"That's that sorted," Sebastian clapped his hands together and smiled, "Now, tell me. What do you three lovely ladies have planned for this evening?"
"It's Wednesday," Julia replied with a sigh, "There is only one place to go on a Wednesday."
"And where's that?" Sebastian asked curiously, for he did not follow the tide of the ton.
"Almack's," Charlotte replied, in unison with her two friends. The trio all felt the same apathy toward the grand club, where marriage minded men came to peruse the ladies present like livestock at Tattersalls. They had been forced, every Wednesday, for the past three years to suffer the indignity of the dull assembly rooms, and all were quite tired of the charade.
Still, Charlotte thought happily, as she reached for a French fancy, at least she could look forward to tonight, knowing that there was no way she would bump into the Duke of Penrith.
Thank heavens that the Upstarts would never deign to step foot in Almack's.
Chapter Four
"I cannot believe I am being forced to go to ruddy Almack's," Hugh grumbled, peering out of the carriage window at the building which housed the assembly rooms.
"Take a sip of this," Montague replied, leaning across to offer him a sip from his hip-flask, "I must say, it has eased my irritation at the prospect of spending an evening under the watchful gaze of the Grand Dragons."
"I think you mean Grand Dames," Hugh replied, taking the proffered flask and nipping a sip from it.
"I think you'll find I didn't."
Montague's smile was infectious and despite his disquiet at his current predicament, Hugh found himself grinning in return. Thinking that, perhaps, it was the brandy which had his friend in such jovial spirits, Hugh took another sip from the silver flask, before handing it back.
"I embrace my accursed fate," Hugh quipped darkly, as the footman opened the carriage door.
"It's a ball, not a trip to the gallows," came Montague's droll reply.
His friend's assertion that their trip to Almack's was not so doomed a venture was quickly quashed as the two men entered the crowded ballroom. There were white dresses as far as the eye could see, worn by young, giggling chits who regarded the two dukes with nefarious, plotting eyes.
Debutantes.
Hugh was by no means a coward, having faced danger on multiple occasions during the course of his work for Whitehall, but he felt a shiver of apprehension run through him, as he realised he was surrounded.
"I fear we might not make it out alive," he said, under his breath to Montague, who had lost some of his earlier buoyancy, as the white dresses began to circle them.
"It was a pleasure serving with you, my liege," Montague whispered in return, before his face broke into a grin as he spotted something, "Hark, the herald angels sing. Is that Orsino I spy?"
Montague pointed across the room to where Orsino stood, towering head and shoulders above the crowd, with his customary dark scowl in place. His fearsome disposition seemed to have created an invisible barrier around him, one which no white-dressed daisy dared to pass.
Relief washed over Hugh, and with a determined scowl of his own, he began to push his way through the crowd toward his friend.
"You're late," Orsino grumbled, as the two men finally reached him.
"Perhaps it is you who was early, Orsino," Montague replied with a roguish smile.
"No," Orsino frowned, "You're late. We said ten bells, it is now half-past. You both deserted me to defend myself against the hideous onslaught of meddling mamas."
As he finished speaking, Orsino caught sight of one such mama, making her way toward the trio, an optimistic smile upon her face. Orsino in turn, offered her a scowl so terrifying that it could shiver a corpse, which put a quick halt to the woman's approach.
"Do you practice those faces in a mirror?" Montague asked, genuinely interested.
"In battle, I had my pistol and sword," Orsino replied dryly, "In a ballroom, I am only armed with dark-looks. Though, to answer your question, no, I do not practice them. I find they come naturally."
"The ability to repel debutantes without having to even open your mouth is quite the gift," Hugh said, feeling a little envious.
"Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden," Orsino quoted, before clarifying himself to a confused looking Montague, "It means 'tis best to stop something from happening before it has begun, rather than after the fact."
"Good, good," Montague replied, as he took a sneaky nip from his flask, "Though there's not too many weeds here, by my eye. Roses abound."
"I think it's time to confiscate the flask," Hugh said, "If you're actually beginning to enjoy this ruddy circus."
"A man can appreciate the view, even from the gallows," Montague replied distractedly, his eyes focused on someone across the room.
Hugh followed his gaze and found himself looking at Lord and Lady Cavendish, who were standing guard over a beautiful young lady, whom Hugh guessed to be their daughter.
"You'll see the gallows sooner than you think, if you set your heart upon a Cavendish," Hugh observed. The enmity between the ducal seat of Staffordshire and the marquessate of Pembrook had begun around the time of the Norman conquest, and had endured for centuries since. Montague might look with appreciation at the Cavendish girl, but his father would disinherit him if he even thought that his son might take up with his enemy's daughter.
"A man can look," Montague said, turning his gaze back to his friends, "I need some distraction before the true entertainment of the night begins. Ho! Here he is, Dubarry himself."
Hugh looked up to see his cousin, his blonde hair gleaming beneath the tapers of the chandeliers, headed their way. Dubarry had, for once, managed to dress himself perfectly and had heeded the strict dress code set down by Almack's doyennes. If Dubarry had managed to pull his head from the clouds, rejecting his usual déshabille, he must really mean business with this girl.
"You're here," Dubarry looked visibly relieved, "I had thought that you might welsh on me."
"Less of the welching talk," Orsino grumbled, for his own title was seated in the Vale of Glamorgan.
"And have more faith in me," Hugh added, with his own complaint, "I said that I would do this, and I always stand by my word. Now, point out to me the blowsabella you wish to shackle me to."
"Really, Penrith," Dubarry looked pained, "Miss Drew is no blowse, she is a well educated young woman. Let me see if I can spot her."
Dubarry scanned the room, letting out an "A-ha" of triumph as he spotted his mark.
"There she is, seated with Lady Havisham and Miss Violet Havisham," he whispered, nodding towards the seats under the balcony, upon which the orchestra played, "Miss Drew is the female garbed in the rust coloured gown."
Hugh craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of this Miss Drew and, once his eyes had been pulled away from the elderly dame with half a peacock on her head, he finally spotted his mark.
Lud.
Hugh felt as though he had been kicked quite squarely in the stomach, as he realised that the Miss Drew he was to pursue was none other than his red-headed temptress from the day before. Tonight, her auburn curls were piled artfully—or haphazardly, depending on the viewer—atop her head, revealing a long, elegant neck, which Hugh had an overwhelming urge to nibble upon.
"You see," Dubarry whispered, "I told you she was no blowse."
"Indeed, she is not," Hugh replied, his mind whirring as he sought to plot his next step. Though he found this Miss Drew very attractive, it did not erase from his mind her impertinence at their first meeting. Hugh, proud as he was, rather relished the thought that he might have the upper hand over the minx for the next few weeks, and might tease her as mercilessly as he wished.
"Have you told Miss Bianca about our plan?" he queried of Dubarry, in a whisper.
"Not yet."
"Well, don't," Hugh replied, "I am adding a caveat to our agreement, and that is that Miss Drew must not know tha
t I have agreed to help her with her father's edict."
"And why is that?" Dubarry queried, slightly perplexed.
"Because if she does not know," Hugh replied evenly, "Then she will be forced to be on her best behaviour around me, which will ease my suffering somewhat."
Hugh did not say that it would also amuse him thoroughly to have the sharp-tongued lass jump through hoops trying to impress him; Dubarry was not the sort who would agree with a little light torturing of bluestockings.
"Very well," Dubarry sighed, "Doing a good deed is reward enough, I shouldn't try to sully things with Miss Bianca by making her think she is indebted to me in anyway. I would prefer our love to blossom without impetus."
"And I would prefer if you could refrain from spouting such sappy nonsense," Hugh said with a roll of his eyes, "Lest I cast up my accounts. Now, let me think how we shall do this. You cannot introduce us, or it might give the game away. Orsino, you are familiar with Lady Havisham, are you not?"
"More familiar with the nephew, but we have been introduced," Orsino confirmed, his eyes following Hugh's gaze to the corner where the trio sat. "She's—ahem—a rather interesting character."
Hugh could well believe it; as well as the peacock which sat upon her head, Lady Havisham also sported a fox stole—complete with paws—around her neck, whilst in her hands, she clutched a walking stick with an ornate handle shaped like the head of a Highland Cow. She was, Hugh thought with a grin, like a walking version of Polito's Menagerie.
"The title is Scottish," Orsino whispered, "Which explains the cow...somewhat. Come, I will make you known to her."
With an elegant grace surprising for a man of his stature, Orsino made his way across the crowded ballroom, with Hugh hot on his heels. Their progress was watched by the majority of the ton, but evidently the trio of Lady Havisham and her two charges had not noted, for three surprised pairs of eyes looked up at their arrival. Hugh bit back a grin as he noted Miss Drew's expression change from one of shock to one of horror, as she recognised him. Oh, how sweet the element of surprise was.
"Lady Havisham," Orsino gave a deep bow, "How pleased I am to see you again."
"Poppycock," Lady Havisham replied, in a voice inflicted with a deep Scottish burr, "It is not I that you are pleased to see, Orsino, but my niece and her friend. Don't pretend you walked all the way over here to speak to this old lady."
Lady Havisham poked Orsino squarely in the gut with the head of her cane, the silver horns of the Highland Cow denting the duke's velvet waistcoat, such was the force she used. Hugh could not hide his smile of delight, for he had never witnessed anyone—let alone a diminutive old lady—issue the fearsome Duke of Orsino with such a bald drubbing down.
"And who is this grinning addle pate?" Lady Havisham continued, with a stern glance at Hugh.
"This would be the Duke of Penrith," Orsino replied, sounding—to Hugh's ears at least—far more amused than he should.
"Penrith?" Lady Havisham harrumphed, and the feathers of the peacock upon her head fluttered, "One of your so-called Upstarts. At least you had the sense not to drag the other puffed up popinjay over to me—I heard about his recent drive into the Serpentine. Now, gentlemen, allow me to introduce my niece, Miss Violet Havisham and her good friend, Miss Charlotte Drew."
Both ladies looked as though they wished the floor would swallow them up; Miss Havisham's face was quite as red as the rope which surrounded the dancefloor, her deep blue eyes glancing up at both men apologetically. Miss Drew, on the other hand, was making a concerted effort to look everywhere but at Hugh. Her green eyes were determinedly fixed upon the chandelier above their heads, as though she were evaluating it for purchase.
Hugh, a little irritated that his advantage of surprise had been somewhat decimated by the surprise of Lady Havisham's obstreperous tournure, spoke first.
"Ladies, I am charmed to make your acquaintance," he said, offering them both a curt bow, "I know that both Orsino and I would feel privileged if you would do us both the honour of standing up with us."
Hugh subtly elbowed Orsino in the ribs, wincing a little for it was akin to elbowing a brick wall, and his friend hastily added a noise of agreement to his statement.
"Miss Drew?" Hugh looked pointedly at his prey, who paled slightly, before settling her features into an expression of resignation, which pricked at Hugh's pride.
"Miss Havisham?" Orsino rumbled, proffering his elbow toward the other girl. Miss Havisham gave an audible gulp of fear, before rising to a stand and taking Orsino's arm, her hand appearing tiny against his muscles which were visible even through the sleeve of his coat.
In silence, the two dukes led their partners—or was it captives?—toward the dancefloor. The whole room was abuzz with whispers, for neither Penrith nor Orsino had ever deigned to set foot in Almack's, yet here they were. And dancing with eligible chits of marriageable age, no less.
"In the end, it was not difficult to find you, Miss Drew," Hugh observed dryly, as the quartet reached the edge of the ballroom floor and waited for the current dance to end.
"Of course it was not difficult," his partner replied with a snip, "I was not hiding from you. Pray, do not congratulate yourself too much on your powers of detection, your Grace, you would be giving yourself far too much credit. Besides, I have no reason to hide from you; my being at that meeting was a perfectly honest mistake."
"Yes," Hugh's tone was dry as the desert, "I can see how easy it was for you to confuse rabid republicans with crochet enthusiasts. Tell me, Miss Drew, have you been to any more interesting meetings of late?"
"I could ask you the same question, your Grace," Miss Drew replied with alacrity, "At least I have an excuse for being present, you appeared to have been there of your own volition."
Touché.
Hugh struggled to keep his features set in an impassive expression, not wanting a scowl of annoyance to let Miss Drew know that she had struck a chord of irritation. His work for Whitehall was supposed to be top-secret; he couldn't well explain to her that he had been there spying.
Luckily, an explanation was not immediately required, for the current dance had come to an end, and the orchestra were tuning up for a Quadrille.
There were no more chances for chat, for the dance involved four couples and much changing of partners. Hugh assumed a glowering expression, befitting of a duke, as he made his way through the steps. But, despite his scowl, he could not help but feel a frisson of excitement every time he touched Miss Drew. A chaste hand on the small of a lady's back was not usually that exciting for a jade like Hugh, but for some strange reason—and even though he wore gloves—Hugh was overcome with desire.
He tried to discern if Miss Drew felt similarly, but every time that he tried to catch her green eyes, they were determinedly trained in the opposite direction. Avoiding looking at one's partner could, of course, only lead to one thing, and just as they had finished the last set, Miss Drew tripped over Hugh's feet and would have landed squarely on her face had he not caught her in his arms.
"Oh," she said, with a slight breathlessness to her voice, "I did not see you."
"Yes—when you're avoiding looking at someone, you generally don't see them," Hugh replied, amazed that he sounded so suave, for the feel of her in his arms was quite dizzying.
They stood, for a moment, staring at each other stupidly, until the orchestra finished playing and Hugh noted the whispers which were now audible given the absence of music. An elusive duke holding a lady for far longer than was proper in the middle of a ballroom floor would give rise to weeks of gossip.
"Up you go," he said, taking a hasty step back and speaking in the voice he usually used when speaking to his hunting dogs, "No harm done."
"Only to my pride, but that regularly takes a bashing," Miss Drew replied with a slight smile, as she gathered her wits and straightened her skirts.
It was hard not to admire a lady who shrugged off public embarrassment with a quick quip, though Hugh tried to quash the gr
udging respect he felt toward Miss Drew. She was still the same impertinent bluestocking, he reminded himself sternly, as he escorted her from the floor.
Orsino and Miss Havisham were close behind, and once the two couples had cleared the throng of people on the periphery of the dancefloor, the two ladies were at pains to take their leave.
"Well," Miss Drew said with a forced smile, "Thank you for the dance, your Grace. I am sure that there are a dozen other girls waiting in the wings to take my place."
"Yes, thank you," Miss Havisham echoed, her eyes—which Hugh could now see were dark enough to be violet—wide with terror as she glanced at her partner. Relief was clearly etched across her face that her ordeal was now at an end, and for a minute Hugh felt a little guilty for dragging her into this mess; his friend could be ruddy intimidating at times.
Before Hugh could object and try to draw them into further conversation, Miss Drew grabbed Miss Havisham's hand and bid them a cheery goodbye.
"For a filly in need of a duke, she didn't seem overly keen on you," Orsino observed, as both men watched their partners gallop away from them.
"Yes, well, perhaps she was playing hard to get," Hugh grumbled in reply, his friend's observation rankling his pride, "You know how women are."
"Perhaps she has another duke lined up already?"
Orsino's words were, Hugh knew, just a theory, but still he could not help but feel slightly startled by them. Was it possible that Miss Drew had already secured the attentions of another duke? She was certainly beautiful enough to draw the eye, though her deportment and sharp tongue were in need of much improvement.
"What duke could she possibly have waiting in the wings?" Hugh queried, sounding far more obstreperous than he had intended. "We are the only single dukes in all of London—unless you count Caplan, but he's pushing ninety. No, Miss Drew knows that the most tempting armful strives to make herself appear unobtainable. Men do love the hunt, after all."
Tamed by a Duke (Wilful Wallflowers Book 1) Page 5