The Most Dangerous Duke in London

by Madeline Hunter

  “It is not a typical sin, however, is it? The rumors had to do with treason.”

  “There was no public accusation, Althea. No trial.”

  “Do not become vexed with me. I am merely saying—”

  “I know what you are saying. Nor am I vexed with you. I am annoyed by all of these vague whispers from people who do not seem to know anything for certain.”

  “Someone knows more. However, the story is over, so whoever it is will not now raise the question again. Especially with the duke back in England.”

  Yes, someone knew. Probably several someones. Like Hollsworth.

  Had her father known too?

  Jocelyn entered the library with the morning mail. Clara paused counting books while she flipped through the few letters. One made her freeze. She tore it open and read it.

  “Oh, no. Of all the days to choose—” She looked frantically at the table, laden with copies of the journal.

  “What is it?” Althea asked.

  Clara waved the letter. “My grandmother has something important to tell me and intends to come here right after noon, before she makes her calls.”

  “Here? Oh, dear. The women—”

  “Will be arriving just when she does. Entering, and carrying out stacks of these journals.” She strode to the library door and called for Jocelyn. “Can you finish this on your own, Althea? I will make every effort to return before noon, but I must go to my brother’s house before my grandmother leaves to come to mine.”

  Jocelyn arrived and Clara sent her for her pelisse and bonnet. She looked down on her dress. It was part of the wardrobe left here after last summer, and not black or even subdued blue or purple. Upon waking from discomforting sensual dreams, she had impulsively put on a red dress.

  No one would see her except family. The family in question would not approve, however.

  “I will take care of everything here,” Althea said. “You are not to worry. I have my list and will be done in a quarter hour.”

  Jocelyn brought in a bonnet and pelisse. Black ones. Red and black. She would look like a harlequin. “Jocelyn, please help Althea finish counting out the booklets. I must leave at once.”

  She hurried to the door, to go hire a hackney for the long ride to Mayfair.

  Almost an hour later she entered Gifford House, only to learn her grandmother had not come down yet. Praying that she would not be drawn and quartered for the presumption, she went up to her grandmother’s apartment.

  She paused outside the door. She never intruded here. She had not since she was ten years old and had snuck in to explore her grandmother’s dressing table. Fascinated by the jewelry and paints, she had tried them on, admiring herself in the looking glass. Even now she could see her reflection, then the shock of seeing her grandmother right behind her.

  She had paid dearly for putting on that necklace and rouge. Her grandmother had whipped her with a switch while forcing her to gaze at her sins in the looking glass the whole time. Then she had ordered her imprisoned with only bread and water to eat for a week. Her father had been away and did not return and grant a reprieve for two more days.

  She could not look at this door and not see herself in that looking glass while a cane stung her bare bottom.

  Taking a deep breath and putting the image of herself all painted and bedecked out of her mind, she ventured inside.

  She found her grandmother just as her maid was about to fit on her wig. Hair mashed under a net cap and body ensconced in an undressing gown with layers of lace, her grandmother did not notice her until the maid touched her shoulder and pointed to the door.

  Those large, pale eyes gave a scathing glare, then turned back to the looking glass. “Take care of me, Margaret, so that I can talk to my intruding granddaughter.”

  Margaret fitted the wig, tweaked a few gray curls, and stood back.

  “Now go and get Theo. Tell him I need him here.”

  Margaret scurried out of the dressing room.

  “Clara, did you wear that dress to provoke me? It is hideous at any time, but especially now.”

  Clara sat on a divan near the fireplace. “I received your note. I thought it better to hear this sooner rather than later.”

  Her grandmother turned on her chair. “Later was not much later. You could have waited until I dressed, at least. Or until you had reconsidered your own garments.”

  “My apologies. It sounded very important, so I came at once.”

  Her grandmother turned to the looking glass once more and pinched her cheeks until two pink splotches formed. Don’t pretend you do not paint. We both know you do. You whipped me once for discovering that.

  “You did not want me seeing that house of yours, is what you really mean.”

  Theo rushed in then. He noticed Clara, averted his eyes from Grandmamma’s dishabille, and sat in a chair. “I hope this will not take long. I was on my way out to ride in the park.”

  “Not long at all. I wanted you here, however, when I explained matters to your sister.”

  “What matters?” Clara asked. A funny little worry branched through her. She doubted these matters would please her, considering her grandmother’s tone.

  “I have heard about Brentworth’s party. Several of my friends wrote to me. I am pleased to say that their opinions of Emilia’s behavior were unexceptionable.”

  “I tried to be a good chaperone.” At least this was not about Harry.

  “They also wrote that Stratton was there.”

  “Yes, I believe he was.”

  “Believe he was, do you? The way I read it, he spent over an hour in your company.”

  It seemed as though the dressing room had grown smaller. “Not an hour, I am sure.”

  “At least an hour, two of my friends reported. Of equal interest is that he spent no time at all with Emilia.”

  “That is not true. I was present when he and she chatted.”

  “So he chatted with her for a minute at most. It is clear, Theo, that we made some inaccurate assumptions about the duke and will have to correct our strategy.”

  “It does appear so,” Theo agreed.

  “Do not blame Emilia if he was not agreeable to your last one,” Clara said. “Expecting him to marry someone from our family was a flawed strategy from the start. I told you that.”

  Her grandmother stood. In a swish of lace she moved until she sat beside Clara on the divan. “A flawed strategy?” She chortled into the lace at her neck. “Not in principle, it appears. He may have found Emilia lacking, true. However, it appears he finds you interesting. I am not a rigid woman. If success means substituting sisters, so be it.”

  Theo appeared confused. “Stratton wants her?”

  “It seems he went out of his way to have her company at that party.”

  Theo came close to laughing. “Hell, that is rich.”

  “Your language, Theo. As for the duke’s preference, there is no accounting for taste.”

  “I am sorry, Grandmother. It is just that Emilia is so perfect, and Clara is . . .” He shrugged, then cast out an arm in Clara’s direction, as if to say well, that is what she is.

  “She is not the wife I would advise for a duke, but since he did not listen to me on the subject, we will accommodate his peculiar decision.”

  Theo shook his head. “I don’t see the match making him friendly to us. Within six months of the wedding he will be sure he was hoodwinked and be out for blood for sure.”

  “Should I leave so that the two of you can discuss me forthrightly? I would not want my presence to interfere,” Clara said sharply.

  Her grandmother patted her hand. “We have vexed her, Theo. Calm yourself, dear.”

  “I am quite calm, thank you. However, I regret to tell you that you have completely misjudged the duke’s interest. He finds it amusing to goad me, nothing more.”

  “That is just a boy pulling the hair of a girl he likes,” her grandmother said.

  “I do not like having my hair pulled. You seem to
have forgotten that no matter what the duke prefers, I will not be marrying him or anyone else.”

  Theo groaned. “Not this again.”

  “Yes, this again. And again. And again. I fail to understand why you persist in thinking my decision is some passing fancy, when I have held firm to it all these years.”

  “Decisions can be changed, as this one must be.” Her grandmother patted her hand again. “For the family’s sake, for your brother’s sake, for my sake, you will marry him.”

  So agitated that she feared she would scream, Clara stood. How dare they interfere at this late stage of her life? Because Papa is gone and not here to stop them.

  “If this is the important news, I have heard it. I will go now. I encourage you to find some other solution to whatever threat you think the duke presents. Theo, if you keep your wits and do not insult him or his family, he will never challenge you, so all of this plotting is unnecessary anyway.”

  “If he proposes and you refuse, you will be the one insulting him,” Theo snapped.

  “I am leaving. I refuse to listen to more of this madness.”

  “You will not leave. You will stay right here while we plan how you reel him in now that he has been hooked,” Grandmamma said.

  “Good heavens, Stratton isn’t some dumb fish. There will be no reeling. Good day to you.”

  She got as far as the staircase before the shaking started. She did not know if it resulted from her anger and shock or from the inexplicable desire to laugh.

  Halfway down the stairs the last impulse disappeared in a blink. What if Stratton told Theo and her grandmother that he had already proposed? They would be relentless in coercing her to agree. She would have to move to Brazil to save her sanity.

  * * *

  “I am always happy to watch the auctions, but are we here for a reason, Stratton?” Langford asked.

  “I intend to buy a horse. What other reason would bring me here?”

  They stood in the yard at Tattersalls, along with twenty other men, while horse after horse came out for inspection and bidding. Thus far none had been good enough. Certainly not the bay currently on the block, even if the auctioneer had touted the mare as suitable for a woman.

  “You intend to buy today? The five horses in your stable here in town won’t do? The twenty you have in the country need a new friend?”

  “It is not for me. It is a gift.”

  “Ahhhhh. For your lady, you mean.”

  “She needs a horse. A very good horse. She is as fine an equestrienne as you will find. She rides better than you do, even though she is stuck on a sidesaddle.”

  “No woman rides better than I do.”

  “Once I get her this horse, you can race her and we will see about that.”

  “You are giving her a lot of gifts. Is it appropriate? First that ruby necklace, now a horse.” Langford peered at him. “You did give her the ruby necklace, I assume.”

  “Not yet. That is for later.”

  “How much later? It has been weeks.”

  “I am waiting for the right moment.”

  “Which has not come yet, apparently.” Langford grinned. “Methinks the grand seduction is not unfolding as you intended. No, no, there is no need to explain. I am not the kind of man who presses a friend for such intimate details. Perhaps you should have taken notes when I gave my lesson, however.”

  Adam would not mind thrashing Langford. Had he not wanted another opinion on the horse he chose, he just might have.

  “Does she know you are buying her a horse?”

  “No.”

  “A surprise, then. Does her brother’s stable have room for another horse?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Shouldn’t you find out before you buy one?”

  “Stop being so damned practical.” That was better than telling Langford that Lady Clara had moved from her family home and now would arrange her own stabling.

  Movements near the auctioneer claimed Adam’s attention. The bay had been knocked down and grooms led her away. A man led out the next horse. The gelding had deep chestnut coloring, almost black. It stepped high and resisted the hold on its bridle.

  “Now that is a damned fine animal,” Langford said.

  Adam thought so too. He walked over to get a close look, with Langford in his wake.

  They gave the horse a thorough examination. Langford checked teeth while Adam lifted legs and hooves. Others also crowded around, but the auctioneer’s practiced eye must have spotted the gentlemen likely to bid high because he hovered near Adam.

  “Three years old,” the man repeated, having just announced that information. “A real beauty. Spirited enough to race. A riding horse, to be sure. Not fit for a carriage, although he can be trained for one.”

  “How does he take a saddle?”

  “He tolerates one well enough. A gentleman like you should have no problem. I would be lying if I did not admit that I would not put a weak rider on him. Has his own mind, he does, and needs a firm hand.”

  “He sounds just like the rider I have in mind. They may suit each other.”

  “Then here is hoping you win him. I expect the bidding to go high.”

  Adam retreated. Langford joined him. “So that is the one? Are you sure? If he throws her, you will feel very guilty.”

  “She won’t get thrown.”

  “If you say so.” Langford did not sound convinced.

  Fifteen minutes later Adam arranged payment for the horse and its delivery to his own stable.

  “We are not bringing it to her now?” Langford asked while they walked away.

  “We are never bringing it to her. I am alone. Another day.”

  “Pity. I wanted to see it. If she loves horses so much, she will probably fall at your feet in capitulation when she receives this one.”

  Adam pictured that and laughed, although in his mind’s eye the capitulating Lady Clara refused to totally surrender.

  He was not sure he would want her to.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clara woke early Monday morning. The servants she had hired would begin today, and she needed to explain their duties and her expectations. She doubted she would be done by evening.

  She dressed and went down to the morning room to have some breakfast. A full sideboard greeted her. Unlike Jocelyn’s spare offerings, today there was enough food to feed ten people. She tried some of the eggs. Hot eggs, unlike the lukewarm ones Jocelyn managed.

  A woman entered while she ate and placed the mail next to her plate, then retreated. Not Jocelyn. It had looked like one of the women she had considered for the housekeeper position. Presumably it was the one she had hired.

  She got up and went looking for the woman. She found her in close conversation with a girl near the stairs down to the kitchen. Upon seeing her, both curtsied. The girl scurried down the stairs.

  “I see you are already here, Mrs. Finley. I had hoped to greet you when you arrived.”

  “Your maid let me in, and I set to it right off. I hope you do not mind.”

  “Not at all. The cook is here too, I noticed. Could you tell her that in the future she need not make so much food. I live alone and do not have a big appetite in the mornings. Also tell her that it all tasted wonderful, and the coffee was excellent.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “Could you let me know when Mr. Brady, the coachman, arrives?”

  “He is below right now, milady, awaiting your call. Brought a groom like you asked, he said.”

  She asked Mrs. Finley to send the coachman and groom up to the library. A half hour later all was resolved. The groom was hired, and Mr. Brady was sent out to investigate carriages and a pair for sale so she might have a reason for his employment.

  Mrs. Finley ventured into the library as the two men left. “Will you be wanting to direct the cook on meals and such, or should I handle it?”

  “I think I will leave it in your capable hands. Tomorrow we will sit down and draw up a reasonable accou
nt for you.”

  “Will there be anything else now, milady?”

  “One more thing. Please, sit.”

  Mrs. Finley settled her stout figure on one of the chairs. Clara had hired her in part because she was a mature woman who came with good references. Mostly, however, Mrs. Finley had reminded her of a housekeeper in her father’s employ years ago.

  Right now, dressed in a simple gray dress and a large white cap that covered most of her brown hair, Mrs. Finley looked worried. Clara thanked her for taking the household in hand so quickly and neatly, then broached the real topic she wanted to discuss.

  Having all these servants posed a risk to some of the journal’s contributors. They would no longer visit an empty house used only for meetings. They would now come to a full household in which the journal’s activities were visible to curious eyes. A woman who wrote under an assumed name would not like the servants of London aware of her identity.

  “When I met with each of you, I was very clear that anyone who works here must be discreet in the extreme. I want to emphasize that once again and ask that you in turn speak with the others about it. I cannot have the servants gossiping to their friends about this house. At times important people visit, even outside calling hours, and their comings and goings are not to be mentioned outside this property. Any lack of discretion will be worse than thievery in my view. I am that serious about this.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “I regret that I must charge you with enforcing this rule. If you suspect any of the others of being disloyal, you must inform me.”

  “Yes, milady. You are not to concern yourself. I will make sure lips are buttoned when they leave this house.”

  It was the best she could do. She hoped it was enough. One slip and she would have to find another home for the journal. That would be inconvenient.

  Her busy morning had taken only an hour and a half, thanks to Mrs. Finley. She went up to her chamber and spent the rest of the morning with Jocelyn, going through the wardrobe to find dresses appropriate to half mourning. Having made their appearances at Brentworth’s party, Emilia and she had begun receiving invitations to other events. She looked forward to playing chaperone at a few more.