"I am not," the duke smiled, "For I would not have been able to kiss you like that in a sedate drawing room. Now, inside before you catch your death. But Charlotte?"
Charlotte turned, with one foot on the first step.
"I will learn the reason as to why you felt the need to pawn your jewels. It can come from your lips, or another's, but I will know. Am I clear?"
Charlotte nodded mutely, before turning and fleeing up the steps to safety. As the door closed behind her, Charlotte could not help but worry about what Penrith would say or do once he discovered what it was that she had done. For no proper lady would involve herself in the affairs that Charlotte had taken on. Though Charlotte was no proper lady, and she could not regret her actions, even though some might condemn her.
She just hoped that the duke would not.
Chapter Ten
"There he is."
"Indeed, it is he; the enamoured duke who looked at Miss Charlotte Drew with eyes softer than Spitalfields' finest spun silk."
Hugh frowned at his two friends, who were seated in their usual seat at the bow-window of White's. He had hoped that they might have missed the papers' platitude-laden reports on his trip to the theatre with Miss Drew, but they obviously had not.
In fact, Montague appeared to have memorised sections of the gossip columns by heart.
"The formidable Duke of Penrith, who for years has ignored the impassioned pleas of thousands of women, has at last succumbed to the agony of love," Montague quoted cheerfully, as Penrith took a seat.
"You'll succumb to a rather quick punch, if you don't stop your blathering," Hugh muttered, as he waved for a footman to fetch him a drink.
"Gemini. I see that love has not tamed your temper," Montague replied, raising his eyebrows at Hugh's testy tone, "But at least you have tamed your shrew. Your names have been splashed across the papers daily; her father must be convinced of the suit by now."
"Take that back."
Hugh's voice cracked like a whip, causing silence to fall not only at his table, but at the tables nearby. Montague blinked twice, his handsome face a picture of confusion. The marquess had, Hugh knew, merely been jesting, but anger burned within him at his description of Miss Drew.
"What am I taking back?" Montague whispered, casting a concerned glance at the other tables, where several club members were ostentatiously pretending not to listen.
"Miss Drew is no shrew," Hugh answered shortly, careful to keep his own voice low. He would not like for word of this to reach anyone's ears, least of all Charlotte's.
"You described her as such yourself," Montague frowned, "Though I beg forgiveness for any insult I have caused. I was merely echoing your own sentiments."
"Well, I was mistaken," Hugh conceded, inwardly flinching. Had he really called Charlotte a shrew? How callous he had been to assign a character trait to her that had been invented by gossips. "Miss Drew is quite the charming young lady. Yes, she is opinionated, and rather headstrong, but she is not deserving of such a moniker."
"I see," Montague replied, as in vain he tried to hide a smile behind his hand.
"You see what?" Hugh replied irritably, picking up the glass of brandy that the footman had deposited before him. He had revealed nothing; he had simply defended a lady's honour, as chivalry demanded.
"He sees what I see," Orsino answered, with a mischievous glint in his eye, "Your courting of Miss Drew has turned from a lark into a love-song."
"As a duke I am bound to uphold the laws of propriety and I could not have Montague insult a lady in my presence," Hugh replied with a sniff.
"You weren't so bound by propriety last month, when you cast up your accounts in Pickering Place," Montague countered.
"If I recall correctly, I was afflicted with a terrible ague that evening," Hugh said, "And I also recall you two saying that you would never speak of it again. Are we comrades in arms, or are we not?"
"Comrades till the end," Orsino answered with gusto.
"Good, then you can both stop plaguing me with nonsense and have the manners to move the conversation on to other topics."
His two friends duly obliged, with Orsino giving a vague appraisal of work he was undertaking for Whitehall.
"Lord Havisham is in Vienna, trying to weed out spies, and his son is helping me with coded responses," Orsino told them in a whisper.
Havisham? Where had Hugh heard that name before? Of course, one of Miss Drew's friends was a Havisham—Victoria, or was it Viola?—and the lad that Orsino referred to must be the same boy that Hugh had seen in the park that day. The one who had caused Charlotte to laugh so gaily.
"What's he like," Hugh grunted, "The Havisham lad, does he seem trustworthy?"
His concerns for the safety of Orsino's mission were matched only by a ridiculous sense of competition toward Havisham, which he naturally did not give voice to.
"He's a good lad," Orsino shrugged, and Hugh felt his shoulders sink with disappointment. Though what had he been hoping for, he wondered? Orsino was unlikely to declare young Mr Havisham as impotent, or better yet, a confirmed eunuch who posed no threat to Hugh.
"Odd as a box of frogs," Jack added as an afterthought, "But sound enough to do the job."
Odd? It was hardly impotent, but Hugh felt satisfied enough with the assessment of Mr Havisham's character to relax back into his seat.
"What is his sister called?" Hugh queried, feeling a little bit irritated that he could not recall her name, for it was on the tip of his tongue. "Victoria?"
"Violet," Orsino answered, and to Hugh's surprise, his gigantic, beast of a friend blushed like a green-girl fresh out of the schoolroom.
"Oh, Lud."
It was Montague who commented on Orsino's unusual reaction. The handsome marquess cast both his friends a scowl, his expression etched with disappointment.
"We're supposed to be comrades in arms," he grumbled, giving them both a reproving stare as he echoed Hugh's earlier sentiments, "Now here you both are, with puppy-eyes and silky soft hearts. I won't stand for it if you both get leg-shackled and leave me behind."
"I don't know what you're talking about, man," Orsino retorted, adopting one of his fearsome glares, "I just said the chit's name."
"And blushed like a debutant," Montague muttered, though it was more to himself, for Orsino could be quite fearsome when he put his mind to it.
As for Hugh, he remained silent, mulling over Montague's words. He had never been one to relish the thought of marriage, but after his rain-soaked kiss with Miss Drew the day before, he had to admit that marrying the impertinent Charlotte was exactly what his heart desired.
Oh, she was headstrong, forthright, and entirely unsuited to the role of duchess, but what did that matter when she made Hugh feel so alive? When she made him feel like a man, and not a title.
A man who impulsively kissed a girl in the rain. A man who joked and poked fun at himself. A man who was capable of saying sorry...
As Orsino and Montague continued to parry verbal blows, Hugh began to plot how he might capture Miss Drew's hand. She had entered into their courtship under a cloud of deceit as dark as his own, a fact that Hugh had not given a second thought to. Now that he wished to make her his bride, Hugh found himself worrying excessively that she might discard him as easily as pair of dancing slippers.
You might tell her father that you have compromised her, a wicked voice in his ear whispered. It was no lie—by kissing Miss Drew in the middle of Grosvenor Square Park, Hugh had compromised her and greatly risked damaging her reputation.
If anyone had seen them, he would be forced to offer for her hand.
Unfortunately—from Hugh's perspective at least—it appeared that the good people of Grosvenor Square had not sighted a duke ravishing one of their fellow residents, so the avenue of an honourable proposal was closed to him. As tempting as it was to quote duty and chivalry to bring Charlotte to heel, Hugh knew that if he were to force her hand that way that she would never forgive him.
Though it was
still tempting, he had to admit.
No, if Hugh wished to woo Miss Drew, he would have to do it the old fashioned way; with charm. The only obstacle now in Hugh's path was that he was about as charming as a brick and only slightly less subtle. Overbearing, high-handed, and authoritarian were behaviours Hugh was oft accused of, but the charge of an excess of charm had never been levered his way.
Still, a man might at least try...
Orsino and Montague had now begun discussing the forthcoming races at Newmarket, and Hugh forced his attention back to his friends. After a night's drinking in Crockford's, Orsino had purchased a share in a stallion of supposedly of great repute, though it had failed to win a single race since he had invested in it.
"I'm certain that Tab swindled me," he grumbled, referring to Peter Thackery, who had sold him the share.
"Thackery is one of Leo's old acquaintances," Hugh offered, his disapproving tone letting Orsino know just what type of man Thackery was, "I wouldn't be surprised if the horse was lame when he sold you his shares. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he had sold you a cow dressed up as a horse."
"Dash it," Orsino grumbled, before giving a rueful smile, "Though perhaps it is my own fault for investing in anything whilst in my cups."
"The only thing a man should invest in after a night's drinking in Crockford's is a bucket for the morning after," Montague added sagely, before shooting Hugh a funny look.
"What is it?" Hugh queried, wondering why his friend had suddenly become so shifty.
"I heard," Montague began, pausing to clear his throat excessively, before he continued in a pained, halting manner, "That ah—ah—Leo, has returned to these fair shores. Monty Edwards spotted him in Plymouth. You remember Monty from Oxford? He used to drink a cask of ale every evening and stink up the Bodleian the next day; I can't say he has aged well, poor chap."
"Imagine that," Hugh replied dryly, though how he managed to retain his composure was a mystery. It was obvious that Montague had regretted bringing up the subject of Leo, for he continued to prattle on about poor Monty Edwards, who had once vaulted two billiard tables and now could barely walk from gout.
Leo had returned to English soil without telling him
. His brother's silence felt like a physical blow to Hugh, who sat dazedly listening to Montague gabble about nothing in particular.
"I will take my leave, gentlemen," Hugh said stiffly, as he rose to a stand, "I ordered a book in Hatchard's last week and am of a mind to spend this afternoon reading it. Good-day to you both."
Neither Montague nor Orsino made any comment on Hugh's abrupt departure, but once he had left White's to walk toward Piccadilly, he spotted the pair arguing as he passed the famed bow-window.
Despite himself, Hugh smiled, for he could imagine Orsino upbraiding the poor marquess for springing such news upon Hugh so unexpectedly. Which was a shame, for Hugh was glad that while he hadn't heard of Leo's return from the proverbial horse's mouth, he had at least heard it from a friend.
Hugh turned the corner of St James' Street onto Piccadilly Street and headed toward Hatchard's. In truth, he had not ordered any book, but had simply wished to make an escape. After a short stroll, he passed under the black awning—which bore a Royal Warrant of Appointment—into the merciful peace of the shop.
A discreet shop-assistant smiled at Hugh as he entered, a smile which he did not return. He had no wish to be fussed over by anyone—he simply desired to lose himself for a few minutes. With his gaze focused ahead, Hugh made for the staircase, and clambered the three flights of stairs to the top floor. It was quiet up here, away from the more popular sections, and Hugh idly plucked a book from the shelf and made for the leather Chesterfield which stood by the window.
Outside, he had a perfect view of Piccadilly St and Albany House, an imposing, brown-brick building, nestled within a courtyard, which offered prestigious apartment lodgings to London's richest bachelors. Leo had, for a spell, taken up residence there, before he had left for France.
Hugh was lost in thought, idly watching the residents of London whirl past on the footpath below, when the sound of voices drew him from his reverie.
"This is where you will find all the works on crocheting, Miss Drew. If I can be of any more assistance, please do let me know."
Miss Drew?
Hugh turned in his seat and spotted Charlotte, flanked by her towering Valkyrie, inspecting a shelf of books. She picked one, gave a sigh, and turned to make her way toward the window, when she spotted Hugh already occupying the sofa.
"Your Grace," she squeaked, her face flushing red at the sight of him.
For a moment, Hugh wondered why on earth she was so flustered, but then recalled their searing kiss the day before and found that he too was now blushing.
So much for suave charm, he thought as he waved for Miss Drew to join him.
"Oh, I hope I'm not interrupting your reading," Charlotte said politely, as she joined him upon the leather seat. She glanced down at the book in his lap, before looking up at him with amused eyes.
"Are you thinking of embroidering some clocks, Your Grace?" she enquired sweetly, with a pointed glance at his book.
"I beg your pardon?" Hugh stuttered, before looking down to find that the book he had selected was one filled with elaborate design plates for embroidering stocking-clocks.
"If I told you that I had picked this up by mistake, would you believe me?" he queried, with a wan smile.
"Only if you tell me what it is that has you so glum," Charlotte countered, her eyebrows narrowed in thought, "For you do not seem yourself at all, Your Grace. One would struggle to describe you as toplofty today, when you seem so sad. I am feeling quite discombobulated by it all, so you shall have to tell me what ails you, so that we might fix it."
How strange it was that a girl who had known him but a short time could so quickly discern his mood. Not only that, but Charlotte's gentle, teasing manner was the perfect antidote to Hugh's dark musings. She was inviting him to share his troubles with her, and to Hugh's surprise, he found that he wished to unburden himself.
"My brother has returned to England," he said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.
"Capital!" Charlotte cried, though one glance at Hugh let her know that there was nothing capital about it.
"We have not spoken in several years," Hugh continued, his stomach churning with anxiety as he began to tell his tale, "In fact, the last time that we spoke was just before Leo sailed for France, when he told me that he wished me to hell and damnation for buying him a commission in the army."
A sharp intake of breath from Charlotte made Hugh pause for a moment, but she did not speak, and so he ploughed on. For the next ten minutes, Hugh spoke without stopping, telling Charlotte of his younger brother, who had been so bright in Oxford but had fallen in with a bad crowd once he had come up to London.
"He fell into drinking, carousing, wench—" Hugh paused, he could not tell Miss Drew about his brother's wenching, that was not a matter for delicate ladies' ears, "Er, and all sorts of nefarious activities. I ignored it all for a year or two, for most young-bloods lose their head a little, when they taste their first drop of freedom in town."
"I had heard," Charlotte commented dryly, before urging Hugh to continue with his tale.
"It all came to a head, when Leo turned one-and-twenty," Hugh said with a sigh, "One of his friends had lost his entire family fortune at the gaming tables, whilst another had fled to Paris to escape his debts. I began to hear whispers that Leo had already lost his annual allowance and was seeking to borrow on the foot of next year's."
"How dreadful," Charlotte whispered, raising a gloved hand to her mouth.
"Indeed," Hugh sighed, "I had seen many of my own peers destroy their lives at the gaming tables and I feared that Leo's life might take the same downward trajectory. I could not bear to see him end up broken—or worse, dead—so I intervened."
"By buying him a commission?" Charlotte ventured and Hugh gave a nod.
>
"As well as cutting off any avenues of credit that he might have tried," Hugh admitted; it had been cruel of him, but he had spoken to many of the city banks and lenders, and had used his title and power to ensure that credit would not be available should Leo go looking.
"So, when you told him of your plan for his future, Leo was upset with you," Charlotte guessed.
"Upset is a rather mild way of putting it," Hugh gave a smile, "But I was able to persuade him that the army would straighten him out and would mould him into a man more suited to be second in line to the ducal seat. Unfortunately, he has not spoken to me since. I have been waiting for an apology that I fear will never come."
Charlotte gave a strange sound, one which was half-way between a sigh and a muffled scream, and Hugh looked up to see Miss Drew biting down on her gloved hand. What had he said to upset her so?
"What?" Hugh asked curiously.
"Your Grace," Charlotte sighed, as she shifted in her seat, "I am afraid that I must speak plainly."
"Is that not what you always do?"
"Well, yes," Charlotte offered him a weak smile, "But this time I know that what I will say might offend—usually when I upset people, it comes about by mistake."
"One would wonder why you would insist on speaking when you know it might cause upset," Hugh countered, preparing himself for whatever it was she was about to unleash, "But go ahead; I fear holding you back from speaking your mind would be akin to attempting to hold back the tide."
"I rather fear," Charlotte began slowly, straightening her posture and shuffling as far away from him as was possible on the snug couch, "That it is not your brother who owes you an apology, but rather the other way around."
What? Hugh looked at her stupefied; had she not heard his tale? Leo had been well on his way to an early death or a life in the debtor's prison, until Hugh's intervention.
"Oh, I know your intentions were honourable," Charlotte continued, as she caught sight of Hugh's outraged mien, "But he does not know that. You persuaded him that you acted out of concern for his position as second in line, and not concern for a brother whom you love. I am afraid that without knowing why you truly did what you did, that your poor brother will have simply thought that you were being..."
Tamed by a Duke (Wilful Wallflowers Book 1) Page 11