Duke of Renown

by Aston, Alexa

  “This is the longest I will have been apart from him,” Letty complained.

  “He’ll be sleeping for most of the time we’re gone,” the viscount said. “We can stop by the nursery when we get home. He’ll probably be up for a feeding around that time and you can hold him for a bit.”

  The coach ride to Lord and Lady Riverton’s residence didn’t take long but their carriage became clogged in a mass of other ones, all heading to the same place.

  “Feel like walking, my love?” Burton asked. “If not, we may miss half the ball.”

  “I don’t mind,” Letty said. “Are you agreeable, Phoebe?”

  “I am. Lead the way, Burton.”

  They walked two blocks and joined the receiving line inside. She had known the Rivertons for many years because they had been friendly with her father.

  “Oh, it is so good to see you out and about, Lady Borwick,” Lady Riverton exclaimed. “I know it’s difficult to be brave and rejoin society again after the tragedy you suffered.”

  She swallowed down the sadness that thickened her throat. “Thank you for the invitation, Lady Riverton.”

  The countess eyed her with interest. “I’ve heard that you might be interested in finding a husband again.”

  Phoebe smiled politely. “One never knows what a ball will bring.”

  She left her sister and brother-in-law and joined a few friends. They were all married and all but one had children. The conversation revolved around those children until a newcomer joined them. She vaguely remembered the woman, who’d made her come-out the year after Phoebe had, but she couldn’t recall her name.

  “Did you hear he’s in London?” the woman asked.

  “Who?” several ladies asked.

  “Why, the duke who returned from the dead, that’s who.”

  She wasn’t interested in gossip, especially about an old duke who might have appeared to be dead and wasn’t. Gazing about the ballroom, she saw so many young, beautiful women and knew they were her competition. She didn’t like to think of them as such but the Marriage Mart could be an unforgiving place.

  Then she heard Cornwall mentioned and turned back, now interested. As she listened to the end of the gossip, all she gleaned was that this duke, named Windham, had gone missing for a few weeks while at his Cornish estate. Everyone had thought him kidnapped or even dead until he’d returned, brought home by a fisherman.

  “I know there’s more to the story,” the gossipmonger proclaimed. “Everyone says so. That there’s some scandal attached to the disappearance that the family is trying to keep quiet. I plan to learn exactly what it is.”

  Phoebe realized this must be the duke Mrs. Butler had gossiped so much about. The woman had mentioned how the duke had vanished every time Phoebe had entered the store. At least the man had been found. It would be interesting to see who he was and if he made an appearance at tonight’s ball.

  A footman handed her a programme and Phoebe attached the silk ribbon to her wrist. Most of the women she stood with began to move away from the dance floor, wishing to sit with the other matrons instead of dancing. Only two remained behind with her. Phoebe closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She hoped some of Burton’s friends would invite her to dance. As she opened her eyes, she saw two striking men coming her way.

  Maybe one of them would be her future husband.

  *

  Andrew arrived home in good spirits, breezing through the door with a smile on his face.

  “Where is my aunt, Whitby?” he asked his butler.

  “In her bedchamber, Your Grace. She is preparing for the ball.” The servant paused. “You do remember you are to escort her there?”

  “Yes, I remember. She is eager to meet up with her friends.”

  He took the stairs two at a time and went to his rooms, immediately spying Caesar sitting in the middle of his bed. Bagwell looked up expectantly as Andrew entered.

  “Your Grace! I’d about given up on you,” his valet said.

  He placed the book he’d purchased on a table. “I’m all yours, Bagwell. Have at me.”

  The valet dressed him in evening clothes. Andrew noted how shiny his boots were and complimented Bagwell, who looked pleased.

  “I expect you’ll be the best dressed man there, Your Grace,” Bagwell said with a wink. He finished tying Andrew’s cravat and then helped him slip into his evening coat. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No. Go enjoy yourself. Take the rest of the night off.”

  “I planned to wait up—”

  “I won’t be out late. I have a very important appointment to make tomorrow morning, however, so expect to be summoned early.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. Good evening.”

  Bagwell left and Andrew went back to Phoebe’s book. He picked it up and sat in the chair next to the table. Holding it was tangible evidence that she did exist. He’d begun to doubt it himself and thought Brock did, too.

  Opening it, he glanced once more at the publisher’s name on the title page. By this time tomorrow, he would know her address. If she wasn’t in London, then he would be on the road, going to her. The first thing he would do when she opened the door is kiss the life out of her. Then he’d ask her to marry him.

  Frowning, he remembered that she didn’t know he was a duke. Should he leave his ducal coach around the corner from where she lived? Or should he wear meaner clothes? She’d never seen him dressed as a high-ranking peer of Polite Society. He didn’t want her perplexed or shocked by his title. He wanted her to say yes to marrying him. Then he could tell her who he was.

  Idly, he turned a page in the book and his eyes fell to the dedication.

  For Nathan

  These stories bring back all the wonderful memories of our time together. Seeing them in print helps keep you alive in my heart.

  His belly tightened. His mouth grew dry. Nathan must have been her husband. Phoebe had never mentioned his name aloud. He read the words again, nausea filling him. He hadn’t thought about her telling her stories to her husband, much less how they would be a reminder of her marriage to the man.

  Did he have a chance with her at all? Would he always be competing with the ghost of a man?

  Gloom settled over him. His spirits sank. He asked himself if he should even try to find her. If she would be happy to see him—or disappointed? Had she looked upon their time together as a brief affair and her allegiance would always remain with a dead man?

  Doubt filled Andrew.

  The door flew open and he looked up to see Weston and George charging into his bedchamber.

  “Go away,” he said as they came near.

  “What? You’re still moping over Mrs. Smith?” George asked. “Hasn’t your runner found her yet?”

  “No. He hasn’t,” Andrew said sullenly. “And neither have I.”

  “I suppose you’ll have to do what you planned and go to Cornwall in a couple of months,” Weston said. “I’m sure you’ll find her there. For now, you’re coming with us.”

  “Do neither of you understand what it means to be in love?” he shouted.

  Immediately, he regretted his words. Both his friends had been in love and their engagements had ended in disaster. It was the reason the two now ran wild and were known as the most scandalous rakes in all Polite Society.

  “I’m sorry,” he said at once. “Forgive me.”

  “Love is neither here nor there,” George said. “Both Weston and I thought we were in love and found it doesn’t exist. For us, anyway,” he added quickly.

  “We know you are taken with your Mrs. Smith,” Weston said. “But she’s not here tonight. Since you’ve had no luck in finding her and probably won’t until you return to Cornwall, come with us to the ball tonight. It will cheer you up. Simply everyone will be at the opening event of the Season.”

  “I don’t want to. I can’t dance with anyone but Phoebe. All I want to do is go to Windowmere and lick my wounds.”

  He remained quiet about Phoebe�
�s book being published and the chance he might locate her through her publisher tomorrow. He wasn’t at all certain he should try and find her after reading the book’s dedication. It would be something he must mull over. Going to a frivolous ball was the last place he wanted to be.

  Weston latched on to his arm and pulled him from the chair. “Then if you’re headed home, you must spend your last night with us.”

  “Watching you chase skirts all night long?” he asked drily. “How much fun will that be?”

  George took his other arm. “Oh, we won’t abandon you entirely. Come along. Your aunt sent us upstairs. You promised to escort her to Lord Riverton’s ball. We aim to see you do so.” He grinned. “Besides, maybe a pretty girl or two will turn your head and drag you from your depths of despair.”

  He doubted it but he had promised his aunt that he would take her tonight.

  “All right, you win.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Weston said.

  Andrew followed them downstairs. It was only one night. Surely, he could manage to get through it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Phoebe had a good idea who the two men were that moved toward her circle simply by the way the others tittered. They had to be the Bad Dukes. She thought she had danced once with the one with tawny hair and green eyes during her own come-out years ago. If so, the Duke of Charm, as he was known in the gossip columns in all the newspapers, had matured into a most handsome man. She didn’t think she’d danced with his friend, the equally roguish Duke of Disrepute, who also was very good-looking and self-assured, with raven hair and vivid, aquamarine eyes.

  She vaguely recalled that both men had become engaged after she’d wed Borwick and given birth to Nathan. Because she was a new mother, she hadn’t participated in that Season, the one where both these men had broken off their engagements. Or was it the other way around? It had been too many years to recall the details. She only knew that both men were notorious rakes now, filling the gossip columns with their actions both in and out of bedrooms.

  Lifting her chin a notch, she determined these were not the kind of men who would be interested in marriages, dukes or not. They both would probably wed girls a third their age when they were in their sixties and gain heirs that way, having enjoyed decades of debauchery.

  The Bad Dukes arrived and both smiled enticingly. They knew the gossiper and Phoebe’s friend and greeted them by name. Then the Duke of Charm turned to her.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met, my lady,” he said smoothly, bowing to her.

  “Oh, but we have, Your Grace. You danced with me eight years ago. I was a green girl making my come-out and doubt I made an impression on you or any of your friends.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “Forgive me for being a callow youth and not recognizing true beauty then.” He smiled enigmatically. “Or perhaps I was merely cowed by your striking looks.”

  “Your tongue is far more silver than it was in those days,” she answered. “I am Lady Borwick, by the way. Dowager Duchess of Borwick.”

  The Duke of Disrepute stepped up and claimed the hand his friend had just released. He also kissed it. “He is too thunderstruck by your beauty, Lady Borwick. This dunderhead is the Duke of Colebourne. I am the equally thunderstruck Duke of Treadwell.”

  She curtseyed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances, Your Graces. It is not often I am in the company of two dukes.”

  “Oh, there are more of us,” Treadwell said airily. “Our friend, the Duke of Blackmore, is seeing that his sister, who’s making her come-out this Season, is situated. The Duke of Windham, the last in our quartet, is visiting with his aunt and renewing old acquaintances. They’ll come along shortly.” He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll like us better, however.”

  “Isn’t the Duke of Windham the one who was thought dead?” the scandalmonger asked eagerly. “Everyone is curious about where he vanished to.”

  Treadwell frowned. “It’s no business of Polite Society—least of all you, Madam—as to where Windham was.”

  The insult hung in the air. Bright red spots appeared on the woman’s cheeks and she excused herself, hurrying away.

  “Excuse me, as well,” Phoebe murmured and turned to go.

  The Duke of Colebourne had other ideas, though, and followed her. So did his friend, Treadwell. She sensed them on her heels and stopped.

  Turning around, she asked, “Is there something I might do for you, Your Graces?”

  “Dance with me,” both men said.

  “I think not,” she said succinctly.

  The peers looked puzzled. “Why not?” asked Colebourne. “No one ever turns us down.”

  “Do you know anything about me?”

  “No,” he admitted. “Only that we danced an age ago and I was foolish and callow enough to let you slip through my fingers.”

  “And you?” she asked Treadwell, her brows arching.

  He smiled charmingly. “I know you are a widow. And that you are beautiful. I would like to spend some time with you. On the dance floor. Or elsewhere.” His eyes and tone were suggestive.

  “I may be a widow but I’m not the kind of widow you toy with on a regular basis,” she told them. “Yes, I lost my husband. And child. Yes, I am once more on the Marriage Mart. I gather that is a place you do not go looking. Do me a favor and don’t damage my reputation by speaking to me again. Or asking me to dance.” Phoebe smiled sweetly. “I wish you a good evening, Your Graces.”

  With that, she turned and walked gracefully away. She found Letty, who asked her about the Bad Dukes.

  “I saw them talking with you. They followed you, Phoebe. They are known for pursuing widows. You must be very careful where those two are concerned.”

  “I told them I had no interest in them and that I neither wanted to converse nor dance with them.”

  “You didn’t!” Letty was flabbergasted.

  “I most certainly did. I aim to claim a husband by Season’s end, Letty. I don’t want my name coupled with two scoundrels.”

  “Good for you,” Burton said approvingly.

  She didn’t know he had joined them. “Thank you for siding with me.”

  He offered her his arm. “Would you care to take a turn around the room with me, Phoebe? Have your programme ready. I believe there are several fellows hoping you will agree to a dance with them.”

  She let him escort her away and he said, “I’m glad you gave those bounders the boot. You’re right in thinking they would do harm to your reputation.”

  Burton led her to a group of three gentlemen and introduced her. All three eagerly signed her dance card. Her brother-in-law remained by her side as others flocked to them. She liked the caliber of the men who knew Burton and felt certain the rest of her evening would go well.

  As she gazed across the room, she spied the Bad Dukes again, this time with another man who’d joined them. He must be Blackmore or Windham, the other dukes they’d referred to as their friends. She wondered if this was the man who’d gone missing in Cornwall or not.

  Then Phoebe grew dizzy. She grasped Burton’s arm tightly. He said something to her but she didn’t hear it. All her attention was focused on the fourth man who’d joined the three dukes.

  It was Andrew.

  *

  Andrew and Aunt Helen stepped up to the receiving line, which George and Weston blithefully skipped. As the Bad Dukes, a name given to them by the newspapers which they gleefully owned, they didn’t waste time on social niceties.

  “Receiving lines are boring, my lady,” Weston had proclaimed when Aunt Helen admonished them for not greeting their hosts. “George and I haven’t gone through one in years.”

  George took Aunt Helen’s hand and kissed it. “It’s the line and all that waiting, my lady. Not the people in line. I assure you Treadwell and I always enjoy your company. I can’t say the same for Windham here. If you can get him to stop moping about his lost love, then send him our way.” He smiled. “It’s the first night of the Sea
son and we can’t wait to peruse all the new girls making their come-outs.”

  The pair left and his aunt said, “They both put up a good front but they are hurting as much as you, Andrew. Their terrible manners and outrageous behavior will end once they find the right women to settle down with.”

  “Good evening, Lady Helen. Windham.”

  Andrew turned and saw Jon had joined them, accompanied by his sister.

  “Hello, Jon. And a special hello to you, Lady Elizabeth. Are you looking forward to your first Season?”

  Her blue eyes sparkled. “I’ve been waiting for this all my life, Your Grace. I cannot wait to dance. My dancing master says I am the best pupil he has ever worked with.”

  He smiled at her eagerness. “Then once you receive your dance card, I will find you and sign it.”

  “Oh, would you?” Elizabeth looked at him with adoring eyes. “Jon told me I am not allowed to dance with Colebourne or Treadwell.”

  “That’s right,” Jon proclaimed. “They are rogues of the worst kind. I don’t want your reputation damaged.”

  “But it is all right if Windham dances with me?” she asked.

  “Windham is fine, other than the gossip about him being dead for a while,” her brother said. “He wasn’t so don’t listen to it. I’ll help arrange the rest of your dances this evening.”

  By now, they had reached their hosts and Andrew and his aunt greeted the Rivertons, chatting briefly and then moving on.

  “Shall I help you find your friends?” he asked.

  “Would you, dear boy? These affairs seem to grow larger each year. Simply no one misses the opening ball but I wish it wasn’t so crowded.”

  “Come along, Aunt Helen.” Andrew took her arm and guided her through the mass of people.

  They found her friends and he spent several minutes talking with them. He felt more comfortable with dowagers and matrons than he would young, eligible women who might be eager to claim a duke as a husband. His heart was already taken and other than the one dance with Elizabeth, Andrew didn’t plan on partnering with anyone else tonight. He would stay a bit. Perhaps visit the card room. Return to Aunt Helen and hope she would be ready to leave by then. He’d already decided he would go to the publisher’s London office tomorrow in order to locate Phoebe’s whereabouts. He would rather find her and be second in her heart to a dead man than never see her again and waste his life pining for her.