Charlotte beamed, whilst Penrith turned a deeper shade of pink, as Orsino mouthed "Shuggy?" in question.
"Er, yes, quite," Penrith said brusquely, as he desperately tried to retain his customary formality in front of Violet. "Congratulations to you both. I wish you a long and bounteous marriage."
"Pfft," Charlotte rolled her eyes, "You are not the vicar, dear; you are their friend. If ever an occasion called for a hug, it is this. Oh, and some sparkling wine!"
Charlotte summoned a footman, who duly returned with four glass flutes and a bottle of sparkling wine. After a small toast from Penrith—which though formal, was endearingly sweet—and two glasses of the wine—which made Violet's head spin—Orsino declared that he would take Violet home.
"Perhaps I should chaperone you both on your journey," Charlotte cried, evidently wishing for the fun to continue.
"Perhaps you should not," Penrith suggested, treading not too subtly on his wife's toe.
"Oww," Charlotte yelped, before realisation dawned on her, "Oh, oh, yes you are right, dear. It's only around the corner, after all."
There was much hugging at the front door, as they awaited Orsino's carriage, and after a tearful farewell from Charlotte—whom Violet suspected had consumed far too much wine—they were off.
"Alone at last," Orsino sighed happily, as he followed Violet into the carriage compartment.
"We shall be parted again, shortly," Violet sighed.
"Not for long; I have every intention of calling on the Archbishop of Canterbury, once you are safely home, and procuring a special license. I cannot wait any longer than I have to, Violet, until you are my bride."
Violet made a few obligatory noises of protest, but they were just for show. In truth, she too could not wait until they were joined as one.
"But what has happened to John Greer?" Violet questioned, as the carriage took off with a jolt. In all the excitement, she had forgotten about why she had called at Penrith House in the first instance.
"Ah," Orsino grinned, "I must commend you on your skills of observation, my dear. Penrith showed me the notice. I will admit that it was naive of me, to take Nevins at face value—thank goodness you were here to catch him. Penrith is headed for Whitehall, after tea, to have Nevins' office searched. I don't doubt that he will swing from Tyburn's Tree by month's end."
Violet was silent as she thought on the fate of the faceless man she might have committed to death.
"His punishment is of his own making," Orsino said, as he took her hand, "Do not feel any guilt for that traitor."
Violet was silent for a few minutes, as she allowed the weight of the burden to lift from her. Soon, however, she realised that something else was amiss.
"Are we not home yet?" she asked, casting Orsino a questioning glance, "It is only around the corner."
"I'm afraid," the duke grinned, "That it is I who is now guilty of a small duplicity. I instructed the driver to circle the square for half an hour."
"Whatever for?" Violet asked agog.
"For this."
Orsino pulled her toward him, catching her lips with his, in a kiss that she hoped would never end.
"Do you mind?" he asked, his eyes soft.
"Heavens, no," Violet breathed, "In fact, I might ask the driver to make it an hour."
Epilogue
Violet had lost her husband, somewhere within the house. It was no mean feat to lose a man of six foot four, yet in every room Violet checked, her husband could not be found.
"Johnson," she queried, to her husband's valet, who was painstakingly attending to a pair of stained breeches, in Orsino's dressing room, "Have you seen His Grace?"
The valet shook his head, before giving a rueful glance down at the breeches he was attempting to save.
"Your Grace, I have not seen him since this morning," he said, before sighing long and weary, "But if my workload of late is anything to go by, I would assume His Grace is in the gardens, rolling around on the grass."
"I hardly think that is an act befitting of a duke," Violet protested with a laugh.
"Nor do I," Johnson huffed, "But grass stains never lie—nor do they wash-out. If you happen to find your husband, Your Grace, you might tell him that I am considering my position."
As Johnson threatened to leave every second day, Violet did not take him too seriously. She offered him what she hoped was a consoling smile before setting downstairs to continue her search.
The gardens of Orsino House, on St James' Square, were not so vast as the ones of the ducal estate in Glamorgan, but they were terribly pretty. A neat terrace opened on to an ornamental garden, behind which—cleverly disguised by a topiary hedge—lay the kitchen gardens.
Even from the doorway, Violet could hear the sound of her husband's laughter, and she set forth to discover what it was that he was at.
Violet tripped down the steps, past the trickling fountain, and along the stone-path to the gate which led to the kitchen garden. She opened it a crack and peered in, before bursting out laughing at what she found.
Her husband—all six foot four of him—was crawling along on his hands and knees, in an apparent attempt to teach their son to crawl.
Theodore, who had recently mastered the art of sitting up, seemed equally amused by his father's antics. Amused as he was, however, he also did not seem to be in any way inclined toward following suit. Her young son happily pulled himself along on his bottom after his father, gurgling happily at their game.
"No, Theo," Jack corrected with a groan, "Like this, on your hands and knees. Come on, lad, I have a fine Arab hot-blood wagered on you winning this race."
Race? Violet frowned.
"Have you entered our son into some sort of baby race?" she queried, as she pushed open the gate.
"Ah, Violet!" her husband hastily leapt to his feet, "My love, I thought you were off to meet with Charlotte and Julia."
"I was, but this letter arrived before I could leave," Violet replied, waving the letter in her hand, before she continued, "And I thought you were putting Teddy to bed?"
"I was," Jack shifted from one foot to the other, "But then, I decided..."
"To practice crawling for this race?" Violet raised an eyebrow, "Come, the cat is out of the bag. What's going on?"
"Well, the three of us," Jack began, looking rather shame-faced, "Spend an awful lot of time bragging about how brilliant our children are."
"Mmm," Violet, who daily bored anyone silly enough to ask with tales of Teddy's accomplishments, allowed him to continue.
"And it transpired that Penrith's little lad can cross the garden in less than a minute."
"He timed him?" Violet gawped.
"Well, it is rather impressive," Jack grinned, "Then Montague claimed that little Sarah, could do it in fifty-seconds."
Violet had a strong suspicion of the direction her husband was headed in.
"So," Jack dropped his green eyes, "I might have said that Teddy could do it in half a minute."
"But he cannot even crawl," Violet laughed, as she scooped her son up into her arms.
"He's quick enough on his bottom," Jack argued, as he stepped forward to gently stroke his son's head.
"Then why not enter him into the race that way?" Violet replied, so used to her husband and his friends that she did not even wonder at the absurdity of their conversation. "Did the other two stipulate that the babies must crawl? Teddy is very fast."
"I knew there was a reason why I married you," Jack grinned, as he planted a kiss on his wife's cheek.
"I am not entirely certain that is a compliment, my dear."
"It is," Jack enthused, now buoyed by their new plan, "I say, do you want to help me time him?"
"No," Violet transferred baby Teddy from her arms to her husband's, "I am already late for my meeting—and I am still not certain that I approve of all this."
After two years of marriage, Orsino knew well enough when to divert her attention, and so he nodded to the letter—now crumpled—in
Violet's hand.
"What is it?" he asked, and Violet gave a start.
"Oh," she grinned, "It is from Aunt Phoebe! She and Dorothy have arrived safely in Paris. They will stay but a month, before heading onward to Florence. But, Jack, she showed my portrait of you to Marguerite Gérard, and she has asked me to come study under her for a few months."
Violet held her breath as she waited for her husband's reaction. While he had always professed to be supportive of her painting, she nervously wondered if this support would transcend from the abstract to reality.
"Why," Orsino exclaimed, as he gently placed Teddy down on the lawn, "This is wonderful, Violet. How talented you are—but, of course, we knew that already."
"You don't mind leaving England?" Violet whispered, barely able to believe her luck, "It might be for six months or so."
"I have staff aplenty who can manage the estates in my absence," Orsino grinned, "Do not worry about that. Nothing else in the world matters, my love, except that we three are together."
"Thank you," Violet whispered as she embraced her husband.
As often happened, this embrace became rather passionate—much more so than was proper for a garden overlooked by other houses.
"The neighbours might see," Violet laughed as she pulled away.
"Dash them," Jack growled, pulling her closer for another kiss.
After a few minutes, Violet somehow found the strength to pull away from her husband.
"Really," she insisted, "I must go—I cannot be late, for I haven't even read the book that we are supposed to discuss."
"You never read the book," Jack countered.
"That's true," Violet smiled, "But we have other things to discuss—chief amongst them, our husband's decision to race our baby's across St James' Square."
With a gentle kiss to her husband, and a smouldering glance to let him know that they would continue later, Violet took her leave.
How much fun she and her fellow wallflowers would have, Violet thought as she hurried across the garden, thinking up ways to put their upstart husbands back in their place.
A baby race, indeed.
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Notes
Notes On Some of the Words, Phrases, and Ideas Used Throughout the Book:
Female Heirs
Some British titles, especially the older English Baronies and Scottish titles, were eligible to be inherited by female offspring, if there was no male heir. These ancient titles were granted by writ, rather than patent. Notable females of the Regency, who held peerages "in their own right", include, Baroness de Ros (1806) and Baroness Grey de Ruthyn (1816).
Tufthunter
During the Regency at least fifty per cent of those attending Cambridge and Oxford were studying to be clergymen. As a clergyman required a living, which could only be bestowed on them by a member of the aristocracy, making friends with wealthy students was deemed just as essential as studying.
Many took this objective too far, however, becoming, as we now say, kiss-asses—and not very subtle ones. The act of sucking-up to wealthy students, soon became referred to as tuft-hunting, in a nod to the golden tassels (tufts) found on the caps of the most high-ranking (and therefore useful) students.
Blue for a Boy
Although by the Regency people were less superstitious than before, some superstitions still held sway. Parents (or in our case, Dorothy) held onto the ancient belief that evil spirts, with malicious intent, hovered over new born infants. Infants could be protected, however, with certain colours thought to ward off evil. Blue, because of its association with the sky and the heavens, was thought to be the most powerful colour of all. Therefore, parents often dressed the male child of the family—who was thought to be more important than the female offspring—in blue to protect them. Elizabeth Ewing, a children's clothes historian, found reference to this in the family papers of aristocratic families of the 18th century, and theorised that this is why we now have "blue for a boy". The poor girls!
Battledore and shuttlecock
A predecessor of badminton, this was played with two battledores (rackets) made of parchment or rows of gut, laced over wooden frames, while the shuttlecock was made out of cork and trimmed with feathers.
"Gentleman" John Jackson
28 September 1769 – 7 October 1845) One of the most famous pugilists (boxers) of the late 18th century. His most famous match, in which he won the title of Champion of England, was against Daniel Mendoza, and lasted only ten minutes. Jackson, it is said, had hardly a scratch when his opponent fell.
Bragawd
An old Welsh drink which falls somewhere between mead and ale.
Oizys
In Greek Mythology Oizys is the goddess of misery, anxiety, and grief.
Donas
Scots Gaelic for little devil or imp.
About the Author
About the Author
Claudia Stone was born in South Africa but moved to Plymouth as a young girl. Having trained as an actress at RADA, she moved to New York to pursue her dream of acting on Broadway in 1988. She never did see her name in lights, but she did meet a wonderful Irishman called Conal who whisked her away to the wilds of Kerry, where she has lived ever since.
Claudia and Conal have three children, a dairy farm and a rescue lab called Buddy. When she has any time left over, Claudia enjoys reading Regency as well as writing it.
Fans can write to Claudia at [email protected]
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Other Works
If you enjoyed Never Fool a Duke, you might also like some of Claudia's other works.
Series
Fairfax Twins
The Duke's Bride in Disguise
The Duke's Governess in Disguise
The Importance of Being Eunice
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Reluctant Regency Brides Collection
The Duke of Ruin
The Lord of Heartbreak
The Marquess of Temptation
The Captain of Betrayal
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http://geni.us/CB6GL
Regency Black Hearts Collection
Proposing to a Duke
The Duke's Brother
A Lady Like No Other
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Standalone Novels
A Second Chance With a Duke
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https://geni.us/S221W5
The Duke's Wayward Ward
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Never Fool a Duke Page 18