His Duchess

by Charlotte Russell

  He nodded at his friend. “Duly noted.”

  As they talked of Northfield’s infant son a breathless Jane entered.

  “I am finally ready!” She bestowed a loving smile on her husband but eyed Taviston warily.

  He couldn’t think why at first, but then realized he hadn’t seen Jane since the incident in the park. She was obviously unsure of how he would greet her.

  All had turned out well in the end, so he smiled as charmingly as he could and reached for her hand. “Good evening, Jane. Thank you for inviting me to your party.” He kissed her hand lightly and then let it go.

  The uneasiness left her eyes. “You are most welcome. We are more than happy to have you.”

  Standing at the entry, Jackson cleared his throat and announced, in a booming voice worthy of the stage, “The Earl and Countess of Daventry.”

  Northfield’s cousin Althea entered the room on the arm of a tall, lean red-headed man. The Daventrys spoke with their hosts for a minute, then as other newcomers were announced Taviston approached the pair. He had known Lady Althea for as long as he had known Northfield. The marquess had been her guardian up until her marriage to the earl last year.

  “It’s wonderful to see the two of you. You are rather late in making your way to town,” Taviston admonished.

  The earl replied, “It could not be helped. Our little Alexandra had a touch of the ague and we feared traveling with her.”

  Jackson continued to announce guests but Taviston ignored him and focused on the friends in front of him. He wished their infant daughter good health and after a few minutes more conversation, the couple moved on.

  With a glance around the room, he saw it had quickly filled with about a dozen or so people. He saw no sign of Miss Forster and felt an odd twinge of disappointment. Ridiculous. Of course, she would be here. Not that it mattered to him in the slightest. He was going to ignore her, whenever she did arrive.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  He looked down to see a vaguely familiar elderly woman smiling up at him.

  She attempted to curtsy, but it was obvious the action brought her some discomfort. “I am Lady Smitherton. I do not believe I have ever had the privilege of an introduction, so I am boldly taking it upon myself.”

  He gave her his best smile and gripped her leathery hand as he bowed over it. “Honored to meet you, my lady.”

  She flashed him a brilliant smile and began discussing all manner of things, including the weather, Napoleon, and Taviston’s own lovely green and yellow waistcoat. Jane was right; Lady Smitherton was a dear. While she detailed her recent visit to the opera, Jackson appeared at the entry again and announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Barrett Browne and Miss Victoria Forster.”

  Lady Smitherton changed course, discussing the addition of those innocent-seeming and yet oh-so-titillating sketches to that rag Hither and Yon. Though he knew it was rude, Taviston ignored the older woman. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from Miss Forster, even though the color of her dress should have blinded every person in the room.

  The gown itself was very stylish but the color was astoundingly harsh. The only natural thing he could think to compare it to was, unfortunately, the mess seeping out the noses of his little nieces when they had the ague. On a brighter note, her hair hadn’t been curled tonight but it was artfully wound around her head, with a few wisps having escaped to trail down her neck. Her magnificent smile reached all the way to her blue eyes and lingered there. She was more beautiful every time he saw her.

  She had yet to even glance his way, so he continued to unabashedly stare at her. The gown revealed quite a bit of her creamy skin and he thought he detected a small freckle right on the top of her left—

  What the devil. Hadn’t he sworn to pay her no heed?

  “Taviston?” Lady Smitherton ended her monologue and looked at him with an inquisitive eye.

  “My apologies, Lady Smitherton,” he said sheepishly.

  “It is all right. I only wished to inquire if I might introduce you to my daughter, Lady Weldon.”

  “But of course.” What else could he say after his ill-mannered display?

  He was thoroughly occupied in the next fifteen minutes meeting Lady Weldon and her husband and then the Stanwicks and their two adult children. Eventually he was left alone and Louisa Browne darted over to his side.

  “Taviston, I am delighted to find you here. Although I should have known you would be. You and Northfield are thick as thieves.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Browne,” he said in a monotone. It truly astounded him how she never took his pointed hints.

  She flashed him a flirtatious smile and launched into a scathing assessment of the fashions she had seen at a recent rout. Before his mind began to numb from the inane chatter, he scanned the room, looking for Miss Forster once again. There was no harm in looking at her.

  Ah, there she was, over by a window with Jane, who appeared to be introducing her to a fashionably dressed young gentleman. Taviston nodded at Louisa every now and again and threw out a few vague phrases. He did not feel nearly as ashamed as he had when he had ignored Lady Smitherton. Louisa never seemed to notice his attention wandering elsewhere.

  Jane, Victoria, and the unknown gentleman were having a lively discussion. Taviston’s attention was forced back to Louisa when her husband joined them. Louisa directed the conversation around to Browne’s shipping investments. Taviston listened with half an ear and swung his gaze back to the trio at the window.

  Only now they were just a duo.

  Jane had left Miss Forster and the young man alone. Taviston narrowed his eyes and looked around the room. Northfield and Jane were grinning at each other and watching the pair by the window too.

  Unbelievable. This was their matchmaking effort? Miss Forster and whoever this young buck was.

  He made a few noncommittal replies to Browne’s inquiries about his interests in investing and finally gave the couple a curt goodbye. He stalked across the room toward his friend, who had since been abandoned by his wife.

  “Who’s the young peacock, Northfield?” Taviston asked without preamble.

  “Taviston! Are you enjoying yourself so far?” Northfield seemed to deliberately ignore his question.

  Rolling his shoulders, Taviston forced himself to relax. It wouldn’t do to give Northfield the wrong impression.

  “I am indeed, but I am not familiar with some of your guests. Who is the young peacock over by the window?” He tried to keep his jaw from clenching as he spoke. He wasn’t sure what had ignited his temper, but an angry irritation washed over him.

  Northfield grinned at him. “He is hardly a peacock, Taviston. And he’s really not all that young either. Just a few years behind us.” Unfathomably, delight shone in his friend’s eyes.

  “Nevertheless, I am not acquainted with him. Who might he be?” Usually, he tolerated Northfield and his roguish behavior, but right now it was making him decidedly waspish.

  Northfield glanced over at the window and Taviston’s gaze followed. Miss Forster and the gentleman were having an animated conversation. The brown-haired young man had a charming smile on his face and Miss Forster was chuckling at something he said.

  His friend turned back, expression serious. “That is Xavier, Lord Wareham. The marquess of Halstead’s eldest. He’s a fine fellow, by all accounts. I did warn you about Jane’s matchmaking, remember?”

  Taviston stared at Northfield, glanced over at the enthusiastically talkative couple, then looked back at his friend. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Or rather, he couldn’t think of anything to say suitable enough for drawing room conversation. Jane and Northfield were truly trying to pair up Miss Forster and this Lord Wareham? Could he have been so wrong about their plans? Of their own volition, his eyes found their way back to the lady in the garish dress. She was completely enthralled with whatever Wareham was rattling on about. Taviston’s stomach began to roil again, as it had the other night when he had been talking to his brother.r />
  That drew his attention away from the couple. Was he becoming ill?

  Northfield looked at him with an expectant gaze but was fortunately distracted by Jackson’s deep voice penetrating the room. “Dinner is served.”

  “You look peaked, my friend. You are obviously in need of nourishment. Do enjoy the meal.” Northfield threw him a sunny smile and walked over to his cousin’s side.

  Jane was calmly pairing up her guests to proceed into the dining room. As the highest-ranking male present Taviston knew he was expected to escort his hostess. As she came to take his arm, he glanced behind them and noticed, with another stab of annoyance, Miss Forster hanging on the arm of Lord Wareham. Damn precedence, anyway.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Surprised by the dark look she received from Taviston, Victoria proceeded down the hallway toward the dining room. Whatever was that all about? He walked stiffly and didn’t appear to be feeling well. Why couldn’t he have begged off for the evening?

  She hadn’t thought he would be here. Very well, she had hoped he wouldn’t be here. But of course, he was a close friend of the marquess. It was stressful enough attempting to charm eligible gentlemen, but doing it with the duke present was much, much more difficult.

  As Lord Wareham pulled out her chair and seated her, she realized dinner was going to be taxing as well. She was seated between the earl and Mr. James Stanwick, another young man Jane had apparently invited for her. Both of these gentlemen were very kind, though neither vied for her attention in any overt manner. Unfortunately for the two of them, she still thought Taviston the handsomest man in the room. It was completely unfair the way her mind refused to see him in any other light.

  Lord Wareham, with his brown wavy hair and youthful good cheer, was a handsome enough man. But he didn’t measure up to the blasted duke. And poor Mr. Stanwick had two disadvantages. No, make that three. First, he was a bland-looking fellow; second, he appeared to be younger than she; and third, he was decidedly dull. What had Jane had been thinking? No, she couldn’t fault Jane, who was onlytrying to help. Perhaps Mr. Stanwick improved upon acquaintance.

  Smiling at something Lord Wareham said, she made a vague comment and brought the subject to a close. Then she turned to Mr. Stanwick on her right. In between sips of vermicelli soup, she conversed with him. If nothing else, this dinner enabled her to practice her social skills.

  Taviston sat on the opposite side, down the length of the table. The Brownes were also down there, on the same side as Victoria. She relaxed a little, knowing she wouldn’t have to interact with any of them. Thus far she had been able to avoid speaking with Taviston. But she had been more than aware of his eyes following her around the room.

  She looked up now from her soup to find his darkening grey eyes glowering at her once again. What on earth was wrong with him?

  Mr. Stanwick blathered on beside her. “I believe there is a possibility it might yet storm this evening. The clouds are decidedly ominous and the temperature, while a few degrees warmer than yesterday...”

  Victoria nodded in agreement as he continued to drone on, but her thoughts turned back to Taviston. She felt as if he were sending her a message she couldn’t quite grasp. Well, she was perfectly capable of sending enigmatic messages of her own. Deciding to amuse herself by joining the unknown game, she threw her own fierce glare down the table toward Taviston. As he jerked back in surprise and sloshed a spoonful of soup onto the table linen, Victoria hid a smile.

  Confident that she had earned her first point in this mysterious game, she returned her attention briefly to Mr. Stanwick and then, as the next course was served, she began speaking with Lord Wareham again.

  Taviston wasn’t eating much and he plainly ignored Miss Stanwick, on his right, and only gave Lady Smitherton, on his left, scant attention. Victoria hoped he was feeling all right. She had never known the duke, in their short acquaintance, to be anything but polite and proper, at least toward people other than her. She did seem to bring out the worst in him.

  As she took a bite of boiled salmon, Lord Wareham began telling her of his university days. After swallowing, she said, “Oh, my lord, I should love to hear of one of your more daring escapades.”

  The earl launched into what was most likely an amusing tale. Victoria would never know though because she chanced to look at Taviston again and his grey eyes, now the color of thunderclouds, directed ominous sparks her way once more. She gave an inward shrug. Fine, we will continue to play this ridiculous game.

  Pasting her biggest smile on her face, she beamed his way. He scowled and shook his head slightly, probably trying to clear away the puzzlement that had crept into his eyes.

  Victoria wasn’t sure how to score the point, but since he sat staring at his plate for the next thirty seconds, she silently declared herself the winner.

  Mr. Stanwick served her a slice of roasted duck and spoke of his garden. “My lilies require a quite delicate balance of moisture and...”

  Victoria ignored his dull conversation. Disconcertingly, neither of the gentlemen seated beside her seemed to care what she thought on any of the subjects they had discussed. They seemed satisfied with the vague replies and general questions she directed their way. While she wasn’t looking for true love in a marriage, a small degree of interest and respect on the part of her future husband wouldn’t be uncalled for. Perhaps she would have to ask Jane to find her some other candidates, though she did not want to seem ungrateful.

  As she swallowed a spoonful of apple compote, Victoria let her gaze travel down the long table until it rested on Taviston once again. He now spoke to Lady Smitherton, so Victoria turned and began a new topic with Lord Wareham. After a minute or so, heat climbed up her cheeks. She looked up yet again and received a brooding, dour look from Taviston.

  Even though he had started this game, he certainly did not know how to play it. His expressions were decidedly unoriginal and repetitive. Victoria briefly thought about awarding herself a point just for creativeness. Ascertaining that Taviston’s attention was still on her, she rolled her eyes as far heavenward as she possibly could and was immediately rewarded with the sound of his fork crashing to his plate. Her eyes danced as she tallied up her third point.

  Her enjoyment of the dinner party increased tenfold. How could it not when she was thoroughly discomposing the always composed and staid Duke of Taviston. A brief flicker of remorse crossed her conscience, but she dismissed it with a reminder that he had been acting oddly to begin with. As she had surmised once before, she would never understand the man’s behavior. She couldn’t imagine living with him day after day. The frustration of it all would more than likely kill any good woman.

  Finally, the footmen laid the table with various dried fruits, nuts and a lavish Neapolitan cake. Victoria knew soon enough Jane would rise and lead the ladies out of the room. She had very little time to attempt to score a fourth and final point in this foolish game of pulling faces.

  Taviston eyed her once again. Most of the fierceness had drained away; now he simply stared at her with that endearing, bewildered look she so loved, er, liked.

  Victoria held his gaze for at least half a minute, then let a slow, secret smile shape her lips and winked at him. A loud strangled sound emanated from the duke. The entire party stopped conversing, and all stared at him. Victoria had no doubt he was literally choking on some very piquant words. A genuine smile burst upon her lips. Victory was hers!

  Lady Smitherton patted Taviston on the back as he continued to cough, and Jane drew the company’s attention away from her discomfited guest by rising and bidding the gentlemen farewell. She led the ladies back to the drawing room for tea while the gentlemen stayed with Northfield to partake of his port.

  Once in the drawing room Lady Smitherton drew Victoria into conversation, concerned about “dear” Taviston. She insisted the poor man wasn’t feeling quite right this evening. Victoria nodded in agreement and swallowed a giggle.

  Jane made her way around the
room, speaking briefly to each of her guests. This done, she stole Victoria away from Lady Smitherton and directed her into a corner of the room where they had some measure of privacy.

  “Well, what do you think?” Jane asked her impatiently.

  Victoria wanted to say, I think the Duke of Taviston is quite mad. Should we be concerned? However, she doubted Jane spoke of Taviston.

  “About?”

  Jane huffed. “Lord Wareham and Mr. Stanwick, you ninny!”

  “You couldn’t possibly think I would be interested in Mr. Stanwick, Jane! He’s chuckle-headed, among other things.” Victoria didn’t try to hide her frustration.

  Her friend smiled with delight. “He is indeed. I only wanted to make certain you wouldn’t just up and marry any man who came along.”

  “Please say you give me more credit than that.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I most certainly do. I thought as well that perhaps Mr. Stanwick would make a nice contrast to Lord Wareham. Was I right?”

  Lord Wareham was a perfectly fine fellow. He was handsome, pleasant, charming, titled and many other wonderful adjectives. Victoria tried to muster some enthusiasm.

  She smiled gamely and said, “He’s a nice man. I did tell you a title wasn’t necessary though.”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “Are you discounting him because he has a title?”

  “Of course I am not discounting him,” Victoria said defensively. With reluctance she admitted, “He does have a pleasing face.”

  “Oh, I would say he’s more than pleasing. So would any number of young ladies who are out this Season.”

  They can have him. She had to find a tactful way to tell Jane she wasn’t interested in Lord Wareham. And then she needed to figure out why, exactly, she wasn’t the least bit taken with an elegant, engaging, titled man.

  Jane giggled. “Lady Daventry and I are smitten with his soulful eyes. We call them ‘puppy brown.’”

  Preoccupied with forgetting about Lord Wareham, Victoria’s attention had wandered. “What? Puppy brown?”