The Black Duke's Prize

by Suzanne Enoch

  . "I think DuPres's learned his lesson. And since I've encouraged Josette to take a holiday in France, I believe she will become enlightened as well."

  "Man dieu, however could you have chosen such a one as that, anyway? She has no honor at all."

  "I do not believe this to be a subject one discusses with one's mother." He drained the snifter and refilled it, knowing that would annoy her even further.

  "Someone has to discuss it with you. You've frightened away everyone else whose advice you could trust."

  At that he turned, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. I haven't frightened anyone into anything."

  "You forget, I lived with that temper for thirty years, in your father. I know how it is. You have a way when you are angry that frightens people. And you are afraid to trust those you could."

  He sat in the chair opposite her and held the brandy up. Instead of drinking, he swirled the amber liquid, examining it against the firelight, He knew he had a temper, and he knew that, like his father, he tended to use it as a weapon to keep the people around him at a distance.

  "Nicky, you could do so much better than the likes of Josette Bettreaux,' his mother said quietly. "Don't you realize that?"

  "Is that why you came here, to show me my sins and attempt to marry me off?" Nicholas took another swallow, enjoying the light, burning sensation as the liquid traveled down his throat. "Who is it this time? I saw you talking with the Marchioness of Belning the other night, before all hell broke loose. Is it her simpering daughter―what's her name, Azalea?"

  "Althaea," his mother retorted. "Have you ever even spoken to her?"

  "I tried to, last year. Chit looked as though she wanted to faint."

  Julia became occupied with her tea for a moment. "You can be a bit―how shall I say―intimidating," she finally responded, unable to stifle her smile.

  "Well, I can't very well have a wife who becomes unconscious every time I set eyes on her. Besides, in the bare minute we conversed I believe we covered everything we had in common."

  This time his mother's chuckle was audible. Abruptly she sobered. "You're almost thirty, Nicky. When?" Julia put her cup aside and sat forward in her chair, catching his dark-gray eyes with her own.

  "Maybe never," he replied, and abruptly stood and strode toward the window again, more uncomfortable than was usual with the familiar line of questions. He had thought about marriage from time to time, but it and his temperament and style of living simply did not seem to be in any way compatible. "Don't you ever consider that letting the Varon black temper dwindle out of existence might be doing society a favor?"

  The Dowager Duchess stood as well, facing his six-foot height squarely, as though she weren't a full foot shorter than he. "Never say that, Nicholas. You insult yourself, you insult your father, and you insult me."

  He immediately regretted the words. He hadn't meant to offend her, but had only been trying to express what he had been feeling more and more strongly of late. "You don't have the black blood, Mama," he responded evenly.

  "I fell in love with it," she answered softly.

  He knew she still deeply mourned John Varon, though her husband had been gone for nearly eight years now. Silently he closed the distance between them and leaned over her hand to kiss her knuckle. "I do suppose London would be sadly flat without us," he conceded. He and his father had been too much alike to get along well, but there were times when he sorely missed the old duke.

  She nodded, smiling, and tightened her grip on his fingers. "Please try to avoid Josette and DuPres for a time, will you?"

  "No," he answered, freeing his hand. "I'll not hide from that woman or that fool." Her look darkened, and he went on without pause. "If they wish to avoid me, however, I shall not seek them out."

  She nodded again. "Thank you, Nicky."

  He bowed elegantly, then seated himself again. "You know as well as I, though, if it's not one of them, it will be someone else. It always is. It's one of my main talents, angering people."

  "You shouldn't practice it so much," she replied.

  3

  Katherine stood looking up at Hampton House. It was ~s large as Crestley, and her godparents also owned the grand Clarey estate, several days to the west. She had no idea why they would want her to stay with them, goddaughter (jr no. It abruptly occurred to her that they might not even be in town. She wasn't aware of whether her uncle had sent them a firm date for her arrival or not, and as she had been hoping somehow to avoid coming to London, she hadn't notified them either. They might very well have given up on her and left on another of their exotic travels.

  Well, she wouldn't find out by waiting in the street. She picked up her heavy valises, squared her shoulders, and walked up to the front door. Setting one of the bags down, she reached out and firmly swung the intricately tooled brass knocker against the door. With the sound still echoing, the door swung open. She found herself looking up into the sternest, thinnest face she had ever seen.

  "Yes?" the butler prompted after a moment.

  "I am Katherine Ralston," she said, dismayed that her voice broke in the face of the man's stare. "I am here to see the Hamptons."

  ''The baron and baroness are not in this evening," the butler replied. He looked down at her valises and then back at her face. "I suggest you call again in the morning." He began to close the door.

  At least they were in town. "Wait," Katherine protested, fighting abrupt panic at the thought of being left on her own in London at night. "My mother was Lady Anne Ralston, an old friend of the Hamptons. They invited me to come here ... and I have nowhere else to stay this evening."

  He nodded, acknowledging that he had heard of her mother, but still did not move aside. She knew that she must look ridiculous, standing outside with her bags and arguing with this impossibly tall person, and she began to grow angry.

  "Are you going to let me in?" she asked, stamping her foot

  "I am inclined not to," he replied.

  "Tell me this, then," she countered. "Are the baron and baroness more likely to hand you your papers for letting a stranger in to wait for them in their hall or for putting the daughter of one of their dearest friends out into the street?"

  The butler blinked. "I see your point," he finally said, and she thought she heard amusement in his voice. "This way, Miss Ralston."

  He stepped aside, and, chin up, she walked past him into the elegant hall. The open door off to the left must have been the library, for she caught a glimpse of a shelf lined with books. In front of her the main staircase turned once and led to a balcony, behind which she could see more doors. The hall widened out to the right past the door to the sitting room, and it was to this shallow alcove that the butler gestured her. She sat on the narrow bench, her valises on the floor beside her.

  "I will have someone bring you a cup of tea," the butler said, and then turned away. Before he passed out of sight he looked back over his shoulder. "My name is Rawlins, if you should require anything further."

  "Thank you, Rawlins," she answered, and with a small nod he disappeared into the depths of the house.

  She had arrived, though not nearly in the manner she had anticipated. At least the hallway was warmer than the night air outside, and after a maid had brought her a cup of hot, strong tea she began to feel more composed. Even with the master and mistress gone from the house it seemed more alive than Crestley had for years. In. the background she could hear occasional quiet conversation, and pots and pans rattled in the kitchen as servants cleaned up for the night.

  She had hardly realized she was sleepy, before she was awakened by the sound of the front door opening. Rawlins stood there accepting the outer garments of the couple entering the house. Katherine shot to her feet as Rawlins gestured in her direction.

  "My lord, this young lady arrived earlier this evening, claiming to be one Katherine Ralston. I thought it best she wait here for your return."

  Katherine ignored his somewhat prejudiced version of events as Lady Ali
son spun around, her blue silk skirts rustling. Light-blue eyes widened as they took her in, and Katherine self-consciously smoothed out the simple material of her own dull, well-traveled dress.

  "Kate?"

  "Yes, Lady Alison. I'm sorry not to have written that I was coming." Before she could say anything else the plump blond woman swept forward to embrace her.

  Katherine's uncertainty over whether she would be welcomed vanished as Lord Neville stepped up and put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "My turn, Alice." In a moment he was embracing her as well. "You are the image of your mother, Kate."

  "We were so sorry to learn of Anne's death," Lady Alison said quietly, taking her hand. "I wish we had been there for you. We should never have gone to Spain."

  Kate nodded, half in tears at their unexpected kindness. "You couldn't have known."

  Lord Neville seemed to realize her distress, for he cleared his throat and motioned at Rawlins, standing inconspicuously in the background. "Rawlins, have Miss Ralston's bags taken upstairs to the green room and the bed made ready."

  "Yes, m'lord." The butler bent his long frame and lifted the valises himself, then headed up the stairs and vanished into one of the rooms.

  "Come into the drawing room." Lady Alison, still holding Katherine's hand tightly, led her through one of the doors off the main hall.

  The room was large and comfortable, with two long couches placed at right angles to each other on a huge Persian carpet. Ornaments and knickknacks from several different countries and cultures decorated the walls, mantel, and tables. Lady Alison brought her to the nearest couch and sat her down, taking a place beside her. Lord Neville followed a few moments later and took one of the chairs by the fire, which crackled in the intricately carved fireplace.

  "How was your trip here?" Lady Alison asked.

  "I'm a little tired," Kate confessed, bringing her eyes back to the baroness from her perusal of an African wood carving. "The stage was delayed by a dairy herd this afternoon, and the walls of the inn last night were so thin, I had to listen to the squire next door snoring all night."

  "The stage?" the baron exclaimed. "Why didn't your uncle send you in your own coach, or hire a private one for you? The mail stage is no place for a lady."

  Katherine flinched at the indignation in his voice. She had no wish to pour out all of her troubles immediately upon her arrival. "Uncle Simon thought it best," she muttered, angry again at this latest insult her uncle had handed her. "And I didn't come here to burden you with my problems." Even with her gaze set on the floor, she sensed the look that passed between the baron and his wife.

  "Kate, would it make any difference if I said that, while I always had and always shall bear great affection for your father, I never could countenance that wretched brother of his?"

  "Neville!" Lady Alison reprimanded.

  "Neither could I," Katherine responded feelingly. She grimaced. "I mean to handle this on my own," she stated as a preface, looking down at her toes, "but now that I am here I suppose you should be made aware of the circumstances."

  And so she told them, beginning with her mother's illness and her uncle's timely―or so it had seemed―arrival, and proceeding to the provisions of her father's will, which were disclosed upon her mother's death. After a hesitation she told them of her suspicions concerning Uncle Simon's plans for Crestley and her present inability to do anything about it.

  "The scoundrel," Lady Alison breathed when Katherine had finished the tale. "What are we to do?"

  "I mean to handle it myself," Katherine repeated firmly. "I only told you because you have been so kind."

  "'Kind has nothing to do with it, child. Your mother was my closest friend, and I loved her dearly. You are her daughter, and I love you as well. Whatever happens to Crestley Hall, our home is yours. You are our daughter now."

  Again tears came to Kate's eyes. "Thank you both," she managed to say brokenly.

  Lady Alison patted her hand. "You must be exhausted, child. I'll show you to your bedchamber." The baroness stood, pulling Katherine up after her, and led her from the room.

  Katherine felt completely spent, and could barely keep her eyes open as they climbed the stairs. The room Alison showed her was decorated in greens and whites and lit by a small, cheerful fire. As she looked around the chamber Katherine realized that tears had begun flowing down her face.

  "Are you all right?" the baroness asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  Katherine nodded. "I only just realized how good it is to be with friends again," she said with a sigh.

  "We let you stay away far too long," Alison murmured, hugging her again. "Shall I send my maid to you?"

  "No, I can do for myself," Katherine answered, nearly crossing her eyes in an effort to keep them open.

  Lady Alison nodded. "Sleep well, Kate." She smiled, and leaned over to kiss Katherine on the cheek. "And have no worries. You may stay with Neville and me for as long as you wish."

  After two full days of shopping and sightseeing, Katherine very nearly felt like her old self. Lady Alison had secured an invitation for her to join them at the Albey ball, and she looked forward to it with some excitement. There hadn't been much occasion for her to dance lately. Hampton House was beautiful, and it reminded her of Crestley in .the old days, before her father's death. The danger now was that she would find it so pleasant that she would forget the damage probably even at that moment being done to her home. She renewed her vow that she would let no harm come to Crestley, and she sent off a determinedly friendly letter to her uncle, mostly to see if he would respond.

  She was surprised and pleased to discover that Lord Neville had hired a maid for her. The first gown she and Lady Alison had ordered arrived from the dressmaker's, and just before dusk she summoned Emmie to help her dress. That accomplished, she seated herself at the dressing table while the maid attempted to draw her hair back to fasten it in a bun at her neck.

  "Miss Kate," the slim, brown-eyed girl stated after several minutes of struggling, ''your hair seems to have a mind of its own. I get one part up and the other side escapes."

  "I know." Katherine sighed. "I can never get it to do what I want." Lately she had settled for jamming a bonnet down over it and hoping that no one would notice the straying strands.

  "Well, let's try something else, then." Emmie picked up the two silver clips they had purchased the day before and pulled the sides back with them. The rest of Katherine's hair cascaded down her back in a heavy black waterfall, through which Emmie wove a thin silver ribbon. Finally the maid stepped back. "My," she breathed after a moment. "I think you'll do fine."

  Katherine turned to look full into the mirror, and was startled by what she saw. She had dressed in finery before, but for perhaps the first time in her life she felt beautiful. The dark blue in the gown exactly matched the color of her eyes, and her skin seemed to glow with the sudden rush of excitement that ran through her.

  "Emmie," she said, sitting straighter, ''that brown box in the top dresser drawer―will you bring it to me, please?"

  The maid did as she was bid, and Katherine opened the lid to pull out a single strand of milky-white pearls. They had been her mother's, and Emmie sighed again as she helped Katherine fasten them around her neck.

  ''That's perfection, Miss Kate," she said, dimpling. "Well, I don't know about that, but thank you."

  When she made her way downstairs a few moments later Katherine was greeted with similar words from her godparents. Tears formed in Lady Alison's eyes, and Kate rushed over to her. ''What is it?"

  Her godmother took her hand and squeezed it. ''Nothing child. It's just that you look so like your mother. You are a beauty."

  Lord Neville cleared his throat. "Come, ladies. I will be the envy of every man present tonight, for the two most beautiful women in London arrive with me."

  Twenty-five minutes later, Lord Neville was introducing Katherine to Lord James Albey and his wife, Cassia, their host and hostess for the evening. And then, her hand
on Lord Neville's arm, she was led into the ballroom. She had received permission to waltz during her truncated Season, and Lady Alison had procured a dance card for her, but as she knew no one she didn't hold much hope that she would be asked onto the floor. Instead she stood with her godparents watching the crowded room and the dancers stepping gracefully about the highly polished floor.

  "Alison."

  Katherine turned when Alison did, to face the voice. A petite, dark-haired woman dressed in an elegant emerald gown approached them, a smile on her face. "Julia," Alison responded warmly, and grasped the small woman's outstretched hands. "I missed you at Vauxhall last week."

  The woman laughed. "When was the last time you did see me at Vauxhall, eh?"

  The accent was faintly French, and Katherine looked at her curiously. As though sensing the attention, the woman turned to face her. Katherine was struck by the unusual dark-gray eyes that seemed to hold emerald highlights.

  "Who is your friend, Alison?"

  "Who does she remind you of?" Lady Alison responded, urging Katherine forward.

  The scrutiny made Katherine a bit uncomfortable, for she had the abrupt impression that the woman saw a great deal more than she might have wished. After a moment the gray eyes widened. "Anne Ralston's daughter?" she asked, and Katherine nodded.

  "Kate, may I present the Duchess of Sommesby? Julia Varon, Katherine Ralston."

  "I believe the correct term is 'Dowager Duchess,' " Julia corrected with a good-humored frown.

  "I am pleased to meet you, Your Grace," Katherine said with a smile, curtseying.

  The Dowager Duchess smiled at her, then stiffened as her eyes shifted to someone approaching them from behind. "Pah, it is that chien, Francis DuPres."

  Curious at the duchess's offended tone, Katherine turned to face the short man approaching them. If they hadn't been at a gathering of London's haut ton, she would have thought him some sort of street performer, for he was clothed in a garish yellow jacket and waistcoat, while his breeches were a light lime green. The points of his shirt were nearly high enough to cover his ears, and he had an ugly purple bruise on his chin.