Growing more afraid that his anger might turn him into his other, more violent self, she said, “You know what my mother is. And Papa is sadly dipped, I’m afraid. Nothing will do but that I restore the family fortunes.
“Now, besides the rudeness, the worst thing is that with the duke’s wounded leg, I cannot dance. You remember how I love to dance.”
Robert’s eyes lit. “You will dance with me? I dared not hope. Ruisdell was guarding you like the proverbial hawk.”
“Yes, let’s dance, Robert. We might not have another chance.” Elise knew she had thrown herself into one of her fictional melodramas. She must get hold of herself. She would have Robert thinking he needed to rescue her. Standing up, she put a hand on his sleeve, and went out on the floor. Fortunately, it was not a waltz, but the more staid minuet.
During the dance, she was silent. Her thoughts were flying in every direction from fear to anger to bewilderment. All while she tried to remain outwardly cheerful. Keep calm. After this dance, we will find the marquis.
Once the dance was ended, however, the still rational Robert was obliged to take her into supper, for without realizing it, she had asked him to dance the supper dance with her. The sight of Elise’s discarded fiancé taking her into supper together with news of the duke’s engagement and subsequent disappearance had tongues wagging loud enough for Elise to hear. How dare Ruisdell do this to her! She had begun to warm to him but now wanted nothing more than to douse him with a whole magnum of fizzy champagne. Hopefully, he would choke. Protect her, indeed! She should have realized that he would do no more than subject her to more gossip than ever before.
Asking civilly after her companion’s mother, she managed to direct the flow of his conversation to a catalog of the dowager’s illnesses and all the wrongs that had been done to her by her daughter’s husband. “That is the reason I came home from Italy,” he said. “I would much rather have stayed. The Italians are emotional, it’s true, but on the whole, far more civilized than Britons.”
Embarking on this topic, Elise thought she was safe. Once supper was ended and they were again headed for the ballroom, however, she saw Robert scanning the crowd. “The devil has flown. He has actually left you at a ball by yourself.” Putting a hand on her arm, he said, “This is a grave insult not only to me, but to you, Elise. We must find a way to prevent your marriage to that beast, or you will be miserable all your life.” Leading her to the dance floor once again, he was so sunk in thought that he missed his step more than once.
At the dance’s conclusion, he said, “I see what must be done.” His voice was firm and calm. Elise was relieved he still remained rational. “I will escort you home this minute. Then I will go to the duke’s residence and call him out both for cutting me in the rudest way and then for deserting you. I took lessons in Italy from the finest shooting masters in the world.”
Elise felt fear seize her. However badly the duke had treated her, she didn’t wish him dead.
“Tomorrow we will meet, and I will not delope. I will shoot him through the heart. Even your mother cannot make you marry him then.”
She put a calming hand on his sleeve. “Robert, I appreciate your concern for me. But remember that dueling is now against the law. You will have to flee back to Italy!”
The loving look she both remembered and dreaded came into his very light blue eyes, and he took her hand gently in his. “You will not fly with me?”
Had she not known he was mad, Elise would have been sorely tempted. Before his illness settled on him, he had been an attentive and considerate companion. And she did long to see Italy. But . . .
At that moment, they were approached by the marquis of Somerset. He looked upon Waterford with a touch of fear. “But . . . Ruisdell. Where’s Ruisdell?”
Elise pulled herself up, trying her best to look haughty. “I’m afraid he paid us both a great insult. My lord Waterford is about to escort me home.”
Somerset was stunned. “Where is he?”
“We do not know,” Robert replied. “The last we saw of him, he was headed for the gardens. If you should encounter him before I do, you will kindly convey to him that I expect to meet him at dawn tomorrow on Hounslow Heath. His behavior to his fiancée, not to mention to me, was unforgiveable.”
“Not Hammersmith?” George asked.
“Hammersmith? Far too close to London, my friend. Now, we take our leave. As soon as I have conveyed Miss Edwards to her home, I will call on the duke. Good evening.”
*
It ended that Elise had two escorts home from the ball that evening, neither of whom was her missing fiancé.
Though she had never liked the marquis, she had to admit that his loyalty to the duke was outstanding. Ruisdell must have informed him that Robert’s instability was the real reason for his engagement. And so, it was logical to carry on his friend’s task, whatever might have happened to him. She could see by his puckered brow and puzzled eyes that the disappearance of his friend altogether flummoxed him and appreciated his concern for her outweighing his obvious desire to search for the duke.
Robert remained intent on his desire for a duel the next morning, but he also put escorting Elise home above his personal desire to find the man who had so insulted him. She knew (and if she were not so worried, she would have laughed about it) that he considered Somerset to be the “dashed loose screw” that he was.
They rode in the marquis’s carriage, and all were silent. She imagined that each was wondering what could have happened to the duke. If he had no finer feelings, why had he executed their false engagement in order to watch over her? Elise had assumed at the time that he was up to some devilry, teasing Gregory by cutting him out. Now she wondered. There was definitely something amiss with the duke. As they were all too wont to do, her thoughts strayed to her writing. What a character he would make in a book! Not the kind of book she normally wrote, of course. His character might provide the lever to boost her into a new level of writing.
Both men walked her to the door and after thanking them for their gallantry, she put a hand on the marquis’s sleeve. “I’m counting on you,” she said. “Please find Ruisdell and make certain he is all right.”
“Miss Edwards,” Somerset said, looking into her eyes with something very like shyness, “apologize for Ruisdell. Rogue, but usually the best of manners. You are right to be put out with him!”
“I agree,” Waterford said.
“It’s not in the remotest bit connected to you, Robert. I wish you would forgo this duel.”
“Then I’d have no chance of getting you back,” he said.
“Do you really think I’d marry the man who killed my fiancé? Goodnight, gentlemen.”
Her aunt was sitting up, waiting for her in the pink saloon. She had attended only the dinner party. Disliking balls heartily, she had told Elise that she was very grateful for the false engagement and Ruisdell’s escort so she could forgo her role of chaperone, at least this one evening.
“How was the ball, my dear? You’re home early! I’ve only embroidered a leaf.”
“Ruisdell disappeared again, Aunt. Just like last night.” She recounted the incident.
“Oh, dear. It sounds like his brainbox isn’t altogether sound either. I don’t think I would permit this marriage if it were in earnest.”
Elise knew she could confide in her aunt. “Why do you suppose he really became engaged to me in this silly way?” she asked. “Especially if he left me in precisely the predicament from which he was supposed to be protecting me?”
Her aunt looked bemused. “I thought it was nothing but a lark, at first. Possibly a prelude to an attempted seduction. However, he convinced me in some way that he really was concerned for your safety. What you told me about tonight does not make sense. You are right. I am at a loss to explain it.”
“I want to put him in a book,” Elise said, tucking her feet up under her on the sofa. “Such an enigmatic character! But I am not yet certain whether he should be the vi
llain or the hero.”
“Elise, I declare that you care more for your writing than real life. Sometimes I despair of you.”
“If I had not had my writing while I was growing up, I would be as crazed as my mother. And look at the things it has carried me through since that time. How many women of my age have had four engagements?” She forced a smile for her aunt. Aunt Clarice was so full of sensibility that she actually felt sorry for the mice that Queen Elizabeth caught. Elise reassured her. “I do not know whether to be angry at the duke or worried about him. Especially considering that Robert intends to force a duel upon him.”
Frowning, Aunt Clarice said, “You didn’t tell me he’d taken another turn.”
“No. He is in his right mind this time. He thinks that the duke’s actions were worse than the cut direct. It was particularly marked, since the whole room seemed to be watching. The guests were all taken up with the drama of the meeting of the fiancés. Remember, they have no idea why I cried off the engagement with Robert or Gregory, and they all think it quite remarkable that it appears I’ve snared the duke.”
“So what you’re saying is that whatever frame of mind Robert is in tomorrow, he’s bound to fight the duke?” Aunt Clarice’s eyes were big with fear. Queen Elizabeth yowled, reflecting her emotion.
“Rusidell won’t fight a madman, but he may feel himself obliged to fight a sane one whom he cut most rudely in a place that contained half of London.”
“You are old enough to decide for yourself, of course,” her aunt said later, when the fire had burned to embers, and Elise was nearly asleep, “but I hope you won’t try to go and stop the duel.”
“A younger me certainly would have done so,” Elise said. “A character in one of my novels would not miss it for anything. But it must be your sensible influence, because I realize that there is nothing I could do to stop it, and I should seriously annoy the duke by trying to.”
“And you would pander to Robert’s love of dramatics that he seems to possess in both personalities,” Aunt Clarice added. “However, despite everything, I’m very taken with the duke, and I think if he is wounded, we must have him here to recuperate.”
Elise did not even hear this surprising statement, for she had drifted off to sleep, still in her ball gown.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IN WHICH THE DUKE ATTEMPTS RESTITUTION
Ruisdell woke up in his formal attire. Confused, he questioned himself about his strange circumstances. Where was his valet, Richards? How had he come to allow his master to lie across the counterpane fully dressed?
Standing, he was surprised to find he had not a hint of a bad head. He rang for Richards.
“Your Grace?” his valet responded.
“What happened last night? Why am I in my evening dress?”
“Your Grace would not allow me to attend to you last night. Your greatest desire was to be left alone. You had not been drinking, Your Grace, and the hour was early. It was much as it was when you first returned from war, if that will help you to remember.”
The war! Grinding his eye sockets with the heels of his hands, at last he remembered the night before. Waterford. Elise. The devil! He had left her with a man who clearly belonged in Bedlam. How had she fared?
Desperate to know if she had been carried off again or harmed in any other way, he went to the writing desk in his room, as Richards stared. Trying to compose his thoughts, he was finally able to scrawl out a short note to Elise’s aunt: I apologize for having failed in my duty to protect your niece last night. I became suddenly indisposed. Please reply by means of my valet, who bears this note, whether or not Miss Edwards is safe. I am most distressed and desire an immediate answer. Forgive my behavior, I pray. Whatever the circumstances, I will call on you at my earliest opportunity. Ruisdell.
Assuring his valet that he was quite able to manage his toilette and had done so for three years on the Peninsula, the duke sent him off with the note to Lady Clarice. He then took out his temper on his evening dress, shrugging out of his beautifully cut coat with difficulty, and disposing of his waistcoat so violently that the buttons popped off in several directions to the floor of his dressing room. Yanking at his cravat, he threw it to the floor, and let the studs in his shirt fall where they might as he tore it off. Once his pantaloons were removed, he poured an entire pitcher of water over himself and shook his head like his black Labrador when emerging from the lake at Ruisdell Palace.
Oh, dear God, let her be all right! Closing his eyes as he toweled himself dry, he envisioned Elise being carried against her will aboard a yacht in the dead of night, bound for France and the Continent. Possibly she had even been drugged to reduce her resistance. Beynon’s gallant figure, dressed in full regimentals appeared in his head, accusingly.
He quickly donned fresh linen and morning attire, tying his cravat absent-mindedly. By that time, Richards had returned. He handed the duke a note, sealed with a violet wafer.
Your Grace—Elise returned last night in company with the marquis of Somerset (may I say you are lucky in your friends?) as well as Robert, who seemed to have his normal wits about him. However, Elise tells me he is looking for you in order to challenge you to a duel for your cut of him last night. We will look to see you soon.
Lady Clarice.
Profoundly relieved, Ruisdell sank into a chair. Except for the fact that he was a stranger to Providence, he might have offered up another prayer—this one of gratitude.
“Richards, pack a portmanteau or two of my clothing—morning dress, riding clothes, and ball dress, and have it conveyed to Lady Clarice’s townhouse. Also take your own things. We will be staying there, perhaps as long as a week.”
Ignoring the tempting ham, eggs, and pastries on the sideboard of his breakfast room, he stopped only for a cup of coffee and then made his way to Elise. Bates opened the door of the townhouse to him with the intelligence that the ladies were in the Music Room on the first floor. As the butler led him upstairs, he was somewhat disconcerted to hear singing. It was a mezzo soprano voice singing passionately in the Italian language. When Bates opened the double doors, he saw Elise at the piano, a quill behind her ear, accompanying Lady Clarice, who was singing a dramatic aria he had never heard. She stood erect and more imposing than usual with Queen Elizabeth under her arm.
Neither woman stopped her activity, so he entered and seated himself on a small pettipoint settee which stood in the window embrasure. The room was large, with impressive murals which he judged (by the dress of the characters) to have been painted in the Georgian era.
Watching Elise, he saw that she was concentrating, with some difficulty, upon a badly written score marked by many eradications. Her morning dress was a rich teal-colored muslin with a wide black satin ribbon tied under her bosom. As always, there were flowers in her hair. Today they were aromatic freesias in delicate violet and pink.
When the aria came to a conclusion, Lady Clarice turned to Elise. “Well, my love, was that more satisfactory?”
“Yes, Aunt. Very. I think you may consider this aria complete. It is one of your best, I believe.”
The duke grinned. “Lady Clarice! You are writing an opera?”
Turning to him, she said, “Yes. These many years. What did you think?”
“Well, I’m not a connoisseur, nor do I understand Italian, but it seemed to me to be very fine. Your voice is elegant, if I may say so.”
“Indeed you may!” Lady Clarice flushed with pleasure and sat on a sofa upholstered in heavily embroidered gold silk. “Thank you.”
“And what is the subject of your work?”
“Cats. I’m afraid it’s a bit outré for today’s literally minded audiences, but I hope it may find those who will appreciate it by the time it is complete.”
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Elise said, her voice empty of all inflection.
“I come, not only to take up my post of protection, but also to offer you my sincerest apologies for my behavior of last night. I realize that I
left you in an awkward, if not dangerous, position.”
“Your behavior was certainly irregular.” His fiancée rose from the piano after dipping her quill in ink and making a notation on the score. “However, as you have taken upon yourself this task without compulsion, I certainly have no right to complain.”
“Were you frightened?” he asked.
Seating herself next to her aunt, she allowed that she had been. “But I am forced to revise my unfavorable opinion of the Marquis of Somerset.” She told how he had gallantly accompanied her and Robert.
“I understand that Waterford is now seeking my blood in both his personalities.”
“Yes,” Elise said with a sigh. “You were to have fought a duel this morning, were you not?”
The duke stood and began pacing. “The devil! I have insulted the man, I suppose. It completely left my mind.”
“I hope you have not forgotten that we are engaged to appear before the magistrate this afternoon.”
“My wits appear to have gone begging. I am glad you remembered.”
“Have you eaten, Your Grace?” Lady Clarice asked with evident concern.
“That also slipped my mind.”
“I shall go inform Cook that you will take luncheon with us.” She bustled out of the room.
Surprised that Elise’s aunt would leave her alone with a known rake, he told himself to justify her confidence. Would he never be free of Beynon’s presence, as it were, over his shoulder?
He rose and went to the fireplace, extending his arm along the mantle, careful not to disarrange the collection of Dresden china figurines, also in Georgian dress. His other hand found the pocket of his pantaloons. “Miss Edwards, can you forgive me? I was seriously distressed. In fact, I suspect food poisoning. The night before last, I ate oysters. I should have known better. June does not have an ‘r’ in it.”
“Your Grace, I do not for a moment believe your tale. However, I also do not believe that you meant to cut Robert.” Concern for him was evident in her puckered brow. He was touched by it. How long had it been since anyone had shown him concern?
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