A Duke to Elude: Sweet Regency Romance (Sherton Sisters Book 1)

by Wendy May Andrews

  “We shall be having supper with our Grandmother Sherton and then we are attending a ball at Rose Park.”

  “A busy evening ahead of you, then. I’m not completely certain if I’ve been invited to Rose Park this evening, but I shall see you soon either way.”

  Her tinkle of laughter answered him. “Your Grace, it is highly doubtful you were not invited.”

  She was correct. He didn’t bother to argue. He merely bowed and left after another bow to Lady Sherton. He was fairly sure Rosabel’s gaze was burning a hole in his shoulder blades as he departed without a backward glance. But he couldn’t stop grinning all the way back to his own home. If he was going to be gallivanting that night, he had a pile of work requiring his attention in the meantime.

  He had never looked forward to an evening more.

  Chapter Eight

  Rosabel truly tried not to be conceited, but she was more than certain of her own appeal. She had been cosseted and admired since she’d made her debut three Seasons ago. It was hard to believe that was just a little over two years in the past. It felt like a lifetime. She had thought it would be so easy to find the love of her life. Or rather, she had expected him to find her. Clearly, the fairy tales their nanny had read to them had been highly misleading.

  But in all that time, she had never witnessed a gentleman calling while they were at home who did not even glance in her direction. In fact, the gentlemen were usually falling over themselves to be presented to her. It made for the occasional awkward experience, to be sure. But Rosabel had never been in a position to experience the sensation that was currently assaulting her. She was quite certain it was pique. Perhaps even envy. The Duke of Wexford had called and only spoke with her mother and her little sister. She didn’t think he had even glanced at her.

  There were several people vying for her attention right at that very moment, but Rosabel couldn’t even hear them, despite them being uncomfortably close. All she could process was the fact that Wexford had come and ignored her. That had never happened to her before. It was enough to stir anger in even the most understanding of hearts, she was sure. But she was uncomfortably aware that hers was not the most understanding. Not by a long distance.

  In an effort to shake off the unusual feelings, Bel blinked and smiled at the men and women surrounding her. Thankfully, no one had seemed to notice that she had mentally left the conversation temporarily. The buzz of conversation swirled around her, and she slowly took a deep breath, allowing the anger to dissipate, at least enough for her to get through the rest of their visits. She was able to smile and nod in all the appropriate places, adding enough to the conversation that no one remarked upon her lack of attention, but all the while, in the back of her mind, thoughts of Wexford buzzed like a pesky bug that wouldn’t be swatted away.

  She took particular care with her toilette that evening, nearly driving her maid to tears. Guilt ate at her, but so did her angry confusion with Wexford. Vicky had related the entirety of the conversation with the duke after all the guests had finally left. Hilaria had been typically perplexed and annoyed that Wexford had once again paid attention to one of her sisters rather than her, but Vicky had been quite clear about his request for them to entertain his sister. Of course, they had all agreed and been distracted with discussing various ideas for possible excursions with the girl. But as Rosabel chose her gown she couldn’t ignore the thought that Wexford had asked where they would be that evening. Vicky hadn’t thought anything of it, but Bel was certain the man never spoke without intention.

  “I do apologize, Sally, I know my dithering has been frustrating for you, and I cannot even explain my behaviour.”

  “No need to explain, my lady. I already know the reason.”

  Rosabel stared at her maid’s reflection as the servant’s skilled fingers twisted her hair into a complicated design.

  “How could you possibly know when I do not?”

  “Phillips was full of importance when he was explaining to everyone that Wexford came around for the second day in a row. Who wouldn’t be atwitter after that?”

  “But he didn’t come to see me.” Bel tried to keep her tone light, but even she could hear the plaintive note, which frustrated her further. She didn’t want to be interested in him. “He only spoke with Mother and Vicky.”

  “All the more reason to be a little stirred up this evening, wouldn’t you say?”

  Finally, Rosabel laughed. She was being ridiculous. Even the servants knew she was being ridiculous. They were just too kind to say so.

  “Thank you, Sally, you’ve worked wonders as usual.”

  “You’re right beautiful, my lady. If anyone ever thinks otherwise, they would have to be blind.”

  Bel smiled at her maid, grateful for the other woman’s loyalty, but she knew that beauty was only skin deep. Wexford was obviously not swayed by a pretty face or form. And she didn’t want to sway him, she reminded herself. Imagining being a duchess caused her stomach to plummet. Keep your focus on finding a pleasant mister to love. Perhaps a baron. Most definitely no higher than a viscount.

  With one last critical glance into the mirror, Rosabel accepted that she was ready for the evening and stepped back from the dressing table. Sally had placed sufficient pins in her hair that it wouldn’t move in the slightest until they were removed much later that night. As long as she didn’t spill anything at supper with Grandmother Sherton, she would do nicely for the entire night, including the ball to follow. She wouldn’t see the inside of her room for several hours and felt as though she had donned her armour for the night ahead.

  Once she reached the foyer, everything passed in a blur. The younger girls had arrived just ahead of her, both eager in each their own ways for the coming entertainments. Vicky was nearly bouncing with her excitement. Hilaria was, of course, much more subdued in her displays, but Bel knew her sister to be eager to depart, as she didn’t complain even once as the carriage made its way to Lady Sherton’s townhouse.

  Rosabel sternly bade herself to remain in the moment, as her mind was eager to drift to speculations about the ball. Should she seek out Wexford? Should she ignore him if he were to seek her out? Forget it, she mentally hissed to herself while offering a slight, polite smile to Lord Seely, the viscount from the Leicester region that all the debutantes were cooing about. Grandmother had seated her beside him. Rosabel had always suspected the old bird was a secret matchmaker. But she was going to be disappointed in her efforts, Rosabel was afraid.

  While the nobleman was pleasant to look at, he was a wee bit too aware of that fact. It was most disappointing. Rosabel had heard it mentioned that they would make an exceptionally handsome pair, but while she didn’t obsess over her own good looks, Lord Seely wasn’t so restrained. If one did not remark upon it, he would do it for you. Rosabel found that amusing on occasion, but she didn’t think the man would be a comfortable companion for life. Bel was afraid his good looks wouldn’t last, and she couldn’t imagine what a boor he would become then. She didn’t care so much about the appearance of her potential mate, although she would appreciate that he not be an eyesore, but she didn’t think the too pretty Viscount Seely was for her.

  All that being said, though, she could still appreciate being his dinner companion for the evening. Once he got past his oratory on his attire and the pains he had taken with his valet, he was more interesting. Bel enjoyed his tales about his sessions in the House of Lords as well as his complaints about his encroaching relatives and incompetent servants. The way he told the stories was always amusing. It was as though the man lived to entertain. If he hadn’t been born into the peerage, the man would have succeeded on the stage.

  By the midpoint of the dinner, Bel was having trouble sitting still.

  It was Lord Seely’s fault. Or perhaps it was just Rosabel’s newfound concern for the feelings of others. But that evening, Lord Seely’s wit was more cutting than usual. And he didn’t keep his remarks to just his own affairs.

  “I say,” he b
egan in his voice that was clearly for the benefit of others. “Have you heard about the skirmish in the House between Lords Heatherington and Prescott and the Duke of Wexford?” The sly glances thrown her way let Bel know this particular conversational gambit was for her edification. She didn’t appreciate it in the least.

  “I haven’t heard anything about it,” she murmured, hoping to turn the subject.

  “That surprises me. I thought you were particular friends with several of the parties involved.”

  Rosabel had had her fill of the overconfident young viscount. She lifted her chin and fought the urge to slap the young man’s face. It wasn’t his fault he listened to gossip.

  “Perhaps you have been misinformed. But I’m pleased to hear that you’re taking your duties toward the government so seriously. Thank you for your work. I see, though, that her ladyship is preparing to leave, so I shall leave you to enjoy your port.”

  Filled with relief, Rosabel got to her feet to follow her grandmother and the other ladies from the room to leave the gentlemen to their port. It was a quaint custom, in Bel’s opinion. She had no desire to share the port herself, and she enjoyed the quiet conversation amongst the ladies while they sipped tea and awaited the gentlemen. On this night, since Grandmother’s invitation had not included anything beyond the meal, talk surrounded the entertainments everyone was pursuing afterward. They would see some of their fellow guests at Rose Park while others were going to the theatre, and still others were attending a rout or another ball. Bel found it amusing that no one planned a quiet evening at home. She supposed that was not a part of the Season. It was a good thing it didn’t last terribly long or they’d all be burnt to the socket.

  Despite that warning thought, though, Rosabel was looking forward to the Rose Park ball. She, of course, loved to dance, and she had never suffered the indignity of being a wallflower, so she could wait with anticipation to see who she would partner with that night. Most gentlemen of the ton were skilled dancers. It was rare that her toes were at risk. She had nothing to fear on that score. But her excitement for the evening was tempered by her inexplicable preoccupation with Wexford. Remembering, she pushed him from her mind once more and turned to the lady beside her.

  “Have you received your vouchers to Almack’s? Last we spoke, you were still waiting.”

  Perhaps it wasn’t the best question. The young lady nearly squealed with her excitement.

  “Yes, they arrived yesterday. We shall be going to the next assembly. It was cutting it rather close, I suppose, but we were nearly certain they would arrive, so we hadn’t accepted any other invitations for that evening.”

  “That was well planned,” Rosabel murmured.

  “Wasn’t it? My mama is so wise. She has every intention of firing me off without a hitch.”

  “And how do you feel about that?” Rosabel couldn’t prevent the question, despite the unpredictable nature of potential answers.

  “Oh, well, I must get married as soon as possible, so I’m glad she has a plan.”

  “Are you looking forward to marriage?”

  “Of course, aren’t you?” the other girl asked before colouring to her hairline. Rosabel struggled against laughter. Clearly, the debutante had just remembered that Bel was still single in her third Season.

  “Perhaps you don’t mind staying with your family, and I suppose your circumstances are quite different, but I need to marry well, and quickly, or we’ll be in a fine fix.”

  Rosabel could see that the younger woman didn’t really mind the sacrifice she was being asked to make for her family so, she made an effort to keep her opinion to herself. “I do hope you’ll enjoy yourself at Almack’s. The dancing is always lovely, as they have very skilled musicians and a beautiful ballroom.”

  “I suppose you attend regularly?” The other girl now sounded slightly resentful, leading Rosabel to regret the conversation.

  “Not as often as we used to, but we do attend occasionally. Vigilia prefers other entertainments, and for the most part we travel as a troupe.”

  Miss Charrington wrinkled her nose. “That’s one advantage of being fired off quickly. I don’t have to share my Season with my younger sisters.”

  “There are advantages and disadvantages to be sure,” Rosabel agreed lightly, relieved to hear the stir at the doorway indicating the gentlemen were returning. “Enjoy your evening,” she said as a farewell.

  “You as well.”

  Rosabel suspected the younger woman was too polite to tell her she didn’t actually hope she enjoyed her evening. Her efforts at kindness were not being reciprocated. Perhaps it was a senseless pursuit. Bel hated to consider the Season to be a competition, but she supposed, in some ways, it truly was. Marriage amongst the ton could be seen as a business arrangement. The girl who landed the gentleman with the highest income could be deemed the winner. If those were the stakes, Bel would have “won” in her first Season if she had so wished. But she had already resolved to find a love match.

  She occasionally wondered if she was being foolish beyond forgiveness. She had yet to find someone who professed to love her, or anyone she thought she could truly love. With a sinking heart, she wondered if she had been foolish to set that as her goal. Perhaps she had read too many fairy tales. Or she hadn’t thought the matter through sufficiently. Her parents loved each other; of that she was certain. But she was also aware that they had not been a love match to begin with. So perhaps, she had been expecting too much. Of course, she hadn’t been a total fool. She had also decided she didn’t want to wed a nobleman. A plain mister hadn’t yet approached her father. So perhaps, she just needed to continue to bide her time. She knew they existed. She just needed to maintain her patience. And ignore the jealous cats sharing the Season.

  Bel was the first to respond to her mother’s indication that it was time to take their leave. She was anxious to move on with her evening. Hilaria and Vicky were surprisingly caught up in their various conversations so, it was a couple moments before they joined their family, but the Shertons were soon on their way to their next engagement.

  Chapter Nine

  Wexford was running late. He had stayed too long at his previous engagement and now was just arriving at the Rose Park ball. He was certain the Shertons should already have arrived. James only hoped there were at least a couple waltzes left. He needed to speak with Rosabel, and the waltz was the only time they would be able to have a private conversation.

  Because he was late, the hosts were no longer receiving, which was just fine with James. He even wished he didn't need to be announced, but the butler took his job very seriously. Because of the volume of the music, though, and the hubbub of conversation, only a few eyes turned in his direction when the butler so seriously informed the throngs that the Duke of Wexford had arrived. None of those eyes belonged to Rosabel.

  Had they not yet arrived? Had Lady Vigilia been mistaken in where they would be attending? That wasn’t very likely. A young woman in her first official Season was sure to know where they were going each evening, even one who didn’t seem terribly eager to marry, such as Lady Vigilia. Despite her seeming disinterest in marriage, she had seemed eager to attend balls, so James was reasonably sure she would know which ball they were to attend that evening. For a moment his heart was seized with the thought that something might have happened to a member of the family, perhaps the earl’s mother. He couldn’t have explained why that affected him so strongly, but he dismissed that thought when he remembered that Lady Vigilia had also said they were going to that same lady’s home for supper before the ball. James relaxed. The supper was probably running even later than the commitments he had been engaged with.

  Advancing into the crowded ballroom, James thought of wandering into one of the side chambers and engaging in a round of cards to pass the time. It was always an excellent way to negotiate with some of the older opponents from the House. But he knew he would be unable to concentrate as he should until he spoke with Rosabel. He needed to kn
ow why she had been so intent upon his conversation with Lord Prescott. Until then, negotiating over a hand of cards was outside of his skill set.

  Just that thought put him on edge. No woman should have this power over him. Especially not some debutante, who probably knew nothing of import. Perhaps she had been admiring the cut of the other man’s coat or something equally innocent and superficial.

  He quickly dismissed that thought. Rosabel might be many things, but superficial didn’t seem to be one of them.

  But did she know anything?

  That was the big question he needed an answer to.

  He felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise and tingle right before the stately household chatelaine announced:

  “Lord and Lady Sherton, Lady Rosabel, Lady Hilaria, and Lady Vigilia.”

  They were even later than he had been, thus also foregoing the reception line. Wexford turned and watched as they made their way down the stairs into the ballroom. The earl and his wife didn’t seem to be in the least bothered by the attention they were garnering. They seemed to be engrossed in conversation as the countess leaned on her husband’s arm and spoke as though telling him a secret. It might very well have been if one judged by the earl’s expression. It would seem he was very much in favour of listening to his wife’s secrets.

  James allowed his gaze to drift to the daughters. Sunny-dispositioned Vigilia seemed a little embarrassed by the attention but was happy to be able to spot her friends in the crowd, as she had the advantage of height on the stairs. She waved as she neared the bottom and hurried away, being swallowed by the crowd. Hilaria seemed perturbed, but that didn’t seem to be in the least unusual, so James ignored it, allowing his attention to land and remain upon Rosabel. From the expressionless cast of her face, James would suppose she was uncomfortable. He couldn’t guess if it was the crowds, the attention she was garnering, or perhaps something that had taken place before their arrival.