Duke of Misfortune

by Blake, Whitney

  “Still, it cannot have been easy,” said Mrs. Driffield. All the talk of how he and Miss Driffield were introduced was apparently forgotten, but he feared it could resurface at any time.

  Thus far, he had not covered any of the ground he might have expected a meeting like this to cover—not that he had any of them under his belt. All of his boyhood lessons in etiquette were dusty, as well.

  “Your card,” said Miss Driffield suddenly. “It isn’t yours, is it, Your Grace?” She didn’t ask with any intended malice or rudeness, he knew.

  Here, Lee took a bit of dramatic license.

  Without edging into any artificial melodrama, he said seriously, “I couldn’t part with them.” He would tell her the truth later. If he got the chance.

  “I didn’t think your name could be Lord Thomas Valencourt,” Miss Driffield said with certainty.

  “No, that was my brother.”

  “Oh, how thoughtless of me. I… of course, it would be.”

  Sagely, Mrs. Driffield said, “I imagine there has not been thought to procuring your own cards… what with everything else that you must be doing, Your Grace.”

  They aren’t particularly within my means, either, Mrs. Driffield.

  For now, neither Miss Driffield nor her mother needed to know that he hadn’t, until they met so suddenly, thought of having his own cards made. Her expression of mild curiosity faded into more pity.

  “Might I be so bold…” began Miss Driffield.

  “Theodora…” intoned her mother, and Lee knew that she was likely assuming that Miss Driffield was planning to ask something incredibly inappropriate.

  “What may we call you, Your Grace?”

  “Lord Valencourt,” said Mrs. Driffield, as though that was all he had ever been called. And would be called.

  “Lord Emilian Valencourt,” said Lee, bestowing what he knew was a brilliant smile.

  “How unusual,” said Mrs. Driffield. Then, recalling to whom she was speaking, she added, “But lovely, of course. Quite… Continental.”

  Miss Driffield sent him a silent apology via her expression.

  “Mother,” she said, turning to Mrs. Driffield, who started to look more and more wary of whatever was happening before her eyes, “His Grace is the man Lady Olivia mistakenly assumed was another.”

  It was a bold move. One that Lee had not expected. Even from her.

  He struggled to keep his expression bland.

  It could backfire easily but, on the other hand, this mama was inordinately interested in securing a good future for her daughter.

  Because she most likely did not want to make a scene even in her own home, Mrs. Driffield went stiff and slow instead of apoplectic and quick. “I do not know if that redeems your…” she smiled tightly. “Evening constitutional.”

  “On the contrary, Madam, I came here today to further my acquaintance with Miss Driffield,” said Lee, trying to channel Paul at his best-behaved, a state which was somehow always amenable to ladies of any age. “If, of course, that is not objectionable.” To say such a thing implied something beyond what was said, and he trusted that Mrs. Driffield would pick up on it. “I am no rake and her conduct is beyond any reproach.”

  It had a soothing and instant effect.

  Mrs. Driffield said, “Indeed, yes, Your Grace!” He could see the implications settling within her mind and resting favorably. He did not let his heart sink. This was what he wanted. They looked at him and believed the best: that he had wealth and riches to spare. He wanted to use that assumption.

  Or so he told himself.

  Chapter Six

  With the sun blazing overhead and the sounds of those around them competing with birdsong, Teddie tried to comprehend, much less believe, what had happened to her.

  Much as the urge to punch the Duke of Welburn was mystifying, so too had been her hurried interjection.

  She didn’t have to tell Mother that the duke was whom she’d been with in the garden. Also, he hadn’t needed to validate her tale. He could have let her squirm for being so bold, much as she could have let him sink under the weight of his own lies.

  It was an odd thing, indeed. She could not explain why she behaved so irrationally around him and, similarly, she could not explain why he defended her. With others, she might be tempted to be cynical and assume it was because she was an heiress, but this was one of the highest peers possible. Unlike the baronets and inconsequential lords who’d floundered their way to her at public balls, he was not in need of her connections and financial security.

  So, for now, she would allow him to continue.

  At any rate, the ton would have them engaged as soon as anyone ran to the papers and relayed that Miss D. was seen in the company of the Duke of Welburn in Hyde Park. She did not discount that he was aware this was among the most obvious places to see and be seen.

  The problem was—if it was a problem—she almost certainly had to marry him now, or would have to. It was the only way they could avoid public scandal.

  Teddie was starting to believe that he was her best option, a rather bleak thought amidst the way he flooded her mind with pleasant embers.

  But she rationalized that, if the last two days foreshadowed anything, her life with him would be pleasant. She could not say as much about other men she’d known, even if they had not become more deeply acquainted or actually courted. Routinely, they made her want to reach for the nearest blunt object and cudgel them into unconsciousness.

  I don’t know if I can be a duchess, but one never knows if one will succeed until one tries something new. Teddie glanced slightly behind herself to see if Bess still retained the respectable distance required for a chaperone but was not close enough to obviously eavesdrop.

  Though, of course, Bess was eavesdropping. Teddie counted her blessings that they were not riding in a carriage, for then it would be obvious that Bess was being nosy.

  First, Lord Valencourt suggested they might go riding, but she was forced to admit that she was no horsewoman. It was odd, but that seemed to relieve him.

  Lord Valencourt was now asking her if she’d ever been to the theater, and they’d struck upon a subject which greatly interested her as much as it had eluded her experience. She shook her head.

  “I’m afraid not,” she said with regret. “My mother does not think it would be suitable for me, and although my father has expressed interest in some of the plays… he rarely contradicts her. That would mean he’d have to argue, and he much prefers to read his books or look at the sky in peace if he has any leisure time.”

  Her father had always been enamored with the night skies, but it was only upon their means increasing that he’d purchased anything with which to look at them closely. Teddie still did not know the proper name for the heavy, brass instrument. It looked most like a spyglass and although she cared little for the practice, it seemed to make him happy.

  “So you, Miss Driffield, have never even been to the theater,” Lord Valencourt said, thoughtfully. She was growing used to the pitch of his voice. It sometimes resembled the brush of the leaves above their heads. “That is a tragedy. We shall have to remedy it.” He smiled at her, a twinkling, earnest expression, and her cheeks flushed. The tip of her nose probably did, too, the Devil take it.

  “I don’t know if even your arguments would be persuasive, but you are very welcome to try, Your Grace.” She’d longed to see the productions up close and felt that watching the patrons of the theater would be almost as good as seeing a performance.

  She discreetly watched his face as he considered the problem. She’d been correct about his eyes: they were a hazel that caught the plants’ verdant green. His hair was darker than she first supposed, and a little longer than many men’s, but it would be the envy of any lady. For the first time, she wondered if he kept it that way to add an extra layer of protection over his scar. It made her frown, but Lord Valencourt was too busy thinking, it seemed, to notice.

  “I should not even ask this,” he said.r />
  “What is it?”

  “It’s very foolish.”

  “Pardon?”

  “And risky.”

  “I won’t know if I should agree until you tell me what you are thinking.”

  “Have you ever managed to, well, evade your parents for a little while?”

  Teddie did not follow. It did not sound nefarious so much as vague. “I don’t understand, Your Grace.” She did not have to look up at him. He was only a scant few inches taller than her. However, unlike her height often did, she did not feel too large near him.

  “We could… I could escort you to a performance.”

  “I have already said… oh, you mean to suggest that I leave the house without them realizing I have gone.”

  That certainly was a risk. If she were caught, she’d be in trouble, and that was on the generous top of the list of things that could befall her. Her mother and father reprimanding her and essentially putting her under house arrest didn’t hold the same severity as being branded a woman without morals. Not that Teddie believed immoral women were immediately bad women. Yet, despite acknowledging to herself that a clear risk was involved, she warmed to the prospect.

  “Precisely.”

  Testing the waters, she said, “You have only just come into your title. Are you quite certain that you wish to tempt fate with something that could be so ruinous?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he said. She believed he had not. There wasn’t any guile in the words.

  “You would be known forever as a duke who absconded with an heiress for nighttime entertainment.” Teddie knew the consequences could be very serious; she also knew that she should not be entertaining this conversation. Despite the knowledge, she was enthralled with the very concept. “Such news that would be for the gossip sheets.”

  Lord Valencourt frowned. “Forget I asked.”

  “Your Grace, I must declare that I have never been so delighted by a man’s request.”

  “Even one so demonstrably ill-advised?”

  “It is the ill-advised part which I am taken by,” she said, “as well as the man asking it.” It was brazen, but she could not deny it. “What sort of a duke would propose this?” she said with a teasing smile on her lips.

  What sort of woman would accept it? she thought.

  “A duke who loves the arts, more or less.”

  The lure of freedom and experience in his proposal was almost unbearably tantalizing. Nonetheless, she had to concede how much was at stake, and the realities the two of them were part of. She struggled to be practical. “Why not just try the traditional approach and ask my parents? Coming from you, it may work.”

  “I fear your mama’s stubbornness may be legendary.”

  “You have her measure,” said Teddie, moderating the chuckle she wanted to give into a small shake of her head instead of an unseemly noise. “But, you know, if she were to discover I’d—”

  “She would have us married within an hour,” said Lord Valencourt. He delivered it so levelly that she had to peek at his face to see if he was being somber. Though his expression was grave, his eyes had a devilish glint.

  Emboldened, Teddie said, “That might not be so horrible, Your Grace.”

  They were playing with fire.

  It was the most exhilarating thing Teddie had done in her entire life. If she was using Lord Valencourt, she did not feel terribly awful about it, for he seemed willing to help broaden her experience. If she damped her excitement enough to ask herself what, exactly, was so galvanizing about all of this—it was not just the circumstances, themselves. It was him.

  “Is there an evening that would be easiest for you?”

  “I fear it would be easier to escape from Newgate unscathed,” she said archly. “But I shall have to try.”

  “Tonight, then?”

  Teddie revisited her parents’ normal nights while they resided in London during the season. If there was not something to attend, they did not keep enormously late hours. “I don’t believe we have been invited to anything.”

  Usually, her mother fussed so over invitations, the number of which had increased since the Driffields became more prominent. Difficult to ignore, more like. They were not true City folk. But they’d made enough money to be esteemed among the merchants and traders, many of whose families had been in London for centuries. In addition to invitations from the ton, they also had them from others with money.

  A corner of his mouth lifted in a smile and he leaned toward her ear. Scanning the individuals strolling around them, she knew none would react openly to the slightly racy show of flirtation, but that all would note it. She did not move from Lord Valencourt.

  “Listen very closely,” he said. She nodded, willing herself to stay still as his breath gently hit her ear. “I think I have an idea that will work.”

  *

  It was getting late and Lee questioned whether he’d been too reckless. Miss Driffield should be here, if she’d made it out. Just when he was ready to go to the Driffield townhouse and see for himself if anything looked amiss—realistically all he could do was watch from a reasonable distance so as not to attract attention.

  He never should have asked a woman to risk herself.

  He forgot that the women he’d worked with, bedded, and counted among his friends were all used to conducting their lives in this manner, possessing the street cleverness that Miss Driffield did not have.

  But she’d looked so eager when he turned their conversation toward the subject of the theater that the suggestion just popped out of him. She’d never been, so he thought he might take her to the Sans Pareil, which was perhaps risqué enough to titillate without being dangerous. He’d also never worked there, though he had auditioned for a role once. Since it had only been the one time, he didn’t fear being immediately recognized and having to answer odd questions.

  This whole thing, though well-intentioned, also had an air of melancholy to it—Lee could not really frequent his old stomping grounds as the Duke of Welburn, and particularly not if he ever had a mind to dress and carry himself like Judd did if he got bored.

  If those he knew saw Lord Valencourt, the possibility that he could sneak back as Judd would become woefully low. So, the Sans Pareil, it was.

  Of course, he would not have encouraged Miss Driffield to walk to or in the Strand alone, so he arranged for them to meet a short distance from her home in order to go to the strategically chosen venue together.

  His chief worry, should they have endeavored to go somewhere more traditionally favored among the ton, was that she would be seen and recognized.

  They were interested enough in the duke, whom no one knew by sight, yet. If he added her to the situation, he was positive everything would make it back to her parents.

  You may even be too optimistic with this, he thought.

  By now, the Sans Pareil had caught on more strongly than Jane or her father might have dreamed it would. He should have thought of somewhere else.

  He watched the end of the road, preoccupied, worried.

  Finally, her tall, arresting form came around the corner, positively ethereal under the moon, and he was pleased for a moment—then he spied the smaller woman scurrying behind her.

  A scowl settled on his face before he could banish it. Logically, he could assume that she had been willingly followed, for whoever it was hadn’t actually stopped her. Just followed her. He still hadn’t prepared for the possibility that she would be.

  Perhaps it’s for the best, he thought. Anything could happen to a woman alone, even where it was least anticipated. He’d hate to have had that on his conscience alongside all of the other things he was trying to justify as being for the greater good. Whose greater good remained to be seen.

  “I apologize for my lateness, Your Grace,” said Miss Driffield. She gestured to the familiar young woman standing next to her. “I’m sure you recall my lady’s maid, Bess. It would appear that I am not competent in stealth.” He would ha
ve laughed at her dour words but knew it would not be at all appreciated. Bess curtsied and looked as smug as the cat who’d gotten the cream.

  But immediately, Lee had to confirm. “And can she be trusted?”

  He did not want Miss Driffield or himself to be blackmailed. It was not unheard of for a servant to do so.

  Bess’ disapproving countenance said exactly what she thought of that, but she was too well-trained to utter a word.

  Miss Driffield rushed to her defense. “The most she will do, if I do not allow her to come with us, is alert my parents. However, as I’ve pointed out, she would most likely be dismissed without references for her dereliction of duty—I believe that even my father would assert that she should have stopped me entirely.” Miss Driffield gave Bess a stern look.

  “I see,” said Lee, concealing his mirth. “And you are quite certain?”

  “I am. I’ve known Bess since we were each twelve years of age, and she came with me out of loyalty.” Almost sotto voce, she added, “And recalcitrance.”

  Bess nearly smirked, but she didn’t.

  “She seeks nothing from you, Your Grace.”

  As it always was, Miss Driffield’s forthrightness was bracing and refreshing. He could not fault her for it. “You must understand my concern.”

  “I do,” said Miss Driffield. “It’s prudent. Unlike this outing.”

  “Have you changed your mind?” Lee did not want to let her turn back, but he would not hesitate to do so if any timidity had crept into her. He was quite looking forward to this unorthodox outing because it would be with her. If she declined, he had all the daylight options open to him—but knew they were strictly guarded by spoken and unspoken rules, and saturated with the prospect of prying eyes. And, he thought, if I continue to call on her at home, someone will begin to call us engaged even if we are not. A complication of its own.

  He waited for her reply, curious about what she might say.