He opened his eyes and looked into those of his step-mother. “And you, sweet woman, smell like an orangerie. I fear I’ve dipped rather deeply, Maman. I’m not fit company for any respectable female.” He smiled innocently. “Ask Eleanor.”
Leeland chuckled. “I’ve seen you far worse, Duncan. You are nowhere near incapacitated.”
“Oh, no.” Eyes half-lidded and with a slight smile, Duncan regarded his friend. “Not incapacitated. Just lax in the normal restraints on manners and language usually incumbent upon a gentleman in the presence of the fairer sex.”
“And what has prompted this uncustomary behavior, Duncan?” his maman inquired. “Are you celebrating?”
“I would suggest to you that such laxity is my customary behavior. It is only because of your civilizing influence that I have any refined comportment at all.”
She regarded him with indulgent affection. “Your papa did let you run wild, but you were never inconsiderate. So… why have you stayed in your cups if not to celebrate?”
“I am bored, Maman, and have taken to drink to alleviate my snappish temper.”
“Indeed?” Her pretty forehead wrinkled. “How is boredom possible with such tumultuous happenings? The despicable Edgar un enfant illégitime. My oh-so-handsome step-son to be the Duke. My marriage to the worthy Major Abernathy. My first grandchild to be b—”
“Aha!” Duncan held up one finger. “Yes…your marriage. Let us discuss that, Your Grace. Lee, a moment, if you will.” He stood and shot a speaking look at Miles, then regarded his step-mother. “Maman, s'il vous plait?” He winged his arm out and smiled while Miles offered his arm to his wife, and both gentlemen ushered their ladies through the door of the morning room only to abruptly leave them standing in the hall as they re-entered the room. The women offered only token protest when Duncan closed the door in their puzzled faces and turned the key in the lock. “There.” Duncan returned to his seat and sprawled comfortably, his head lolling on the chair back. “Lee. I recommend you address yourself to Lord Miles as he has not consumed three bottles of Spanish red since a light nuncheon at 2:00. To put your mind at ease, neither of us have any reservations with regard to your character; however, there is some small concern as to your ability to support Her Grace.” He gestured with his hand. “Please…allay our concerns.”
Major Abernathy proceeded to lay out his entire worth.
Some hours later with he, Miles, and most importantly, Leeland, in warm accord, Duncan unlocked the morning room door and opened it—to immediately encounter his maman straightening from a position that strongly suggested she’d been eavesdropping. Eleanor sat bolt upright in the chair usually occupied by the downstairs footman. That young man stood beside her.
“Your Grace,” Duncan chastised.
“Duncan,” his maman riposted.
Her hands flew into the air in wild gestures as she fired off a volley of French—of which he comprehended, perhaps, half. Something about, “What matter was money when one had love?” His Spanish had always been stronger than his French, even sober…which he wasn’t. He looked at her vaguely. “Might you say that again in English, Your Grace?”
“Agggh!” She turned to Miles. “Miles, mon fils bien-aimé!” and the spate began again, even faster and with more emphatic gestures. Major Abernathy looked on with amusement. Leeland probably understood every word she said. The damned man spoke French like a native.
“Calme-toi, Maman,” Miles soothed and captured one of her flailing hands. “Je comprends. Nous n'avons pas d'objection. Pas d'objection. I understand, and we have no objection. We think Major Abernathy a very fine man. Almost worthy of you.” He grinned at Leeland and placed a loving kiss on her cheek.
“Non? Pas d'objection?”
“Non.” Miles answered gently and pulled her into a hug. “Je t'aime, ma chérie, et je veux que tu sois heureuse. We love you, dearest. We want your happiness.”
After allowing him to hold her for a long moment, she calmed from her theatric display, straightened from his embrace, reordered her skirts, and announced, “I never doubted for one moment you would approve.” She beamed at the major. “How could a woman find a better man?”
The major stepped forward and took the hand she offered, raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “Or a man a better woman. Come, Your Grace, will you walk with me in the garden? There are a few matters I wish to discuss with you.”
“Of course. I will walk wherever you wish, Leeland.”
As the couple walked toward the back garden, murmuring to each other in French, Duncan recalled a matter he’d meant to mention several days and many bottles of wine ago. “Miles, Eleanor, I have taken rooms at Bentley’s Club for Gentlemen on St. James Street. I will be moving out in another day.”
“Bentley’s? Indeed.” Miles shot him a look of inquiry. “I was unaware you were a member of such a lofty establishment.”
“I wasn’t until very recently,” Duncan allowed. “Lord Seville presented my name for membership some days ago, and the members voted me in. I just received word this morning.”
“I hope you do not feel it necessary to take lodgings elsewhere because I have taken up residence?” Lady Miles addressed him with a pleasant smile. “I know Miles enjoys your company immensely.” She paused, realized what she’d said and colored. “Which is not to say I don’t also. We are a rather staid household for a bachelor, but I hope you will always consider this your home.”
Now that “Her Grace” had arrived, Duncan doubted such tranquility would continue, but his half-brother had always had a knack for turning his mother up sweet, and from what he had observed, Eleanor and Julia rubbed along very well together also. “Thank you, my lady. No, I am not taking rooms at the club because I feel unwanted or bored with your company.” He returned her smile. “I am doing so as it will lift the obligation of being a hostess from you when all you should be worried about is…” He nodded at the slight bulge in her abdomen. “Now with Her Grace in residence also, I fear you will be challenged for space. My leaving will allow you another bedroom.”
“Well, if you discover the rooms do not suit or you find you prefer our cook to theirs, you are always welcome back.”
Miles walked back into the morning room and resumed his position on the sofa. With a smile, he patted the cushion next to him, and Eleanor joined him while Duncan slouched back into the chair he’d occupied previously.
“Do you have plans for the morrow?” he asked Miles.
“Nothing terribly important. Why?”
“I am going make the rounds of the financial institutions where Edgar banked and get an accounting of the family’s estate. I should enjoy your company. Depending upon what I find, I might have some ideas about expanding Major Abernathy’s income.”
“By a visit to our family’s banks? You pique my curiosity. I will be glad to accompany you,” responded his half-brother.
Chapter Eleven
Storming through the front door in a vile temper, and mumbling under her breath about pigeon-livered ratbags, Florence jerked on the fat satin ribbon tied into a jaunty bow just underneath her right ear. Freed, she grabbed the expensive hat by its brim and sailed it over her shoulder to the floor of the hall. Her gloves followed the hat, and her light summer spencer followed the gloves. The pumps, embroidered with crewel-work daisies, that cramped her toes and hurt her feet within minutes but were the perfect match to her cerulean blue walking dress were kicked off to land where they might. Her progress to her office left a litter of outerwear and accessories strewn in her wake. She swirled into her office clad in only her walking dress and stockings to find Greyson seated at her desk and wholly engaged in paperwork.
He looked up and scanned her from head to toe. An eyebrow lifted as his eyes fell to her feet. “Any success where I have failed? Ah. From your mulish expression, I am going to assume your answer is no.”
She glared at him, trying to cool her temper so she could speak coherently. It was not his
fault men were such imbeciles that they crabbed backward from the potential for enormous profit—all because the person fronting the project was female. She flopped into one of the two chairs set in front of her solid mahogany desk, placed her elbow on one upholstered arm and propped her chin on her fist. “No. They were not impressed by seeing me any more than they were impressed by seeing you—perhaps less. I have no good news to send to Mr. Argawal.” She crossed her arms and slumped in the chair. “We shall have to abandon our plans and hope the teak and copper dealers will trade with us again at some point in the future.”
“How much time did he give you to obtain the monies?”
She shook her head. “It cannot signify as it took Mr. Argawal’s letter six months to reach me and I can only guess at how long it will take my answer to reach him. The teak dealers and the copper dealers would be content to extend credit if we could but show them bank balances or notes of commitment indicating sufficient funds were present to cover all debt.” She released a long sigh. “I cannot offer such an amount from my own resources, nor can I find investors to loan me the funds unsecured. Can’t they see how sure this venture is? It is as if they feel my being female, by mere association, inflicts some volatility upon an otherwise sound investment. It quite inflames my temper.”
“Uncertain on any given day,” observed her steward in an exasperated mutter meant mostly for himself.
She regarded him with dropped-jaw astonishment. “Whatever do you mean? I’m the most sweet-tempered of creatures.” The steady gaze of mild incredulity from Greyson halted the protest she’d begun to mount. She opened her mouth several times to rebut his ridiculous assertion…but closed it again when, with full sails belled before a quickening wind, instance after instance of her less than even-keeled behavior sailed past. She glanced sideways and fought not to smile. “I hate you.”
“You do not, but that’s beside the point. What will you do?”
She sighed deeply. “I shall visit Mr. Belfreese and Mr. Hapner on the morrow and Lord Chaloner and Adolphus after that… and pray they have more foresight and courage than the weak-livered fuss-pots I called on today.” She straightened. “Does Captain Everleigh continue to call?”
“Not for the last three days. You may have put him off permanently.”
She smiled. “More like allowing me the courtesy of tending to pressing business without distraction. I don’t think he is so easily discouraged. I believe I will pay Eleanor a visit in the morning.”
When Florence entered Eleanor’s morning room the following day, she was surprised to see Her Grace sitting beside Eleanor. The women were chatting about, what else, the care and feeding of newborns.
Eleanor glanced up, smiled broadly and crossed the room to give her a hug. “Florence, what a wonderful surprise. Duncan had said you were unavailable or I should have been to see you, and look who is here to visit.”
Florence nodded. “Your Grace. How nice of you to come to London. I know Eleanor is glad of your company. I have proven to be a poor companion to her of late, what with one thing and another.”
Eleanor chuckled. “Yes, that thing being one Captain Duncan Everleigh. If you have come looking for him, he’s not here. He removed to rooms at Bentley’s on St. James.”
“What a poor sort you must think me. I came to spend time with you, my dear. I haven’t seen you in over a week.” Shoving her disappointment under a rock where it belonged, she sat in one of the two chairs arranged around a low table, faced the Duchess and Eleanor and girded herself to be a good friend to Eleanor. “Now, I am all agog to hear if you have met with this male midwife, Sir Richard Croft, and what you think of him.”
She spent the next two hours, from all outward appearances, enthralled by a conversation about child birthing methods, the care of the newborn, the diet of the mother, the pros and cons of hiring a wet nurse, and what questions to ask when interviewing her. When she determined she had suffered enough, she rose and kissed Eleanor on the cheek, curtseyed to Julia and took her leave. She strolled home, disheartened and mope-ish, looking down and scuffing her feet.
“Florence, I have just come from being turned away, yet again, from your door. However, this time when your butler referred me to your steward, Mr. Greyson condescended to mention you were at Eleanor’s. May I hope you are returning home and will give me a few moments of your precious time?” Not ten feet away, Duncan stood on the sidewalk and smiled at her.
At once, the clouds parted; the sun shone; the birds warbled; and she may have heard an angel choir. “Captain Everleigh,” she said demurely, “I should be delighted to give you all the moments of my time that you require. Will you stay for dinner?” She slipped her hand through the arm he gallantly held out for her to take, and they began to stroll toward her house. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her for a moment, and she basked in the admiration she saw there.
“As to dinner… how many will be in attendance?”
Her easy laughter drew the attention of several other couples out walking. “It will be quite private. Only you and me.”
“You will have to take me as I am,” he warned and gestured to his attire. His deep blue, cutaway with a sky blue waistcoat and lace cravat combined with riding boots over form-fitted tan buckskins—so fitted she could make out the indentions in the muscles of his thighs above his knees, she didn’t tease herself by looking higher—might have been elegant dress for an afternoon of riding, driving, or strolling about, but it fell far short of the mark as appropriate dress for dining.
“I will take you, however, I can get you. Does that mean you will stay?”
He eyed her with suspicious humor. “We are only discussing dinner?”
“If you insist, though you know I should welcome much more.”
“Even if limited to conversation and dinner,” his response was half a sigh of regret, half a laugh of bemusement, “I should be delighted to accept.”
He ushered her into her townhome and handed his hat, cane, and gloves to a footman. Following her into her drawing room, he accepted a tumbler of whiskey before sitting in his customary place across from her. She sipped at her ratafia. She’d rather have had the whiskey. She liked wine. She liked brandy. She wasn’t all that fond of them together, but it was what one drank…if one were female. No matter. What inebriated her was the sight of the fine man sitting mere feet from her.
“How went your dinner with Sir Cummings? Did he give you an answer?”
“The dinner went well enough. The old gentleman has knocked around some devilishly strange places. Spent time in China with the British East India Company in his youth before coming home to serve God and his king.” Duncan looked into his whiskey. “I had no answer as to whether my resignation will be accepted. The matter has been referred to ole Conkey for the final say.” He looked up and hastened to add, “Ah, that is… the Duke of Wellington.” His lips twisted in a wry smile and he gave a dismissive shrug. “The men call him ‘Conkey’ because of his…” Duncan gestured at his nose. “I should amend my speech to something more respectful.”
“Oh, please do not. Not on my account,” she consoled. “Eleanor tells me you have been accepted at Bentley’s.”
“Yes. I now have rooms there. Spent an entertaining evening with Lord Seville and some of his cronies playing cards. I understand why you like him. He’s quite convivial in a dry sort of way. The food is not up to the standards set by Eleanor’s cook, but I shall survive. If I can eat boiled rat, I can eat anything.” He chuckled at the face she made. “None of this addresses what I wish to speak with you about, however.” He placed his empty tumbler on the low table between them, stood and began to pace the room. “Yesterday, I visited the financial institutions that have managed the Chelsony wealth for decades. I wished to have an accounting of our assets and ready cash.” He stilled. “Astounding really. I had no notion.” His gaze found hers. “This morning, I paid a call on our solicitor to determine if I would be allowed to make the offer I am about to extend to you. H
e informed me that he lacks the official public proclamation from The House of Lords and the Crown, but he has received word from both entities that my claim has been acknowledged as legitimate and that I may take possession of the Chelsony estate and conduct such private business as I deem necessary or desirable.
Excitement began to well in her breast. Would his offer be what she hoped?
“I realize that this question is intrusive in the extreme, however, if you will bear with me. What is the sum of money you hope to raise from your investors? The total if you please.”
She named the staggering sum. She could tell the amount gave him pause. He stood in thought for a long moment… or perhaps it only seemed long to her.
“I should like to stand surety on your venture in Calcutta. I wish you to offer your investors a 100% return of investment should your merchant fleet fail to return a profit within the first year. You may tell them that in such an unlikely event, the recompense will be paid from the estate of Duncan Worthington Everleigh, the Right Honorable the Duke of Chelsony and not by you. My solicitor is preparing something in writing to tie it all up with bows and ribbons.”
“And should I fail? Can your estate withstand such loss?”
“If you should lose all?” He considered for a moment and replied with a sober, “Yes. Just. I never gave it serious consideration as I have every confidence you won’t fail.”
Tears gathered behind her eyes. He had done so much more than she could—or would—ever have thought to ask. The generosity of his spirit, what it said about his faith in her competence… it thoroughly unraveled her. For once she had indisputable proof. Someone she admired—though ‘admired’ seemed far too tame a descriptive to apply to her feelings for Duncan—valued her mind rather than her female sex. Wet tracked her cheeks, and her mouth trembled uncontrollably. “Oh, Duncan!” she began. She rose from the sofa and flew to him, wrapping her arms around him, and burst into tears. “Thank you,” she mumbled through gasps interspersed with sobs. “Thank you. Thank you.” A fine white handkerchief appeared in front of her, and she loosened her grip on him to take it. Dotting her eyes and smiling until she couldn’t force her lips any wider, she gazed up at him. “Thank you. It is quite the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me in my entire life or probably ever will, for that matter. You are irrevocably my favorite person on the face of the earth.”
A Destitute Duke Page 9