by Meara Platt
Rose cast her an indulgent smile. “You’ll find it, Dillie.”
She drew away slightly and sighed again. “When?”
“You’re young still. It will happen. Don’t be so impatient.” But her smile slipped as she added, “If your heart leads you to the Duke of Edgeware, be careful. Learn all you can about him before daring to open your heart to him. It is a rare mother who hates her child as openly as the dowager duchess hates him. There must be a reason. Find out what it is as soon as possible.”
CHAPTER 5
A GRAY MIST FELL as Dillie stood on the steps in front of the Farthingale residence with Rose later that afternoon, watching Rose’s sleek carriage draw up to the townhouse gate. “I enjoyed our time together,” Dillie said, a little wistful as they hugged farewell. These visits were a rare pleasure, for Rose now had a thriving glassware business, a doting husband, and beautiful children who commanded her attention.
“Remember what I said about Edgeware,” Rose whispered before scrambling up the carriage steps and climbing in. She stuck her head out of the window as the carriage began to draw away. “I love you, Dillie!”
“Love you, too.” She grinned and tucked her shawl more securely about her shoulders to ward off the chill in the air and then glanced up at the sky again. The clouds were thickening. She sighed. This light mist would soon turn into a hard rain. She hoped it wouldn’t ruin Lady Wakeford’s ball this evening. She had been looking forward to it all week long. Her sisters, all of them save Lily, would be in attendance. Goodness, she missed them. It was no fun clattering about alone in this big house.
There was no help for it—she simply had to find herself a husband. How difficult could it be? She already had two men under consideration. The first was Charles Ealing, an amiable lord who genuinely seemed to like her. He had much to recommend him as well. The second was Ian Markham, who was not amiable in any way, and she didn’t know why he’d even slipped into her thoughts. He had no intention of ever marrying, didn’t want the complication of a wife.
So why was she thinking of him? The Chipping Way curse was stuff and nonsense. They weren’t destined to marry.
Goodness, the mere possibility made her shiver.
Dillie walked back inside. “Pruitt,” she said as the Farthingale butler hurried forward to close the front door, “where’s my mother?”
“Retired to her quarters for a nap. Your aunts have retired to their quarters as well, no doubt to refresh themselves before the Wakeford ball.”
“Where are my cousins? Sleeping as well?”
Pruitt rolled his eyes. “I doubt it. Last I saw of them, they were upstairs in the children’s quarters being read stories by their nannies. I hope these young ladies last longer than the pair they replaced.”
“I’m sure they will. The younger boys aren’t as wild as they were last year. They’re growing into little men, and Lizbeth has turned into quite the young lady.” She shook her head and let out a gentle laugh. “Amazingly, I’m sure they’ll be no problem.”
Pruitt nodded. “Truth be told, it is a little disconcerting to have the house so quiet. At first, I was afraid I was losing my hearing.”
She shook her head and laughed. “But you haven’t.” Then she turned serious, nibbling her lower lip in thought. Pruitt had been in the family since before she was born and knew her family better than anyone else. He was loyal, clever, and a good judge of character. Though he never voiced an opinion, he always seemed to be standing close by whenever one needed him. “Pruitt, what do you think of the Duke of Edgeware?”
His eyebrows arched upward, an obvious sign of his surprise. “It isn’t my place to say, Miss Dillie.”
“But say it anyway. Please, Pruitt. It’s important for me to know how you feel about him.”
“No,” he said, leveling a gentle, grandfatherly gaze on her. “What matters is how you feel about him. However, I can tell you that he isn’t the sort to steal the silverware.”
She frowned at him. “That isn’t very helpful. I know he’s honest. But what else is he?”
He shook his head and sighed. “You’ll have to ask him. However, I don’t think he knows the answer to that question yet.”
Dillie thanked him and walked off to retrieve the book she had been reading in the library. Her thoughts were as muddled as ever as she made her way upstairs and retired to her bedchamber. She wished someone had answers to give her. Her twin had always been the one she turned to for advice.
She missed Lily.
By eight o’clock that evening, she and her parents were stepping down from their carriage into the cool evening. They made their way slowly up the grand steps of the Wakeford townhouse in the queue of guests to be announced. The rain had swept through London hours ago, leaving a starry sky overhead and a cool, but dry, breeze.
The receiving line moved quickly. Either that or Dillie was more distracted than she realized. They soon entered the hall and Dillie took a moment to glance about while their names were called out. The Wakeford home was ablaze with light. There were long tapers dripping wax from a row of crystal chandeliers lining the ceiling. The flames from the tapers reflected off the crystal fixtures in glistening bursts of red and amber. More candles blazed in decorative sconces along the walls, casting the elegant Wakeford home in a warm, golden glow.
Ladies and gentlemen chatted and merrily greeted friends as they removed their wraps and handed them to waiting footmen. Dillie stood back a moment to take in the display of finery, the breathtaking shimmer of silks and satins on the women and the fine black coats worn by the men. She glanced down at her own attire. She wore ivory silk trimmed with a pale blue ribbon immediately below the bodice. Her gown was quite simple compared with some of the more lavish designs worn by the older ladies—no bows or ruffles, no intricate lacework to complicate the style.
Her jewelry was simple as well. A strand of pearls adorned her throat, the necklace a family heirloom. Every Farthingale girl was expected to wear it at some point during her debut season. Being a twin, she’d had to wait until now, for Lily was several minutes older and had been given the pleasure last season. In truth, it was less of a pleasure and more of an ordeal, for neither she nor her sisters ever wanted to be the one to lose those precious pearls, something that could easily happen during the mad crush of a ton party.
Her sister, Daisy, had actually lost the necklace once. Fortunately, Gabriel had found it for her, and none of the family elders had ever learned about the incident. Dillie closed her eyes and silently prayed that she’d make it through the evening without any mishaps. When she opened them a moment later, Charles Ealing stood before her. “Miss Farthingale, you’re looking as lovely as a gardenia blossom.”
She smiled back at him. She disliked gardenias almost as much as she disliked sardines, but Charles had no way of knowing that. He looked surprisingly handsome. The black of his formal jacket slimmed his slightly round frame, making him appear taller and less lumpy than usual.
“My cousin is visiting from Little Dorking. Do you know her? Lady Mary Abbott? She was widowed last year and has finally rejoined the living, so to speak. I’m duty bound to offer her the first dance, but will you save the second for me?”
She nodded. “That will be lovely.”
“Good. Good.” He bowed over her hand and made a hasty retreat to the opposite side of the ballroom where his family stood in wait for him. Among them was a delicately built blonde beauty who appeared to be searching the crowd for someone in particular. No doubt she was the widow, for Dillie recognized all the other members of his family.
Dillie craned her neck for a better view. She couldn’t see the Ealing family very well, for other guests kept getting in the way. However, she couldn’t help but notice the widow break into a beaming smile as a gentleman approached her.
Dillie’s heart sank. It was Ian.
Lady Mary was obviously pleased to see him, and her smile was in no way innocent. Foolishly, Dillie felt a small pang to her heart. Had
she thought Ian would change his rakehell ways? Obviously, he had no intention of it.
“What matters is how the duke feels about her,” Rose said, reaching her side and drawing her away from their parents. “My, he looks handsome. But doesn’t he always? Anyway, that widow isn’t the sort to hold his attention for very long.”
“How do you know?” Dillie frowned at her. “You could be wrong.”
Rose grinned. “But I’m not. Look, he’s already moving away from her.”
“That signifies nothing. He’s probably arranged to meet her elsewhere and is now discreetly moving on.”
“Trust me, he isn’t going to meet her later. He isn’t interested in what she’s offering.” They hadn’t taken three steps before Rose began to unload more pearls of wisdom. Dillie hadn’t asked for her sister’s opinion; however, Rose was a Farthingale and therefore felt compelled to give it. “True, the widow is obviously moon-eyed over him, but look at the tension in his stance. Something’s troubling him. His mother, no doubt. I wonder if she’ll show up here this evening.”
Dillie shook her head. “I hope not.”
Rose let out a light, mirthless chuckle. “And Lady Withnall hopes she will. The tiny terror thrives on the misery of others. She adores ugly scenes. I’m sure the duke will slip away from the party if his mother does show up. He’d rather be thought of as a coward than ever allow their family troubles to be put on public display.” She paused to study Dillie. “Not that anyone would ever consider him a coward. He’s proved himself in battle. He can also be ruthless when pushed too far, so don’t you go running to his rescue. He doesn’t need your help. He doesn’t need anyone’s help.”
Dillie didn’t bother to reply since no response was necessary. However, she was grateful for the reminder about Ian. Rose’s words were painfully true. Ian didn’t need anyone. He didn’t want anyone to complicate his life.
He didn’t need or want her.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Charles has claimed the second dance. I had better write him into my dance card.”
“Who’s taking the first? Father?”
Dillie laughed. “No, his gout is acting up. Uncle George isn’t here yet, and our cousin William has already disappeared into the card room. I suppose you’ll have to keep me company in the meanwhile.”
Rose locked arms with her. “Good, I haven’t seen nearly enough of you lately. Gives us more time to find out about the duke’s mother.”
Dillie gazed at her in confusion. “You must be jesting. Didn’t you just warn me not to get involved in his family woes?”
Rose rolled her eyes. “I warned you not to get involved with him. Hearing the latest gossip about him and his family is quite a different matter. Ah, there’s Daisy. Laurel’s with her. Oh, they’re talking to Lady Withnall. I can see her egret feather madly bobbing in front of them. Utterly perfect. Let’s join them. I’m sure the old snoop has plenty to tell us all. No doubt she spent the entire afternoon prying every sordid detail from the dowager duchess.”
“Who was more than willing to disclose every rotten thing she could think of about her son.” Dillie felt another small pang to her heart. What had Ian done to make the old dowager detest him so much? She thought of what her father often said. People don’t change. But if that were true, how could one reconcile the detestable son and the Ian she knew?
Rose nudged her forward. “Come on. Let’s greet them. It’s the polite thing to do.”
“Engaging in gossip, encouraging gossip, is in no way polite.”
Rose shrugged. “Fine. I’m a snoop. So are you, though you’re not ready to admit it. Stop dawdling. Lady Withnall, that bloodhound, must have spilled everything to Daisy and Laurel by now.”
Rose grabbed Dillie’s elbow and propelled her to Lady Withnall’s side, where they exchanged warm greetings with their sisters, the feared harridan, and Aunt Julia, who had joined them. Though Julia had merely married into the family, she was just as much a snoop as any Farthingale and fit in perfectly. She was always at the ready with unasked for advice. Yes, a true Farthingale in spirit, though not a blood relation.
In truth, Dillie liked Julia and would always consider her a part of the family. Her husband, Harry Farthingale, had died years ago in Napoleon’s war, and after a long period of mourning Julia had remarried. She seemed content in her new marriage, but had remained as close as ever to the Farthingale family. Dillie hugged her and received an equally enthusiastic greeting in response.
Another woman none of them recognized stood beside Lady Withnall. She seemed to be an old and dear friend of hers, for Lady Withnall was smiling broadly and appeared eager to make introductions.
As usual, the old harridan’s gaze shot straight to Dillie. “Ah, my dear. You’re just the one I was hoping to see.”
Never a good sign. Dillie suddenly felt quite uncomfortable. Both Lady Withnall and her companion were staring at her intently. The pair looked like brilliantly colored birds of prey, dressed as they were in their dark silks. They sported matching egret feathers in their hair, and each was armed with a Spanish fan to cool herself as the ballroom began to warm.
Dillie wished she had thought to bring one along, for the heat of their gazes was quite suffocating. She glanced toward the open doors that led onto the terrace, resolving to escape into the Wakeford garden as soon as possible.
Daisy nudged her as Lady Withnall introduced the woman standing beside her, who turned out to be the dowager duchess of Edgeware. Ian’s mother! Her name, ironically, was Celestia. Yet there wasn’t a trace of heavenly kindness or warmth in the woman.
The dowager had Ian’s gray-green eyes, but hers held no brilliance. She had Ian’s honey-blonde hair, but hers did not appear natural. No doubt the strands had turned gray years ago, but dyes had been around for centuries and did wonders for those who wished to cling to their youth.
Dillie silently chided herself. Was she judging the woman too harshly?
There were no laugh lines at the corners of her mouth or crinkles of merriment at the corners of her eyes. This was a cold, bitter person who felt disappointed by life. Perhaps she had cause to be bitter, but Dillie simply didn’t know enough about her yet to form an opinion.
Rose took no time in lighting a fuse. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. We know your son, and are quite grateful for the friendship he’s shown our family.”
“Friendship?” She arched a haughty eyebrow and waved her gloved hand in arrogant dismissal of Rose’s claim. “Then I doubt you know him very well at all.”
Dillie clutched her dance card a little too hard, crumpling it in her tightening fist. Keep silent. Ian doesn’t need your protection. “Oh, but we do,” Dillie couldn’t help but respond. “His closest friends are my brothers-in-law.” She nodded to Daisy and Laurel. “Lord Gabriel Dayne is Daisy’s husband. Lord Graelem Dayne is Laurel’s husband.”
Her sisters smiled back sweetly. She wanted to throttle them. Why weren’t they jumping to Ian’s defense? Ugh! Laurel never kept her mouth shut about anything. Why was she turning into a tight-lipped clam now?
“They also happen to be Lady Eloise Dayne’s grandsons,” Lady Withnall explained blithely.
“Of course, I know Lady Eloise. I hear her grandsons are charming boys,” Ian’s mother said, bestowing her own, cold smile on Dillie. “Both have turned out quite well. She must be awfully proud of them.”
Lady Withnall nodded. “She is, though they did worry her for a time.”
The dowager duchess nodded sympathetically. “My son’s doing, no doubt. He must have been a terrible influence on them, but they’ve moved on and bettered themselves.” She cast Daisy and Laurel smiles of acknowledgment. “Unfortunately, my son isn’t capable of improvement. It pains me to speak ill of him, but his latest scandal cannot be overlooked.”
“What scandal?” Julia—bless her—asked when all of Dillie’s sisters seemed to have grown mute.
Dillie shot each a glower, but they merely responde
d with mawkishly innocent grins. Oh, why had she allowed Rose to drag her to Lady Withnall’s side? No good would come of it. And why had she remained? She had legs, after all. She could walk away.
But she wasn’t going to do it. She wanted to stand here and entertain their gossip. In truth, her actions were unpardonable.
“Well,” the dowager began, her voice lowering. Dillie tipped her head forward and perked her ears. Ian would be livid if he knew what she was doing. She wouldn’t blame him if he never spoke to her again.
On the other hand, if there was a scandal attached to Ian, she needed to know about it. How else could she help him? Lady Withnall would surely spread the shocking details across London before the night was out and someone had to stem the damage. She was that someone, for Ian wouldn’t do anything to help himself.
The orchestra opened the dancing with a lively waltz, and the chatter in the ballroom grew louder as more guests arrived. Dillie moved a step closer to the two matrons, eager not to miss a word, though she knew Ian’s mother couldn’t be trusted to tell the truth. After all, she detested her son.
“Well, it’s no longer a secret, so I may as well speak of it.” The dowager’s eyes took on a keen brilliance, as cold and bright as the diamonds she wore. She cleared her throat, as though hesitant to reveal the latest scandal attributed to her own son, but her eyes gave away her delight. “He’s fathered a child and taken that child from its mother.”
Dillie and her sisters exchanged startled looks. In truth, she had expected to hear some nonsense about his dallying with a married woman. Or a complaint about his being tightfisted with her allowance. But this—this surprised her.
“The mother’s a nobody, but that doesn’t excuse my son’s actions. He simply wrenched the child from the poor woman’s arms, turning a deaf ear to her pleas.” She paused to heighten the effect, and appeared a little disappointed when no one uttered a disparaging comment. In truth, Dillie was in shock. Her sisters were as well. Not even Laurel could fashion a response. “Can one blame the poor young woman for what she did next?” she continued.