Ducal Encounters 02 - With the Duke's Approval

by Wendy Soliman

  No question about Lady Annalise’s cognitive powers, Clarence thought. “You really are a most unusual young lady,” he said. “And definitely a deep thinker.”

  “Oh no, you mistake me for Portia. Now she really does study world affairs and shakes her head at the way things are.”

  The dance came to an end, and Lady Annalise dipped a graceful curtsy.

  “Thank you so much.” Clarence placed her hand on his sleeve and forged a path to the edge of the room. “That was vastly entertaining.”

  She shot him a shrewd sideways look. “I hope you are not laughing at me.”

  “Indeed, my lady, I would not dare.”

  “Gosh, it is crowded, and very hot,” Lady Annalise said. “Portia was right about that.”

  “Would you care for a turn on the terrace?” Clarence glanced down at her flimsy ball gown, a deep shimmering pink, and shook his head. “Perhaps that would not be advisable. It is freezing outside. I should hate for you to catch one of Miss Outwood’s fevers. I am already in enough trouble with your brother as it is.”

  “Ah, but I have an answer to that.”

  Clarence refrained from rolling his eyes. After all, he was a diplomat. He ought to be able to manage one lively and entertaining young lady without the requirement for reinforcements. He scowled. No, reinforcements were out of the question. Selfishly, he wanted Lady Annalise to himself for a little while longer. The comment she had made about making time for his own pleasures had lodged in his brain and seemed in no hurry to quit it again.

  “And that answer is?”

  “Come with me.”

  Lady Annalise turned towards the stairs leading up from the ballroom situated on the lower ground floor. Clarence escorted her through the crowd and up the winding stairs.

  “Just a moment.”

  She slipped through the open door to the library and returned almost immediately with a thick, very brightly coloured shawl, draped around her shoulders.

  “Frankie’s,” she said by way of explanation. “Shall we?”

  Chapter Three

  Lord Romsey opened the door to the terrace and stepped back so Anna could walk through it ahead of him. Her over-heated body was hit by a blast of Siberian air, causing her to shiver and pull Frankie’s shawl more closely about her.

  “We can go back inside if it’s too cold for you, Lady Annalise,” Lord Romsey said. “In fact, that would probably be wise.”

  “No, I won’t hear of it. The cold is welcome after the crush of all those bodies in there.”

  She tucked the fingers of the hand resting on his arm into the crook of his elbow. If he noticed, he made no objection. It wasn’t Anna’s intention to act forwardly, but her gloves were so thin as to be inconsequential, and she wanted to prevent her fingers from freezing to death.

  “I agree with you about the fresh air, but there is frost under foot. Take great care. It will seep through your slippers in no time and you will incur—”

  “One of Miss Outwood’s fevers,” she finished for him, smiling.

  “Quite.” She could hear a reciprocal smile in Lord Romsey’s voice as he tilted his head upwards and examined the sky. “We shall have snow before morning.”

  “Do you think so? Oh good, I like snow.”

  “I believe you are a romantic at heart, Lady Annalise, in spite of your determination to disappoint half the ton by rejecting their proposals.”

  She turned to look at him. “What makes you imagine I have received any proposals?”

  Rich laugher vibrated through his body. And through hers, causing her to shiver for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold. “As you yourself pointed out, many of the young bucks turned loose on the ton are not the brightest sparks in the tinder box. But even Roker has fallen for your charms.” He patted the hand resting on his arm. “I rest my case.”

  “Why…why does my—” Anna swallowed and took a moment to find her voice. The feel of Lord Romsey’s fingers had a most disconcerting effect upon her, making her forget what she had been about to say. Oh yes, inappropriate proposals. That was it. “I don’t feel ready for matrimony,” she said loftily.

  “How very sensible of you.”

  “You have something against marriage, Lord Romsey?”

  “Not in the least, but I do think people tend to rush into it without proper thought.”

  “Allowing their hearts to rule their heads, you mean?” She quirked a brow. “I cannot see you allowing your feelings to overcome common sense.”

  “I have resisted temptation, thus far.”

  “Hmm.” Anna wasn’t sure what he meant by that and changed the subject. “Why does my liking winter weather make me a romantic, in your opinion?”

  “Snow is devilishly inconvenient. It’s pretty enough when it falls, I’ll grant you, but once it’s on the ground, it is a very different story. Horses can’t get about, lots of accidents occur, and life generally grinds to a halt.”

  “It shames me that I have never thought of it in that light. How very spoiled you must think me.”

  He didn’t deny it. “We are just about the only people foolish enough to venture out of doors,” he said instead, causing Anna to notice for the first time they were indeed alone.

  “I happen to think we are very sensible,” Anne replied, sending him a sparkling smile that he probably couldn’t see in the dim lighting on the terrace. “Besides, you are a diplomat, and everyone knows diplomats must be very clever.”

  “You appear determined to pay me compliments I have no right to expect. Nevertheless, I thank you for them.”

  Anna felt the muscles in the arm upon which she rested her fingers flex and contract. She glanced up at his handsome face and would give a very great deal to know what was going on in that clever brain of his. He cut such a dashing figure, with his broad shoulders displayed to fine advantage in a superbly cut coat of the finest blue wool, and a silk waistcoat embroidered with gold thread. A sapphire winked from the folds of his neckcloth. His breeches were finest buckskin, fitted tight, and his elegant legs were displayed in white patterned stockings. Anna felt pride in his companionship, but compassion for the man he had become. Lord Romsey’s elegant manners covered a very troubled, slightly lost soul. She didn’t know how she was aware of it, but somehow she knew it was true.

  They had not reached the end of the terrace before she came to a decision. Her soft heart recoiled at the thought of this complex gentleman spending all his waking hours doing his duty, putting others before himself. All the time his father had been alive, his son lived up to his expectations, and continued to do so after his death.

  It simply would not do.

  When she mentioned snow, his first thought was for the danger and inconvenience it caused. Hers was of boisterous snowball fights on the lawns of the Park—all of her siblings participating, no quarter asked for or given, no compensations made for the age or sex of the combatants. Lord Romsey had probably never done that. Well, of course he had not. He had no siblings to compete against. Nor could he have ridden bareback, racing hell for leather across fields in direct competition with four brothers. He had missed so very much.

  When she mentioned Miss Outwood’s lack of intelligence, his immediate reaction was to seek a reason for it, simply because that was the way he had been encouraged from the cradle to apply his mind. Spontaneity did not form a part of Lord Romsey’s character, and Anna thought that was a great pity.

  He was a close neighbour, responsible for the district in Hampshire that adjoined Zach’s. Had he not mentioned he and Zach would be working closely to bring law and order to the county? That implied Lord Romsey would be a regular visitor to the Park, affording Anna the opportunity to make him her charity project. She would teach this intelligent, complex, and very handsome aristocrat how to relax and enjoy himself, or die on the attempt.

  Waltzing with him had been a very agreeable experience. Very agreeable indeed. He danced superbly. She supposed being a proficient dancer was de rigour for
any aspiring diplomat. He would be required to dance with all manner of ladies at various diplomatic soirees, and he would be expected to excel. That did not explain why she had felt so capriciously abandoned in the circle of his arms, or the firestorm of emotional turmoil that had gripped her, causing her tongue to run away with her to cover her confusion.

  She was prepared to admit Lord Romsey was the most interesting and agreeable gentleman she had met since her come out, perhaps because he was quite a few years older than she was and he had seen and done so much to make him fascinating in her eyes. She adjured herself not to get carried away with foolish notions. Lord Romsey was a slave to duty. That much was very apparent, and there was no place in his life for a wife.

  Good heavens! Anna almost stumbled when the nature of her thoughts registered. A strong arm shot out to steady her.

  “Did you slip?”

  “Oh no, I beg your pardon. I was not paying attention.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “Fie, Lord Romsey, you cannot ask such a question.” She shook a finger at him in mock annoyance. “If I were to answer you honestly, you would be disappointed by the pedestrian nature of my reflections, and that knowledge would strip me of all mystique. If I were to invent something exotic, would you think less of me as a consequence?”

  His rich, throaty laugh sent a shockwave of thrills cascading through her body. “You, my dear, will always be a charming mystery to me, and I shall never tire of trawling your lively imagination.”

  “Gallantly said.”

  “Does that mean my inappropriate question is forgiven?”

  “Question?” Anna sent him a teasing smile. “Did you ask me something?”

  Lord Romsey chuckled, and they continued their chilly perambulation in companionable silence. Anna breathed deeply of the frigid air and returned to her cogitations. Without being vain, she was aware she could take her pick of a husband from amongst the many young men who pursued her with single-minded determination. None had excited her interest. Lord Romsey, on the other hand, had done so without appearing to try. Unfortunately, he was not of a mind to marry. He had told her so in not so many words. Perhaps he sensed her interest in him and was kindly setting her on her guard. She was not about to beg. She was not quite that desperate. Besides, she could not marry a man who did not love her and who wasn’t prepared to give her at least a portion of his attention. Lord Romsey’s time was completely taken up with his myriad responsibilities, and he had none to spare for domestic felicity.

  Anna squared her shoulders, squelching her disappointment. Be that as it may, there was one thing she could do for him. She could introduce him to an aspect of his character he probably didn’t know existed by teaching him how to enjoy himself, simply because he felt the desire to act spontaneously.

  She could and she most assuredly would.

  They still had the terrace to themselves. Much as Anna enjoyed being with Lord Romsey, she was now frozen to the bone and couldn’t prevent herself from shivering.

  “You’re cold,” he said. “We ought to return to the ballroom.”

  “In a minute. I don’t mind the cold. It provides a respite from the over-heated ballroom.”

  “And your admirers.”

  “And them.”

  “How do you manage? Being pursued all the time must be exhausting.”

  “Oh, it is. Believe me. It doesn’t help that I could be the ugliest, most boring woman on God’s earth, but because of who I am, I would be pursued just as vigorously.”

  “You don’t know whether the coves admire you for yourself or for your fortune and connections?” Lord Romsey stroked his chin. “I had not thought of it in that light before.”

  “And you have no diplomatic advice to offer me?” she asked, glancing up at him with a capricious smile.

  “I’m not sure there is anything in the diplomatic handbook to cover such a situation.”

  “An unfortunate oversight.”

  “Quite. I shall make the powers that be aware of the omission at the first opportunity. But in the meantime, I must rely upon my wits to save face.” He sent her a teasing smile. “My suggestion, for what it is worth, is to listen to your heart and allow it to guide you. You would not be happy united to man you did not love or respect. You will know when you find the right gentleman.”

  “Yes,” she said, the laughter dying on her lips. “But what if he does not desire me?”

  “Now, you are being foolish.” He fixed her with a smouldering expression that caused her breath to hitch in her throat and welcome heat to invade her frozen limbs. “There is not a gentleman alive who could resist your charms.”

  Except you. Anna was saved from the trouble of formulating a response when the door was thrown open and a gentleman headed towards Lord Romsey, waving a piece of paper in his direction.

  “What is it, Pierce?” Lord Romsey asked, clearly irritated by the interruption.

  “Pardon the intrusion, my lord. I have been looking for you everywhere. An urgent communique from the Foreign Office.”

  Lord Romsey turned to Anna with an exasperated air. “Allow me to escort you back—”

  “Always on duty, my lord,” she said softly. “No, don’t trouble yourself on my account. I shall remain here a moment longer. Read your note, by all means.”

  Lord Romsey appeared unsure of himself, a most unusual circumstance. “I really ought to take you back inside first.”

  “Nothing can happen to me here.”

  And she wasn’t ready to return to the fray quite yet, which meant fending off men who did not interest her. She moved away from the light being shed through the windows, allowing Lord Romsey to stand there and read his note in private. She strolled a little further away from him, dimly aware of him speaking in a lowered voice to Pierce who was presumably his secretary. She gazed out across the inky blackness of the gardens one floor below them, illuminated by the light spilling from the ballroom. She heard faint strains of music, louder overtones of hundreds of voices, and felt part of it all, yet strangely detached.

  There was something wrong with her, she thought. She ought to revel in being young, rich, and feted, and yet already, the entertainments of high society were losing their appeal. She moved further down the terrace. Lord Romsey appeared very agitated by whatever the communique said, and she didn’t wish to give the impression of eavesdropping. Presumably, he would leave the ball now. He was obviously needed somewhere else. Why send a note to him at this time of night otherwise? She felt disappointed. The ball would be a very dull affair without him, and she would prefer to go home. That would not happen. It was only just past midnight, and her mother would expect to remain for at least another hour or two.

  Anna lifted her face and felt fat snowflakes fall onto it. Lord Romsey had been right about the snow. She trailed her gloved hand along the frosty balustrade, crying out in surprise when she saw something move in the periphery of her vision and felt something lock onto her wrist. She wondered if Lord Romsey had crept up on her, taking her by surprise, but she glanced his way and saw he was still in deep conversation with Pierce. Besides, he would never clasp her wrist in such a vulgar manner. Panic consumed her. Lord Romsey hadn’t heard her exclaim above the noise coming from the ball, and she was glad of it. She was here alone, and tried to convince herself that the touch to her wrist was a product of her disturbed imagination. Except it hurt like the devil, so how could it be?

  Before Anna could decide, she felt a sharp tug on her arm, her feet left the floor, and her body tipped over the edge of the balustrade. Again she cried out, louder this time, but was unaware if she was heard. She was falling fast onto the frozen ground beneath her, and could do nothing to help herself. Lord above, she would break her bones, if not her neck. Either that or she would freeze to death before she was found.

  Except, she didn’t fall to the ground, but was caught by a strong pair of arms. The side of her face came into sharp contact with a rough jerkin that smelled dis
gusting. Then a sack was pulled over her head and her entire world went black.

  ***

  “Right, Pierce, you know what to do.”

  “I apologise if—”

  “On second thoughts I’d best come with you and put the Foreign Secretary’s mind at rest.”

  “It might be for the best, my lord. He is in rather a state.”

  Clarence rolled his eyes, wondering when he was not. “I can well imagine. Give me a moment to return Lady Annalise to her mother, and I shall be with you.” Clarence turned, but the lady who had entrusted herself to his care was nowhere in sight. “What the devil? Did Lady Annalise pass us and go back into the ballroom?” he asked sharply.

  “I did not see her, my lord.”

  “She must have done.” Clarence felt a strange premonition as he strode the length of the terrace, calling her name, becoming more agitated by the second. “How odd. I must ensure she’s safe. I can’t leave here until I have done so.”

  There seemed to be more people than ever in the ballroom, and more still spilling out of the adjoining card and supper rooms. It was a terrible crush, but Lady Annalise was taller than average, and he ought to be able to see her head.

  He could not.

  With each room he searched, finding no trace of her or any members of her family, he became increasingly concerned. Common sense told him she could not have been spirited away from the duchess’s terrace on the first floor of her mansion. But she didn’t seem to have returned to the house either. There had to be a simple explanation, he told himself repeatedly. Clarence had been engrossed in conversation with his secretary, but he would still have noticed her passing their position. There were two other doorways leading to the terrace, but due to the inclement weather, they were locked from the inside. Indeed, only Clarence and Lady Annalise had been foolish enough to brave the elements. That was highly unusual. Terraces were usually thronged at balls with couples keen to snatch a few illicit minutes away from the eagle eyes of their chaperones.