A Diamond for a Duke : Book 4: Camellia: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet)

by Arietta Richmond

  They discussed the swordcane to be made for some minutes more, amicably absorbed in their apparently common passion for such things, before reaching a final agreement on the price, and what was to be made, by when. Mr Black drew out a journal from under his counter, and wrote down all of the details.

  “Your name, my Lord?”

  Damien paused – he was not, quite yet, ready to reveal his true name, although he wondered, from the look on Mr Black’s face, if he might not have guessed already. But he said nothing more, just waiting.

  “Lenoir.”

  A slightly raised eyebrow was all that indicated scepticism, as Mr Black dutifully wrote it down. Damien reached into his pockets, and drew out his money pouch. He had not brought any great sum with him, but he could manage to leave a deposit, as an indication of good faith, and still have enough coin to easily pay the cab.

  “I will have that ready for you as agreed – and, of course, should you wish adjustments made to the final product, those will be included in the price.”

  “Thank you. But let me leave you at least part of the price as a courtesy.”

  He set the money down upon the counter, and watched as a flurry of emotions were reflected on Mr Black’s face – each present only for a moment, and then gone, before the man met his eyes again.

  “That is greatly appreciated, my Lord, and a rare courtesy to receive from a gentleman, if I may say so.”

  “I try to do the unexpected. Good day to you, Mr Black. I will see you at the agreed time. I look forward to feeling my new cane in my hand.”

  He turned with a bow, and left the shop, feeling those green eyes upon his back as he did, his mind oddly conflicted. Good sense told him that he should continue to be cautious, that the man he had just met could still be an imposter, hoping for money, or even if he was Damien’s true half-brother, he could still have all the wrong motives for seeking his father’s bequest, so long after the man’s death. But instinct told him that he had just met the brother he had never had, a man similar to him in interests, as well as appearance, a kindred soul.

  Outside, he looked around, and, seeing a cab opposite, went as if to go to it, before realising that it was not the one which he had hired. His eye was caught by a movement inside it. Someone looked out through its window. A woman… and a woman who seemed startlingly familiar. He froze in place, his mind whirling even more than it had been.

  What possible reason could she have to be here, in a hackney cab, rather than her family’s coach? And… was she unaccompanied? If so, that was deeply shocking, and made him wonder even more. Was she not what she seemed? Was there some secret life that she led, when not smiling in ballrooms and charming him? He realised that he was staring, and quickly shifted his gaze, finding his cab waiting a little further up the street. He went to it, the image of her face in the other cab’s window branded on his mind.

  All the way home, that image troubled him. He had been, he had to admit if he were to be honest with himself, becoming fond of her, becoming… interested… in her – even though he knew that interest in any woman was, for him, unwise. But this… what did she hide? If he was ever to wed himself to a woman, he would have to be able to trust her absolutely – he would not set himself into a situation where he could be betrayed, as his father had betrayed his mother.

  After what he had just seen, how could he ever trust again, that what the world saw of Lady Camellia Gardenbrook was the truth?

  <<<>>>

  After Lord Setford left, Thomas locked the door of the shop, and went into his back room. He had much to think about.

  When Mr Swithin had told him that he shared some resemblance with his half-brother, he had assumed that would be minimal… but when that man had walked into the shop, it had been as if he looked into a mirror. Apart from the scar, of course. When the Duke had taken the sword from his grasp, and wielded it with such perfection, Thomas had found himself drawn to the man – the freely offered advice on his own use of the sword had also been a surprise – for it had been delivered not with judgement or scorn, but as one man to another, in good faith to assist.

  But why had he come in secret, denying his true name? Was it only as Setford had suggested – curiosity? Or was there something more complex behind it. Shockingly, Thomas found himself, for the first time in his life, wanting contact with his half-brother, wanting to know more of the family he had never met, wanting to spend time with the man – the man for whom he had felt an immediate affinity, despite the vast difference in their stations in life.

  Truth be told, he wanted to learn from the man, who was, indeed, the best swordsman he had ever witnessed.

  The whole incident, with his half-brother’s visit, and Lord Setford choosing to hide himself in the back room, came back to him, replaying itself. What had sent Lord Setford back into the shop in the first place? There had been a cab, just sitting in the street opposite, which Setford had seemed concerned about – who had been in it? And why had it simply sat there? Was someone watching his shop? It was not a comforting thought.

  But surely, if they were, and Setford had noticed them, then he would act on that knowledge, and deal with whatever was happening? Thomas put his small kettle on the fire, and set about making tea – right now, he needed something to steady himself, after what had turned out to be a most unusual morning.

  <<<>>>

  The next day, as she settled into a comfortable chair in Bella’s private parlour, opposite Lady Georgette and Lady Marie, Camellia’s thoughts were still running around and around the events of the previous day. Why had Blackwater been there, going into that particular shop, in a somewhat clandestine manner? There was no good answer.

  For that matter, had she really seen Lord Setford there, for that fleeting moment in the shop’s doorway? None of it made any sense. She did not want it to be so complicated! She certainly did not want the uncomfortable suspicion that Blackwater might be one of the men who had not paid his bills – yet the suspicion was there, and having thought of it, she could not ignore that thought.

  She wanted, she realised, to spend time with Blackwater, without any cloud hanging over his integrity – because she liked him. She could, so easily, do more than just like him. But now, she could not contemplate such a thing – not until she knew the truth of what she had seen yesterday. That realisation left her irritable, and unfocussed.

  “I am going to place the advertisement, just as that odious letter instructed.”

  “Oh! But what will happen next, if you do that?”

  Bella’s voice was full of concern, and Lady Georgette worried her hands together in her lap as she responded.

  “I don’t know. I expect that we will receive another letter, or message somehow, telling us what the blackmailer wants us to do. When we do, I think that we should just pay whatever they want – if, of course, it is an amount which we can raise between us – because then we will never have to tell Blackwater about this, and all of the dreadful gossip will stop.”

  Camellia shook her head sadly.

  “I don’t think so. The blackmailer is only one person. They may be spreading lies about you, but others have heard them – more than one person is gossiping already, so stopping one can’t stop all of them. Are you sure that you won’t reconsider, and tell Blackwater?”

  “Definitely not! I don’t want him hurt any more, nor do I want him to do anything rash. We have to at least try to stop this, without involving him.”

  The discussion went on for quite some time, but Lady Georgette remained adamant, and Camellia, as a consequence, remained out of sorts, unsure who could be trusted, and what she could do about any of it.

  What would she do, the next time she came face to face with Blackwater at a Ball or a soiree?

  Chapter Nine

  Two days later, Camellia found herself face to face with the Duke of Blackwater at a musical evening given by Lady Weatherby. It was the sort of event which, later in the Season, neither Blackwater or Camellia would have
been likely to attend, for Lady Weatherby was hardly of great significance within the social sphere, and once the invitations began to flow in great numbers, would have been one of the first to be set aside.

  But now, at the very beginning of the Season, it was a perfectly respectable event to attend, and an excellent start to some social exposure for Lady Georgette and Lady Marie. Blackwater was his usual elegant self, and the sight of him – dark, almost brooding, handsome, and yet aloof, left her feeling more than a little breathless. She dragged her eyes away from him, as all of her doubts surfaced again – why had he been at that particular shop? Instead, she turned her attention to his sisters, who looked magnificent in the first of the gowns which Madame Beaumarais had made for them.

  A flash of envy filled Camellia, and she chided herself for that very uncharitable reaction. They deserved to look absolutely beautiful. She had lovely gowns herself – she should not be jealous – yet she was. They had obviously seen her, for Lady Georgette turned and spoke to her brother, then all three proceeded across the room to where Camelia stood with her family. Her heart beat faster, and she swallowed, her mouth dry.

  “Good evening Lady Camellia.”

  He took her hand for a moment and bowed, then, as she murmured a greeting in reply, turned to the rest of her family to greet them. Heat ran up her arm from that fleeting touch, and she felt a flush rise in her cheeks. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice her discomposure – Primrose was almost instantly absorbed in conversation with Lady Georgette, complimenting her gown, whilst Violet and Iris had drawn Lady Marie to one side, and seemed to be discussing all of the people present, with her sisters giving Lady Marie quiet commentary upon each person.

  Blackwater spoke with her parents for a short time, then her brother, whilst Camellia stood there, watching him, and feeling unaccountably lost. She still had no answer to her questions – and no idea how to react to him, for she could not admit to having seen him there, could not ask him about it, without revealing her own clandestine presence at the time, and, as a result, she could not allow herself to react to him now, in any manner differently from how she had reacted at their previous meetings.

  She was, she supposed, thankful that he was speaking to Thorne, and that she had this time to reflect, to regain her composure. Even as she thought that, he turned towards her.

  “Lady Camellia, I must thank you again for your assistance with my sisters’ gowns. They have received nothing but compliments.”

  Instantly, she was flustered again. How did he do that to her? But she was saved from having to find words by a clapping of hands from the hostess.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, if you would all move into the main salon – the music is about to begin.”

  Blackwater looked at her, and his lips quirked into a wry smile as he offered her his arm.

  “May I escort you to a seat, Lady Camellia?”

  She could not refuse, without being unconscionably rude.

  “You may.”

  She placed her hand upon his arm, and they followed the others into the salon which had been set up with a small performance area, and rows of chairs. He guided her to the end of one row, towards the back of the room, and once she was seated, sat beside her. The heat of his body came to her, somehow, from where his thigh rested, so very close to hers – for the chairs in the room were packed rather tightly. His voice was soft, yet deep and resonant when he whispered close to her ear.

  “I pray that the music is better than that at the last musical soiree I attended, before Christmas – one which I believe you suffered through as well? The one where the music reminded me of a chorus of cats in an alley.”

  Startled, she turned her head and met his bright green eyes. There was laughter in them.

  He was doing it again! That mercurial shift from aloof and cold to warm and amusing – that shift which drew her in, and made him ever intriguing. But the image he had raised in her mind… yes, she knew exactly which previous soiree he meant. She suppressed the small spurt of laughter which threatened.

  “How do you know that I ‘suffered’ through it?”

  “Because I saw you there – and saw the tight lines around the edges of your so perfectly polite smile as you endured it. Your masterful façade was not quite masterful enough to deceive me, I am afraid.”

  Well. That was concerning. Not only had he noticed her, but he had been astute enough to detect her true feelings at the time – and she had been so very sure that her mask of politeness was perfect!

  His green eyes dragged her into their depths, filled with that sparkle of amusement, as he awaited her reaction. She forced herself to look away, lest she drown in them.

  “How very lowering! And how impolite of you to admit to noticing such a breach of propriety on my part.”

  He stifled a soft laugh, and shook his head.

  “Are you always so proper, my Lady?”

  “Of course. Why would I be otherwise?”

  “Perhaps because we are all not quite perfect at times? Apart from displeasure in certain music, what else might that proper façade be hiding, I am left to wonder?”

  A shiver ran through her at his words. He could not possibly have seen her, in that hackney cab… could he?

  The music began, and Camellia sighed in relief – not only was the small orchestra quite competent, but their playing relieved her of the need to continue the conversation with Blackwater – at least for a short while. He settled back in his chair, and turned his face to watch the performers, as her mind mulled over his words, leaving her in a turmoil of uncertainty – was he simply bantering with her, teasing a little, to see what she would say? Or had there been some deeper intent behind those words?

  She could not know. But she knew that she needed to be careful, very careful, with this man whose own secrets she did not understand.

  <<<>>>

  Lady Georgette Falton was beginning to relax. There might be gossip, but so far, no one had said anything nasty directly to her, and at this soiree, as at the various afternoon teas they had been to so far, all seemed ordinary – more people wanted to discuss her beautiful gowns than anything else. Still, there was the blackmail letter… it had left her feeling even more afraid than she had admitted. Tomorrow, she would place the advertisement in the Daily Tattler - no matter what Lady Camellia said, Georgette thought it best to simply follow the instructions, and pay.

  It was the only hope that she could see, of stopping gossip, of stopping Marie and Damien from being hurt further. She kept her eyes forward, watching the musicians, glad for a while to not have to converse with Lady Primrose – no matter how pleasant she found it to have new friends.

  It was hard to converse lightly when inside she was afraid.

  The musical piece concluded, and the hostess announced that refreshments would be served, before another musical interlude. Everyone rose, and confusion ensued as too many people attempted to leave the room at once, through the single door.

  Marie was beside her, and a little ahead, when Georgette felt a small prod to her spine. She froze in place, shocked that anyone would touch her so, then was about to turn when a harsh low voice – female, she thought – spoke from just behind her.

  “My dear Lady Georgette – don’t turn, or you will regret it. This is a reminder. If you do not agree to the terms you were sent, then what gossip you have noted so far will seem mild in comparison to what will follow. There are many ways to ensure that a reputation is ruined, many ways. Do be a sensible woman, like your mother was.”

  Georgette gasped, breathing hard, as the pressure on her spine disappeared. Terrified, she stayed frozen for a moment, then spun in place, earning the censorious glares of the ladies close by. There was nothing to see. Just a collection of well-dressed ladies, many older and a little out of fashion looking, all regarding her as if she had gone mad. Perhaps she had.

  She turned back, to find Marie looking at her, her eyebrow raised. Very quietly, Georgette spoke to her sister.
r />   “Did you hear…?”

  “A few words only. Someone whispered to you, a… threat?”

  “Yes.”

  So, she wasn’t mad. The voice had been real.

  And could have belonged to any one of those perfectly dull looking older women behind her. She had no way to know which of them it had been – if, indeed, it had not been someone else altogether, who had slipped away before she turned.

  She hurried from the room, between Marie and Lady Primrose, and was exceedingly grateful for the glass of ratafia which she was handed when she reached the refreshment table.

  She was now even more certain that tomorrow, she would place that advertisement.

  <<<>>>

  Damien looked down at the woman beside him, wondering. She had the strangest effect on him – no matter how he resolved to remain aloof, she drew him, and when he spoke to her, it was with more warmth than he usually granted anyone.

  Yet she had been in the cab, outside Bentick and Black, he was certain. What he was not certain of was why. And if she held secrets big enough to require clandestine excursions, he could not trust her, could not risk caring, no matter how tempting she was, no matter how beautiful and kind she seemed, no matter how much his sisters liked her.

  He had wondered if he’d gone too far, almost asking her outright what secrets she hid, but she had remained impassive, that smile fixed on her face, and the music had given her an excuse not to answer.

  Was he deluded? Was he suspecting malfeasance where none existed? He did not know, but the last year and a half, since his father’s death, he’d had to face the fact that, most likely, nothing was as it seemed, and no one could be trusted. His whole life had been built on a lie of his father’s making, and he did not yet know how to find a truth to rebuild it on instead.