by Julia London
Kate groaned.
Aldous was not wrong. When Digby called the next afternoon, he was beside himself with anticipation of Kate’s news. He found Kate in her private rooms, en dishabille. She was on the chaise, idly studying the latest fashion gazette, but her mind was in another place entirely. A plate of fresh-baked scones was at her side, but Kate had no appetite.
Digby swept into the room behind Aldous, tossing his cloak on the settee as he strode across the room. He dipped elegantly in spite of his girth to kiss Kate’s cheek. “Miss Bergeron, you look as ravishing as always, yet you appear as if you entertained well into the morning hours.”
“I did not,” she said, playfully tapping his arm. “I was home at the very reasonable hour of two o’clock.”
“Two o’clock!” Digby cried, his brows rising high with curiosity. “Therefore your outing did not end with the opera!”
She coyly shook her head.
Beaming with delight, Digby patted her legs, indicating she should move them over, and sat beside her. “Tell me all, darling,” he said as he helped himself to a scone, “and don’t omit a single detail.”
Kate did not hesitate to tell him all—she’d been dying to talk of the evening, to hear the words from her own lips. She told him about the opera, the magnificence of the Duke of Darlington’s box, of meeting the duke’s sister and, of course, his lover. She told him about St. James’s Palace—for which Aldous had reentered the room and hovered about, listening closely to her description.
When Aldous took his leave once more, Kate told Digby about the prince, and the game of Speculation, and her winning an astounding twenty-four pounds.
“Twenty-four pounds?” Digby cried. “Where is it?”
“Safely put away—half for the ladies down at the docks, half for my future endeavors.”
“What else, what else?” Digby insisted, helping himself to a second scone and Kate’s tea.
She told him about the accusation of cheating, which angered Digby terribly and prompted him to curse. But when he’d calmed himself, he gestured for her to continue. So Kate told him how the duke had stood up for her.
Kate leaned forward. “He removed me from the room instantly,” she whispered. “He was very angry with Lord Dunning and assured me I’d done nothing to deserve such treatment.”
“Of course you hadn’t!”
“But when we arrived here, he … he kissed me, Digby.” Or perhaps she had kissed him. She wasn’t really certain.
Digby froze mid-bite for a moment, then swallowed and put the rest of the scone aside. He removed a kerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped his hands, and returned it to his pocket before speaking. When he did, he looked Kate directly in the eye. “You must use this opportunity to extract something of value from him.”
“Pardon?”
“Kate, listen to me,” Digby said firmly. “The duke has fallen under your spell. Most men do, eventually—one needed only to glance around Cousineau’s tables to see how besotted they all were with you. But this is a golden opportunity to ask for money or goods. Whatever you might need.”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head.
Digby caught her hand and held it tightly. “Yes,” he said vehemently. “You cannot waste an opportunity such as this!”
“I will not use him!” Kate cried, appalled, and tried to pull away from Digby’s hand.
“And why should you not? He would use you! Darling, how many years do you think you might have before your looks fade and these lords begin to look elsewhere?”
“Digby!”
“Now, don’t be missish,” he chastised her. “I shall always find you incomparably beautiful, but these gentlemen will look to a younger, beautiful face as you grow older. You are a flower, yes, but the bloom will eventually fade and wither in the shadow of new flowers.”
“Ack!” Kate cried, jerking her hand free. “It wasn’t like that,” she insisted. “It felt entirely different from lust!”
Digby blinked. And then his eyes widened with surprise. “My poor darling!” he cried laughingly. “Oh dear, my love, you mustn’t allow yourself to fancy that his kiss was anything but lust!”
“No, Digby,” she said angrily, scrambling up off the chaise longue. She wasn’t going to allow him to ruin that kiss for her. It had been different. For once in her bloody life, it had been different! “It was … respectful,” she said, folding her arms across her body, rubbing her hands on her arms. “He meant to please me and not merely take his pleasure.”
“Bloody hell, Kate,” Digby said. “I tell you this for your own good. You must heed me—do not romanticize—”
“I am not!” Kate protested, whirling away from him.
“You certainly are! There will come a day when you will meet a gentleman who will love you utterly and completely, but the Duke of Darlington is not he. He is one of them, and he’ll not change his stripes, not even for a beauty like you! You cannot allow yourself to believe that he will!”
“What did I say of love?” Kate snapped. “You make too much of it, Reginald Digby! I merely said it was different. Respectful! I think I would know the difference!”
She could tell by Digby’s pinched expression that he did not believe her, but Kate didn’t care. Inside, she was seething. Was she nothing more than a face and a comely body? Was it so absurd to think that perhaps a man, even the Duke of Darlington, might see something in her besides a means to slake his lust?
“Kate—”
“Honestly, I rather wonder what sort of fool you think I am,” she said curtly, and sat hard on the chaise. “Let us please discuss more important things. What did you think of the scones?”
Digby eyed her closely; Kate leaned across him, picked up the plate, and thrust it under his nose. “Perhaps you might try another and give me your expert opinion?”
Digby sighed at her shallow attempt to change the subject, but the poor man could not refuse. Everyone had a deepest desire—Digby’s happened to be food.
One day passed after the night of the opera, and then two, and still Grayson did not call on the prince as he’d said he would. He made excuses to himself—he had too many pressing issues; it was too bitterly cold to make social calls; Merrick needed him to help round up the necessary votes to pass the abolition bill. But the truth, which Grayson acknowledged at last, was that he didn’t want George to agree he’d done all the prince had needed him to do as far as Kate Bergeron was concerned. No, Grayson needed an excuse to see Kate again—not stay away.
A third day passed, during which the bitter cold improved to merely cold, and Grayson went round to see his mother.
The duchess was seated next to a roaring hearth at Beaumont House, embroidering. His nephews, Frederick and Radcliff, were playing with toy wooden horses and soldiers on the floor nearby, and were chastised every few minutes by their grandmamma, who had little tolerance for what she called “rambunctious nonsense” in the house.
Prudence greeted her older brother distractedly. She was dressed as if she intended to go out.
“Did I come round at an inconvenient time?” Grayson asked after greeting his mother and tousling the boys’ hair.
“Your call could never be inconvenient, Christie. I am waiting for the carriage so that I may pay a call to Lady Eustis. She has taken ill.”
Grayson felt a pang of guilt—the fortnight of having been away from her was rapidly stretching into the three weeks. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
“An ague,” Prudence said. “From her note I guess it is the same sort of illness that has the boys’ governess in bed. Unfortunately, Diana’s illness will keep her at home while Eustis travels on to Bath without her.”
So he would have his opportunity to see her after all. It was strange, he thought, that the news didn’t rouse him in the least. Grayson smiled at the boys and nudged one of the toy horses with his boot.
Frederick sat back on his heels and announced, “I shall be a pirate one day.”
“
Master Frederick, you most certainly will not be a pirate,” the duchess said.
Frederick’s face fell; Grayson winked at him. “One never knows, Mother. Freddie might very well be the most accomplished pirate of the high seas. Or perhaps an officer in the Royal Navy?”
“Don’t be absurd, Darlington. That occupation is better left to men who are destined for a life of hard work, and not the gentle occupations of titled gentlemen. Please don’t put such ridiculous notions in the heads of my grandchildren,” his mother complained, and put down her embroidery, peering at him over the tops of her spectacles. “Speaking of ridiculous notions, I thought we’d agreed that you would not associate with the cloth merchant’s woman.”
Grayson glanced at Prudence, who wisely averted her gaze and fussed with her cloak. “Dearest Mamma,” Grayson said, clasping his hands behind his back, “I am a grown man. I am quite capable of deciding with whom I will or will not acquaint myself.”
“I’ll have you know that Lady Babington was quite scandalized by your appearance at the opera,” his mother continued stubbornly. “She said that everyone in attendance remarked upon it.”
“Why is it that Lady Babington does not keep close to her hearth like most ladies in their dotage?” he asked with great exasperation.
“One’s dotage does not necessarily mean one is confined to a hearth. And you are intentionally missing the point.”
“I am not. I am disagreeing with your point.”
“What do you mean?” his mother demanded, clearly appalled. “Do you intend to see her again?”
“I really couldn’t say,” Grayson said with a shrug. “I find Miss Bergeron to be rather pleasant company.”
“On my word! You cannot think to continue this acquaintance!”
Grayson leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Mother, have I ever done anything to disappoint you?”
She frowned. “Of course you haven’t. You are a model of decorum.”
“Then you needn’t fret so,” he assured her. “And Lady Babington is in dire need of a hobby.”
A cry went up from Radcliff; Grayson looked around to see that Frederick had wrested a wooden horse from his younger brother’s hands. Radcliff threw himself at Frederick.
“Stop that at once!” Prudence cried, and grabbed Radcliff up and set him aside. She took the horse from Frederick and returned it to a crying Radcliff. “Freddie, what is the matter with you?”
“The matter with them both is that they are lacking sunshine,” the duchess said. “They’ve not been out of doors in an age and boys need sunshine.”
“Why don’t you allow me to take them this afternoon, Pru,” Grayson suggested. “I shall bring them round to Eustis House when we are done soaking up the sunshine.”
“Whatever will you do with them?” Prudence asked laughingly.
Grayson looked at the boys. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said casually. “I’ve had a desire to skate on ice of late,” he said.
“Skate!” Frederick cried, leaping up and down, his dark hair bouncing with him. “Skate, skate, skate!”
“Skate!” Radcliff joined in.
“It’s a lovely idea! You are a dear, Christie, for thinking of them. Very well, then! I’ll send Porter to fetch the skates—”
“Have Porter fetch their coats and scarves. I’ll find the skates. I might need to sharpen them a bit,” Grayson said. “Come on then, lads,” he said. “The sun might very well melt all the ice if we dawdle.”
“No!” Radcliff cried, and raced for the door.
“One moment, young lads!” the duchess said sternly. “Are you forgetting something?”
The two boys raced to their grandmother’s open arms and didn’t squirm too awfully as she covered them with kisses.
With the skates sharpened and tucked beneath the carriage bench on which Grayson sat, and the boys properly bundled, Grayson and the two moppets set out for a frozen pond in Hyde Park.
They took a slight detour and headed around Green Park, then turned onto King Street.
When the carriage rolled to a stop, Frederick and Radcliff fought for a place at the window. “Are we there?” Frederick asked eagerly.
“Not quite yet,” Grayson said, gently pulling them back from the window and then pushing them into their bench across from him. “But we shall be on our way shortly. Now sit here, lads, and be very good. Any mischief, and I shall be forced to return you to Grandmamma for discipline.”
That had the desired effect—they both sat back and put their hands on their laps. The door of the carriage swung open and Grayson stepped out. He considered the possibility that he’d lost his mind but walked to Kate’s door nonetheless, lifted the doorknocker, and rapped sharply.
Then waited.
Several moments passed. Grayson glanced back at the carriage, could see Frederick and Radcliff’s eager faces pressed to the window. He really had no hope they’d wait patiently.
He knocked once more. A moment later, the door swung open and Butler stood in his shirtsleeves, wiping his hands on a towel. “Yes?” he asked brusquely.
Grayson gave him a withering look. “I know this will come as quite a shock to you, Mr. Butler, but I have come to call on Miss Bergeron.”
“Not here,” Butler said.
That disappointed him much more than Grayson might have guessed. “Is she expected soon?” he asked.
Butler glanced at his carriage. Grayson heard a muffled cry and looked over his shoulder. The boys’ faces had disappeared from the window, and the carriage was bouncing oddly. He sighed and shifted his gaze to Butler. “Miss Bergeron?” he reminded him.
“Don’t know when she’ll return,” he said. “She’s gone down to the quays.”
“The quays?”
Butler frowned. “I won’t discuss Miss Bergeron’s whereabouts, gov’na.”
Another shriek made Grayson wince slightly. “Will you please tell her I called?”
Butler moved to shut the door.
“Is that a yes or no?” Grayson asked.
“Aye, aye, I’ll tell her,” Butler said, and shut the door.
Grayson stared at the green door for a moment, feeling incredibly disappointed. “Bloody idiot,” he muttered under his breath. What was he doing, standing at the door like a spurned lover? What in God’s name was he doing here at all?
He heard another muffled shout and pivoted about, striding for the carriage, determined to have a stern word with the two rowdies in his charge.
Chapter Nineteen
Is that the duke?” Digby asked, squinting at something ahead as he and Kate rounded the street corner.
Kate stopped mid-stride. It was Darlington. Her heart fluttered strangely as the footman opened the carriage door for him; she felt a warm rush of hope that she hadn’t even realized she was harboring. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, all of them swirling around a very secret fantasy that perhaps he did esteem her.
“Uncle, Freddie pulled my hair!” a boy shouted as Darlington reached the carriage door.
Kate and Digby exchanged a puzzled look.
“Freddie, on my word, I’ll tan your hide,” the duke said, and put his boot on the step.
He meant to go inside, to drive away. Kate acted quickly, slamming the basket up against Digby’s middle at the same time calling, “Your Grace?”
Darlington whirled around at the sound of her voice and he looked, she thought, almost relieved to see her.
In spite of the fact that she was dressed in her plainest clothing and her face was without cosmetic, Kate moved toward him. She could be thankful that the hood of her cloak covered her hair, which was knotted tightly at her nape.
Darlington’s gaze was riveted on her face. He took a step toward her, but was startled when a wooden horse flew out the open door and hit him square in the shoulder before clattering to the ground before him.
Kate paused and looked at the toy horse.
So did he. “Kate, please,” he said, throwing up a hand, “p
lease wait.” He stuck his head in the carriage and said, quite low, “I shall hang you from the highest tree and dangle sweetmeats just beyond your reach if you don’t sit still,” he said firmly. He nodded to the footman, stepped over the wooden horse, and strode to Kate. “I beg your pardon for coming unannounced,” he said. “But as you can see, I have my nephews and I promised them an afternoon of ice skating. And I … I recalled your desire to try skating and I thought perhaps you might like to join us.”
Kate blinked. She looked at the carriage.
Darlington shifted. He seemed strangely anxious. When Kate looked at him again, he said quickly, “Naturally, I will understand if the wooden horse and the complaints of hair-pulling have put you off.” Behind him, the footman picked up the wooden horse.
“Uncle Christie!” Freddie called.
Kate couldn’t help but notice that Darlington’s expression was slightly pained. He had come to take her skating, and this man, this powerful duke, capable of things Kate could scarcely imagine, capable of things Kate could only dream about, looked like a schoolboy asking for his first dance.
Her silence seemed to make him only more anxious. He clasped his hands at his back and said, “I beg your pardon for being so presumptuous.” He obviously believed her hesitation meant she would decline his invitation. “I should never have—”
“I’d love to go skating.”
Darlington blinked. And then he smiled. “Then … then you dare enter the carriage and acquaint yourself with Master Frederick and Master Radcliff?”
“I dare.”
“I should like that very much—”
“But I haven’t any skates,” she hastily added.
“I brought an extra pair with the hope you might join us.”
She couldn’t help but smile a little. “You are being kind again, sir, but I must warn you that I have never skated. I haven’t the slightest idea how to do it.”