The Dark Duke

by Margaret Moore

  “I’m sure she does,” Hester lied. The duchess had nearly driven her mad by questioning each and every decision—even though she herself refused to make a single one—from the type of punch to the menu for the buffet supper. She had changed her mind regarding the number of musicians in the orchestra, then changed it back. She had fussed over her choice of fabric for the gown so much, Hester had wanted to scream.

  It would have helped if she could have had an ally during all the discussions, but the duke was never there, and Lord Elliot seemed determined to take her part in everything against his mother, something that only made his mother more unreasonable.

  Hester rose obediently and submitted to the gradual tightening of her laces. “I think that will do,” she said before Mabel’s strong pull made it impossible to breathe. This evening was going to be difficult enough as it was.

  “How are you sleeping these days, Mabel?” Hester asked as Mabel tied the knot. “Better?”

  “Oh, aye, my lady, indeed. 1 must have sounded like a right ninny!”

  “As long as you’re happy now.”

  “I am, my lady.” Mabel carried the wide hoop crinoline and helped Hester into it, tying it quickly. “Now, then, my lady, you just stand yourself there, and I’ll bring your dress.”

  Mabel had prepared Hester’s blue velvet ball gown, and freshened the lace bertha that would be added when the gown was laced. Hester had decided there would be no unseemly, immodest display of bosom.

  “I’ll hold my hands up to protect your handiwork, shall I?” Hester proposed, visions of a destroyed coiffure and scattered white rose petals filling her head.

  “Here we go, my lady.” Very slowly and very carefully Mabel lowered the gown. Hester slipped her hands into the narrow sleeves and Mabel helped pull the gown into place, letting the velvet skirt fall to the floor. “This is the most beautiful fabric,” the maid said admiringly as she tied it in the back. She stepped away and then turned Hester toward the full-length mirror standing near the armoire. She picked up the bertha, which looked not unlike a limp crocheted doily in Mabel’s hands. “Are you sure you want this, my lady?” she asked dubiously. “You look fine without it.”

  Hester regarded her reflection critically, marveling that a change in hair or the color and cut of a gown could make such a difference. The gown was, of course, a familiar one, and she had seen herself in it before—but with the bertha. Without that covering, the plain bodice seemed to emphasize the pale smoothness of her skin, and the round softness of her breasts. The elaborate hairstyle, a contrast to the usual plain manner she usually chose, did indeed seem to lend her some of her sisters’ beauty. She would be no rival for Damaris Sackville-Cooper, but at least she needn’t feel like a pauper invited to a banquet by mistake, and if Lord Elliot noticed, so be it, because maybe his brother would, too.

  “The bertha, my lady?” Mabel repeated.

  “No,” Hester said, suddenly resolved. If this was to be her one and only ball at Barroughby Hall, she would dare. “I won’t wear it”.

  Mabel smiled broadly and nodded her approval. “I’m not the only one with cause to be happy, my lady,” she said with a sly smile.

  “Whatever are you talking about?” Hester demanded, unable to keep the displeasure from her voice, for she could guess what Mabel was referring to.

  “We…the servants, my lady. Lord Elliot’s been very attentive….”

  “He has been assisting in the preparations for the ball. Nothing else,” Hester said far too sharply, and she was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry for snapping, Mabel,” she apologized. “I’m nervous about the ball, that’s all. I want everything to be perfect.” She smiled. “And I’m terrified Jenkins will realize that telling him we needed him to serve the special punch and keep track of the crystal glasses was nothing but a ploy to prevent him from confusing the guests’ names when they arrive.”

  Fortunately, Mabel returned Hester’s smile. “I wondered how you were going to manage that, my lady, but I might have guessed you’d think of something.”

  “Now you must swear to keep this a secret, even from the other servants. I wouldn’t have Jenkins’s feelings hurt for the crown jewels.”

  Mabel nodded solemnly. “I swear, my lady, and no trouble to do so, for a kindlier old gentleman never breathed, I don’t think.”

  Hester fastened her simple strand of pearls about her throat and drew on her white, gloves. Picking up her fan, she gave her reflection one more cursory glance. “I suppose I’m ready. You’ll wait up for me, Mabel?” she asked, knowing that she would need help removing her gown.

  “Of course. I’ll be here, or in the duchess’s sitting room, in case any of the ladies need any little repairs to their gowns.”

  Hester nodded and went to the top of stairs. Below, the duke and his half brother were already waiting, the one dark and brooding and motionless in his formal black evening dress, the other fair and charming and tapping his foot as if impatient for the dancing to begin.

  Her gaze was drawn to the duke, leaning his weight on the leg that had not been injured, and she wondered if he would dance tonight. Would he dance with her?

  Then she took a deep breath and told herself it didn’t matter. Tomorrow she would announce her plans to leave to go to her eldest sister, whether Helena and her husband wanted her there or not.

  Both men turned to look at her at the same time. “My dear Lady Hester,” Elliot said, coming forward quickly and taking her hand in his as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “You look wonderful this evening—and quite well, I’m happy to note.” He gave his silent brother a sidelong glance. “Doesn’t she, Adrian?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose he’s saving his manners for our other guests,” Elliot remarked snidely, drawing Hester’s hand through the crook of his arm and leading her to her place in the receiving line in the large drawing room. The duke was to be first, then the duchess, then Elliot, then Hester. “Mama will be down shortly.”

  “I should see if Jenkins has everything in hand,” Hester said, pulling her hand away. “He might have forgotten—”

  “Everything is fine,” Elliot assured her as he took her hand again. Indeed, Hester had managed to plan this ball with the precision of a military campaign, as Elliot well knew from having been in boring attendance for the past several days. Nothing had been left to chance, and every servant knew precisely what their duties were.

  If there was anything not planned, he now thought, it was the startling change in Hester’s appearance. That color suited her perfectly, bringing out the blue in her eyes in a most remarkable fashion. Her hairstyle rivaled anything he had seen in London, and made her look astonishingly sophisticated, almost pretty, even.

  As he held her hand firmly on his arm, he considered that perhaps making her his wife wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice. Tonight, looking at her downcast eyes, he could even imagine making love with her. “I hope you are going to save some dances for me,” he said softly.

  She looked at him with surprise, and he smiled even more. Yes, once they were married, she would be so grateful, he could probably persuade her to do almost anything. “We will be second couple for the quadrille, Adrian and my mother being the first, of course.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, and he noticed that she didn’t so much as glance at Adrian. Nor did Adrian look at her, after the first glance. “I assume the duke’s injury will not prevent him from dancing,” she said.

  “No,” the duke replied nonchalantly. “I intend to do my duty.”

  Elliot felt some of his pleasure diminish. Adrian seemed quite resigned to the notion of his scapegrace sibling wed to this virtuous maid.

  The duchess appeared at the top of the stairs. Her green silk gown was ostentatiously flounced and embellished. She wore a large necklace of emeralds, and long emerald bobs dangled from her ears. About her shoulders was a light shawl of exquisitely fine lace, and her hair was ornately curled.

  She started down t
he staircase, then balked, glaring at Hester. “Lady Hester!” she cried, her tone one of absolute condemnation. “What is that you are wearing?”

  “I believe it is called a ball gown,” the duke observed dryly before Hester could open her mouth.

  “It’s indecent!” the duchess declared, marching down the rest of the steps. “I simply cannot permit you to wear such a thing when you are in my household.”

  Knowing that she would soon be leaving Barroughby Hall, Hester straightened her shoulders, prepared to protest, for the duchess’s own gown was cut only slightly higher in the bodice.

  The duke took one small step forward, yet that was enough to make the duchess halt. “This is my household,” he said quietly. “Lady Hester is a guest here, and if this is what she chooses to wear, she will wear it, whether it is appropriate or not.”

  His tone made it clear that he didn’t approve of her gown any more than his stepmother did. Hester blinked rapidly, willing away the tears of dismay. So much for trying to be noticed!

  “I think it’s lovely, Mama,” Lord Elliot said, coming to Hester’s defense, albeit somewhat tardily.

  Hester did not feel grateful for his compliment. “I am sorry to be such a cause for potential embarrassment,” she said with a calmness of manner that took most of what remained of her self-control. “If you like, I will return to my room for a bertha.”

  “No, never mind,” the duchess snapped. “Let us take our places in the drawing room.”

  “Might I suggest you wrap your shawl more tightly, Your Grace,” the duke said, raising one eyebrow. “There is a draft, and you are rather exposed.”

  The duchess sniffed dismissivety, but Hester noticed that she did as the duke suggested when they took their places in the drawing room.

  They were no sooner lined up like soldiers on parade when a voice announced from the door, “Sir Douglas Sackcloth-Cooper and Miss Sackcloth-Cooper.”

  Hester turned her head so quickly her neck cracked. Jenkins was at the door. “What is he doing there?” she said anxiously. “He was to tend to the punch!”

  The duke’s lips twitched with what looked suspiciously like an attempt to hide a smile—but then, he had not worked hours and hours, and put up with the duchess’s demands, and worried about a gown only to be criticized. “No doubt Jenkins has forgotten his more important role this evening. I shall endeavor to remind him,” the duke said before strolling toward the entrance.

  “I might have known Sir Douglas would be the first!” the duchess grumbled as Damaris glided into view.

  Her dress was lovely, of pale pink silk trimmed with yards of delicate lace. Her bountiful hair was expertly dressed, and her complexion flawless. She hesitated in the doorway for a brief moment, entering the room shortly before the duke, who quickly resumed his position in the receiving line.

  Hester glanced at the two gentlemen near her. The duke’s expression was unreadable; Lord Elliot’s was not. He approved, and quite highly. Perhaps he was regretting having her for a partner in the quadrille.

  Sir Douglas strode in behind his daughter. “Good evening, Your Grace,” he said to the duke. “And to you, Your Grace,” he continued to the duchess. “You’re looking as young as ever.”

  Hester noticed that the duchess, in spite of her marked dislike for the man, was not impervious to male attention, for there was something in her smile that seemed genuine enough, if only for the briefest of moments. “You are too kind, Sir Douglas,” she said. She looked from Sir Douglas to Hester. “I must ask you to make sure Lady Hester has an enjoyable time tonight. I fear she will be so busy, she will not dance.”

  “Oh, I shall be only too happy to oblige, Your Grace!” Sir Douglas said heartily.

  Adrian wanted to break the man’s leg. And Elliot’s, too. He wanted only one person to dance with Hester tonight, and that was himself.

  Which was impossible. It had to be. As official host, albeit against his will, he would have to partner his stepmother for the opening quadrille, and then dance with every young lady who wanted to. He would be lucky if he could get more than one dance with Hester, who had blossomed tonight like a rare and delicate orchid.

  How could he ever have thought her plain? He must have been blind. There was nothing plain about her shining blue eyes, nothing homely about those rosebud lips, nothing common about her masses of hair that he longed to bury his hands in. Every particle of his body seemed to remember how it felt to kiss her, and he yearned to do so again. And again. For a very long time.

  But he didn’t dare to even look at her for more than a moment, because if he did, he would be reminded again of all the reasons he loved her, and it would be too difficult to let her go, quite possibly to Elliot, who didn’t deserve to touch the hem of her gown. For that reason, he had spent most of his time in Barroughby of late. He had also been able to comfort himself with the thought that if he was in town, he would soon know if Elliot also came there to sport.

  He didn’t, so Adrian had been forced to conclude that Hester might indeed be his brother’s hope for salvation, especially judging by the approving way Elliot had looked at her tonight.

  At least until the lovely Damaris had entered the drawing room. Adrian wondered if Hester had also taken note of Elliot’s reaction.

  “The Reverend Canon Smeech. Reverend McKenna,” a footman intoned.

  Adrian kept his dislike for the canon from his face, a far easier matter than ridding his thoughts of Hester and Elliot. “Reverend Canon,” he said. “Congratulations on your appointment.”

  He thought the pompous clergyman would burst his collar. “Ah, thank you, Your Grace. Yes, indeed, a most high honor. Dean of Lincoln Cathedral! I only hope I shall do the office justice.”

  I only hope you don’t make too much trouble there, Adrian thought. He comforted himself with the thought that the canon was likely to do less harm in a large cathedral than he could in a small parish.

  Reverend McKenna’s eyes strayed toward the lithe form of Damaris, who smiled with such happiness that there could be no doubt where her affection lay. Adrian glanced at Sir Douglas, and while that gentleman did not appear overly delighted, he seemed to have accepted the inevitable. Thank goodness.

  “Your Grace, you are looking as lovely as always,” Reverend Canon Smeech said to the duchess, moving along the line.

  The duchess accepted his praise as her due, rewarding him with a brief smile. She barely seemed to notice Reverend McKenna, despite his bright red hair. The young reverend greeted Elliot, and then Hester, giving her a friendly smile.

  “The Duke of Chesterton. Miss Smith.”

  Adrian turned again toward the entrance. He recognized the Duke of Chesterton, a stiff-backed snob of a man who had disowned his youngest daughter for marrying her dancing master.

  Beside Chesterton, whose hair was a most unnatural shade of black and whose cheeks were rouged if Adrian was any judge, was a deathly pale, somewhat pretty young woman wearing a garment that displayed an abundance of bosom above an impossibly narrow waist. If the Duke of Chesterton’s latest mistress got through the evening without fainting, Adrian thought, it would be a miracle.

  Several more guests arrived at once, and Adrian was kept busy greeting them until it was time for him to lead the opening quadrille. He tried to subdue his dismay that Hester was not his partner, but Elliot’s.

  Before he could ask Hester for the second dance, which was to be a waltz, Sir Douglas claimed her. Since Adrian was the host, he could not sit out the dance, as he would have preferred; instead, he asked one of the duchess’s friends.

  He never seemed to get close to Hester after that. She was either dancing, or seeing that other young ladies had partners, or helping elderly guests to chairs, or pointing older gentlemen in the direction of the rooms set aside for cards and smoking.

  As he was scanning the room for sight of Hester after a particularly exhausting polka with an energetic young woman who batted her eyes continuously, he noticed Elliot talking to Miss
Smith in a rather intimate tête-ô-tête. Chesterton had recently left the room, probably to smoke, but Adrian didn’t think Miss Smith missed him one iota.

  Then Adrian watched as Miss Smith, with a coy and seductive smile, wandered out onto the terrace, leaving Elliot alone. After another moment, Elliot walked the length of the room, pausing to speak briefly to some of the guests, but when he reached the far end, he, too, exited onto the terrace in the direction of the shrubbery.

  The meaning of these actions was all too plain to Adrian. Obviously Elliot had not been sufficiently entertained while at Barroughby Hall. Here was a chance to relieve his…boredom.

  “Your Grace?”

  Startled, Adrian turned to find Hester at his elbow. She was giving him a shrewd look that he found rather unnerving. “Yes?”

  “It’s nearly time for the supper. Have you seen Lord Elliot?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Adrian considered his options. He could say he didn’t know where Elliot was, but they were to lead the way into the dining room and the supper that Hester had planned with such care might be ruined by the delay while footmen looked for Elliot.

  He could offer to search for his errant sibling, and in doing so, fetch him and Miss Smith.

  Or he could send Hester to search the shrubbery. Let her find Elliot with another man’s mistress. Surely then any hope of a marriage between Hester and Elliot would be impossible.

  Thereby destroying Elliot’s best chance for redemption.

  “My lord?” Hester repeated more urgently. “Do you know where Lord Elliot is?”

  Adrian raised his eyes to look at her questioning face. Now was the moment of decision. Now he had to decide whether to attempt to ruin any chance of a marriage between his half brother and Hester, even if he could never marry her himself.

  As she looked at him, so calm and yet with the excitement of the ball in her eyes and the flush of exertion on her satiny cheeks, he made his decision, and when he did, he was not considering his own happiness, or Elliot’s reformation.