stratton saw them and pushed his way to the back of the box. He shook his shoulders as if he needed to resettle his coat. “Hell of a thing. We were planning a quiet night and this is what happened.”

 
Eric peered through the dim light at the faces. Men, almost all of them. He knew most of their names, but a few he did not recognize. Bright-eyed and gracious, they all kept their attention settled on the front of the box and the duchess.

  The duchess turned to speak to her companion. That other woman turned her face. Eric understood why Langford had dragged him here.

  Miss MacCallum sat beside the duchess. And Miss MacCallum was the object of all the attention.

  “What is she doing here?” he asked Stratton.

  “Clara invited her. She doubts the woman enjoys much entertainment and wanted to treat her.”

  “More likely she has heard the truth about that legacy and wanted the whole story. The gentlemen all know most of it already, that is clear.” Langford gestured to the men angling to get an introduction from the duchess to Miss MacCallum. “Nothing like a woman of property to draw the admiration of the younger sons.”

  “She is not a woman of property,” Eric corrected.

  “Of course not,” Stratton soothed.

  “She, however, does have expectations,” Langford added. He surveyed the little scene with what looked suspiciously like pleasure.

  “Very small expectations,” Eric said. “A gnat’s worth at most.”

  “That does not seem to be the general opinion, from the look of it.”

  No, it didn’t. The popinjays were out in force. Miss MacCallum did not even look surprised. With her damnable self-possession, she chatted and smiled as if she had expected this to happen.

  Hell if he intended to watch. He decided to leave, only just as he was about to, the duchess saw him. Her gaze locked onto his. Her smile turned brittle. Her eyes narrowed and darkened. She beckoned him with her finger.

  “It looks as if Clara wants to talk to you,” Stratton said blandly, as if he did not know better than anyone that when Clara had that look in her eyes, even brave men sought shelter.

  “I’ll be your shield if you want to retreat,” Langford said. “Or even when you advance. Yes, I think it would be best if I stand right beside you and try to distract her with flattery and such.”

  Stifling a heartfelt sigh, Eric made his way to the duchess and Miss MacCallum.