Surely the viscount isn’t winking?
At least Burgess had not mentioned his need for an heir. Most people managed to allude to that earlier in a conversation with him. Having the duke’s heir and then the duke himself die in rapid succession did not lend people to have confidence in the Lewis line. And Sebastian had no brothers to take over should he die.
He turned his head, distracted by a group of young men and the way their colored waistcoats gleamed in the candlelight. He had not been exposed to this in Yorkshire, avoiding situations that ushered feelings impossible to contemplate. His fingers tingled, remembering William. What would it feel like to trace my hand over his firm figure? Sweat formed at the back of his neck, and he reached for his cravat, his finger brushing against the linen knot.
“Unless . . .” Lord Reynolds said.
“Yes?” Sebastian shifted, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Something flickered in Lord Reynolds’s eyes, as if he knew Sebastian better than he did himself.
“If marriage doesn’t suit you . . .”
Sebastian wasn’t certain what Reynolds was implying, but he resented the idea he somehow differed from other men. He composed his features. “Marriage suits me fine.”
“Of course,” Lord Reynolds murmured. “But your cousin is not long in his grave; perhaps you can enjoy the novelty of being a duke for a while longer.”
Lord Burgess grinned, definitely winking now. “Enjoy the women.”
One of the men in the cluster turned toward him. Burlier than the others, the man frowned, staring at him with narrowed eyes.
Sebastian’s throat dried, unaccustomed to the aggressive stance of the stranger. The man whispered something to his companions and strode toward Sebastian. His bronzed skin complemented his dark tailcoat. Reynolds and Burgess paused their conversation as the man halted before them.
Reynolds nodded to the other man and then turned to Sebastian. “Your Grace, let me introduce you to Geoffrey Hammerstead. His uncle, Sir Ambrose, is one of your neighbors at Somerset Hall.”
Hammerstead nodded. “I was acquainted with your cousin.”
“Oh.”
“He shouldn’t have died.” The man’s words were matter-of-fact.
“Well . . .” Sebastian swallowed and stepped back. “War is brutal.”
“Naturally.” Hammerstead’s steely eyes remained fixed on him. “Though you must agree the circumstances surrounding his death were mysterious. Especially since his father died so soon after. Rather convenient for you.”
Sebastian’s chest tightened at the man’s directness. Other men might instigate a duel at this point. Though brandishing a pistol about might not be the best way to make the man stop thinking he was behind his relatives’ recent deaths. “You cannot mean to suggest . . .”
The man shook his head. “I just hope you can live up to your cousin. He was a good man.”
Sebastian hesitated, reluctant to further disgruntle one of Lewis’s friends. “I shall aspire to do so.”
Hammerstead gave a curt nod. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Your Grace.”
“And you.” Sebastian’s eyes followed the man until he vanished into the crowd.
Burgess spoke first. “Rather rude. He wasn’t even close to Lewis.”
Reynolds shrugged. “Hammerstead’s uncle has a tendency toward aggression as well. I wouldn’t dwell on the encounter. Nobody expected you to become duke, that’s all. I don’t think he really suspects you of murdering him.”
The viscount laughed, and Sebastian tried to join in, though he was still shaken. The idea was ridiculous. His cousin had not been killed by nefarious means. Well, perhaps war was always nefarious, but at least it didn’t tend to be personal.
He closed his eyes, contemplating his new responsibilities. It would not do to be overwhelmed by the vast amounts of land he possessed and the duty he held to his many tenants. He would strive to fulfill his duty. Perhaps his reluctance to marry was merely a reluctance to take on his new role. Perhaps things would be different if he had ever wanted to become a duke, or had ever expected to inherit the title.
Certainly he enjoyed speaking to women, even if they did wear absurd pastel-colored ribbons in their hair and insisted on talking about hats and hemlines in the serious way that Sebastian reserved for discussing hunting and fishing. Not that Sebastian couldn’t talk about hats and hemlines: he did strive to please.
Men were rather more difficult to talk to. Especially since Sebastian had reached adolescence and found himself distracted by their broad shoulders, melodic, deep voices, and the way their gaunt cheekbones caught the light. Women had cheekbones too, but they never affected Sebastian the same way. It was funny, that: clearly, he had yet to meet the right woman.
“It’s a shame Somerset Hall is in disarray.” Lord Reynolds shook his head. “Bringing some order to the old place would be helpful.”
“A wife brings order to the household,” Sebastian said, a knot forming in his chest, tightening with the efficiency of an angler’s loop. All he ever sought was to be dutiful, and one of his duties included remarrying. After all, a rake’s lifestyle—moving from woman to woman—held little appeal for him. That was the reason why he had agreed to settle down so soon after his aunt suggested it. He had no desire to postpone the inevitable, to spend his time explaining away his lack of marital circumstances. He longed for normality, particularly now, when so much attention was directed at him.
Reynolds smiled. “Let’s see if we can find the women. I think I spot the dowager duchess.”
Sebastian followed, slowing his pace as he neared them.
Chapter Three
Aunt Beatrice commanded her group of women. The sight was not unusual. She made animated gestures with her hands, and the group of well-dressed women regarded her intently. The family matriarch’s tiny frame exuded competence and practicality. She had succeeded in marrying off one daughter and five nieces in spectacular weddings that other mothers only dreamed of replicating.
“Sebastian!” Cousin Penelope sprang from her chair. Her mahogany ringlets bounced along with her.
His other cousins, Lily and Caroline, leaned in to exchange whispers and waved their fans. He struggled to tell them apart. Wallflowers a few years ago, they had entered the action just long enough to secure husbands. Now married, they were content to return to their positions, regarding the dance and gossip.
He bowed to his cousins and aunt, and then turned to Dorothea. The woman he would marry. For why else would she be here, sitting in the midst of his cousins, right next to his aunt?
He should have anticipated Aunt Beatrice would select his cousin’s former fiancée for him. She came from a good family, even if the scandal following her parents’ deaths had tarnished her family’s reputation somewhat. Her large eyes, high cheekbones, and rosebud lips, all framed by her thick dark hair, made her exquisite. What had made her a good match for his cousin would make her a good match for him.
Perhaps Aunt Beatrice felt sentimental toward her. She had lost her husband, just as Dorothea had lost her husband-to-be. Unlike William, Dorothea’s fiancé, Lewis, had not left the war in time. Sebastian shuddered to think what she must have endured when she learned her fiancé had died, his body mangled and unrecognizable save for his identification.
Sebastian would be happy to provide for her regardless, but marriage would be more convenient, even if marrying his dead cousin’s fiancée struck him as old-fashioned. Perhaps antiquated customs should be expected when leaving one’s marital affairs in the hands of one’s aunt.
Sebastian glanced from cousin to cousin.
“He’s speechless!” Penelope crinkled her freckled nose. Even as a married woman, she had no trouble retaining her childlike nature, to the discomfort of the other guests, who turned toward her raucous laughter in puzzlement.
Dorothea had the decency to blush at the commotion around her.
“Would you care to join me?” He bent at his waist and stretched out his arm in
his very best bow.
Penelope squealed and clapped her gloved hands.
“Certainly, Your Grace.” Dorothea rose and took his hand. Her muted violet dress rustled as she moved near him. The scent of roses pervaded the air around her, as if offering an aura of an idyllic life.
“I trust my cousins amused you?”
“They were most engaging, Your Grace.”
“I don’t suppose I can tempt you to a cotillion?” Sebastian glanced to where the guests danced. He hated the thought of joining them. Women were able to hide their feet in long gowns, while any mistakes men made were on display for all to see. Would Dorothea want to dance? Her garb indicated her half-mourning status, but he wanted to give her the opportunity to enjoy herself.
Dorothea’s dark eyelashes fluttered down. “It’s still too early.”
Sebastian lowered his voice, finding himself leaning toward her ear. “You needn’t worry. I rather fancy a stroll around the ballroom, and I trust that would not shock the ton overly.”
She gave a tentative smile, and her stiff-held shoulders relaxed a fraction.
Sebastian offered his arm to her, and they started their stroll. “Tell me, have you enjoyed your time in London?”
“As much as I can. It’s a lovely city. One forgets it when one is away, remembering only that it is too hurried, too populated. Then one discovers London is also wonderful, with grand buildings and clever people and enticing shops.”
“I’m glad you find it so.”
“And how are you coping?”
“Me?” The question startled him.
Dorothea smiled. “This is new for you.”
He nodded. Few people had asked him that. He realized that Dorothea had had more time to adjust to the prospect of being a duchess than he had of being a duke.
They ambled around the room, away from his aunt and cousins, and brushed past other couples heading for the crowded dance floor. Large crystal chandeliers dangled above, reflecting their images in miniature a thousandfold. The musicians played charmingly, exemplifying the superb job Aunt Beatrice did of putting the ball together.
Sebastian turned to his companion, who seemed focused on the throngs surrounding them. Her gaze was intelligent, and he smiled at her absorption. Something about the way her nose curved reminded him of William. His breath caught in his chest at the memory of their meeting.
He led her to the beverage table. A crowd swarmed around the drinks. Vivid carmine, isabella, and orange liquids shone out of silver punch bowls. The men and women paused as Sebastian and Dorothea neared. He forced his shoulders to relax, not desiring Dorothea to know his discomfit.
He cursed his title. Everything he did, even gathering punch, was imbued with undue importance.
Some of the eyes narrowed, and Dorothea tensed beside him. With a jolt, he realized the ton was focused on her instead. He frowned, unsure what had spurred their attention.
“Negus or punch à la romaine?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
“You needn’t . . .”
She frowned, and he followed her gaze to a group of women. Their ages varied, but their sense of importance and corresponding sumptuous jewelry did not.
“I want to.” His voice came out hoarsely. He stepped toward the table and poured negus into two punch glasses.
“Your Grace, allow me.” A gloved hand, embellished by a complex design of rosettes, stretched before him and picked up one of the glasses.
He lifted his eyes and recognized the immaculately dressed woman before him. “Lady Arabella.”
She smiled and handed him the glass. Their fingers touched as she gave it to him, and he flinched with a cold sense of dread. He looked down, startled to find that her gown clung to her body, as if dampened. Her bosom curved before him, emphasized by her high waistline and the tightness of her dress. She coughed and arched her eyebrow.
“Did I see you chasing your top hat outside?”
He froze. Clearly nothing had eluded her.
She leaned toward him, revealing more of her cleavage. “It will be our secret.”
“I saved it. I mean . . .” He paused. Now was not the time to go into how the army captain had rescued it for him. He glanced back, expecting to see Dorothea’s pale face, but found the space between them had already filled with onlookers.
“You rescued it?” Lady Arabella laughed again. “How heroic of you.”
“No, no. It was not my heroism.”
Her eyebrow lifted again, controlled, and she murmured, “You are too modest.”
He dropped his gaze and picked up the second glass. The drink was warm to his touch, and he inhaled the smell of wine, lemon, and nutmeg.
“For me?”
He swung his gaze back to Lady Arabella.
She smirked. “You mustn’t look so horrified at the prospect. I saw you approach with Miss Carlisle.”
“Oh.” He relaxed his shoulders and composed his face, irritated she had read him so easily.
“There’s a rumor that you intend to marry her.”
His gaze darted up.
“Of course, I wouldn’t believe it. You are too sensible. Even though I cannot understand how you allow her and her brother to live in that townhouse.” She tossed her head.
For a moment, Sebastian thought the violent gesture might disturb her elaborate coiffure, but her hair remained intact. Evidently her lady’s maid was talented.
Her gown swished as she moved nearer him. “Miss Carlisle is charming. But she was far too close to her ex-fiancé. There are rumors about her. It is my duty to warn you since we have always been such friends. I hope we may remain close.”
He blinked. “Rumors?”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t want a bride who had been spoiled. You deserve the very best. Somebody with more discretion and patience.”
“I see.”
And he did see. Though if Dorothea were spoiled, then it was only because his cousin had not lived to marry her. He could not fault her that. Restraint with women came easily to him, but he knew other men did not possess that quality. He would not be surprised if Reynolds and Burgess had acted without caution during their engagements.
“I would never want to interfere.” Lady Arabella’s eyelashes fluttered as she gazed at him.
He nodded, conscious that her ladyship would never have looked at him like that when he was still a country squire. “Only your sense of duty compels you to tell me this.”
“Indeed.”
He pondered her words, still taken aback. But then Lady Arabella was not known to be shy. Unlike other debutantes in her season, Sebastian knew she had refrained from seeking a husband at once, doubtless comforted by the scale of her father’s fortune. She now reigned over the season. Her unmarried status, experience, and relative youth would yield her an even bigger prize.
Lady Arabella smiled. “I see we understand ourselves perfectly.”
“Indeed.” Sebastian returned a tight smile. His voice deepened as he said, “But I hope I can trust you not to spread any further rumors about Miss Carlisle.”
Lady Arabella’s hand rushed to her chest. “Naturally, Your Grace. I am the picture of discretion.”
The corner of his lips rose at her indignant gesture. He bowed, careful not to spill his drinks, and returned to Dorothea. His heart hammered, outraged on her behalf. She needed the marriage. More than he did. He considered whether that upset him, but the prospect of helping somebody through the marriage appealed to him.
“Dorothea!”
They turned to the voice. William strode toward them, his long legs carrying him swiftly. His eyebrows rose when he noticed Sebastian, and he beamed. “How remarkable. You’ve met already.”
“You know each other?” Dorothea looked at William and Sebastian.
“He rescued my hat.” Sebastian smiled at the memory of their meeting under the stars. He was happy to meet the captain again.
William laughed. “He wasn’t nearly as appreciative then. I seem to remembe
r him telling me to go away.”
“I’ve reformed since then.”
William’s eyes sparkled, rivaling the chandeliers, and Sebastian tore his eyes away from them with reluctance. He would be happy gazing at him for much longer.
“I see my sister has already worked her good influence,” William continued. “How did you two meet?”
“Your sister?” Sebastian’s chest clenched. He turned to Dorothea and frowned. He turned back to William.
They resembled each other. Of course. He knew Dorothea had a brother who had moved in with her recently. “When you spoke of your sister, I didn’t realize she was Lewis’s Dorothea. I suppose it is a fairly common name, though . . .” Sebastian stammered then added quickly, “a very beautiful one.” He was in no rush to insult his future wife.
William blinked, and his gaze clouded.
“You were not at their engagement party,” Sebastian said. “I would have remembered you.”
“You knew Lewis?”
“He is—was—my cousin.”
Shock flashed across William’s face, and his jaw tightened. “You are not—?”
“He’s a duke, William,” his sister said softly. “The Duke of Lansdowne.”
William stiffened. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I was not aware.”
Sebastian flinched upon hearing William use the term “Your Grace.” The formal honorific seemed to distance them even further, as if William were seeking to stomp out any memory of their evening together.
“I should have realized,” William continued. “I am not up on my knowledge of Sussex aristocrats.”
Dorothea frowned at him. “The duke has been exceedingly kind. We are living in his house.”
“One of my homes,” Sebastian hastened to say. “It was no trouble at all. Lewis would have wanted it.”
A muscle tensed on William’s temple. “Yes. I—we—are most grateful for everything. Forgive me if I spoke flippantly before.”
Sebastian’s chest twinged. The easy conversation between them had shattered with the revelation of his new, higher status.
The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex Book 1) Page 3