by Tamara Gill
How very true. It had always surprised Athelby that Darcy seemed to be able to do and say whatever she pleased without ever receiving censure from society. It was almost as if the family were immune to the repercussions of their scandalous pursuits.
“Well, I would be quite happy to be left behind if it meant living the life that Darcy de Wolfe seems determined to inhabit.” Athelby stood, and straightened his jacket. “I bid you good day.”
“Shall I see you at my sister’s ball this evening? You know it’s her first since marrying The Earl of Glenn, and Sara has always been fond of you.”
“I sent my response directly after receiving the invitation. I shall be in attendance.”
Aaron grinned. “Very good, see you this evening then, your grace.”
Athelby left Whites, and thankfully his coachman had followed him on his jaunt and was parked out front where he was able to leave directly. He tapped on the roof with his cane and stared sightlessly out the window. Why did the thought of Darcy moving on with her life, loving someone else and possibly marrying another gentleman annoy him so much?
He called out the window for his coachman to take him to Dr. Duncan’s residence, his physician. He needed to see his doctor post-haste. There wasn’t a moment to lose, for there was certainly something wrong with him. And the name of this disease was Darcy de Wolfe.
* * *
Darcy, accompanied by her friend Lady Oliver had enjoyed their evening so far at the Earl and Countess of Glenn’s first official ball since being married at the end of last season. Darcy had always been fond of Sara and was delighted she’d made a love match with Lord Glenn, who’d always been kind and amiable to others.
One person Darcy didn’t particularly wish to see was unfortunately across the room, although tonight he seemed a little out of sorts.
She studied him as he spoke to the hosts and the countess’ brother, the Marquess of Aaron. The duke held a tumbler of what looked to be brandy, and the notion he would consume such a beverage gave her pause.
“I can see who you’re looking at and I can also see the clock within your mind ticking over as to why he’s drinking,” Fran said.
“Do you think it’s whisky he’s drinking?” Darcy had to admit, to see him throwing it back and asking for a refill left her positively mute.
“It is a little odd, to say the least. Maybe he’s trying to be more like his peers, although I doubt that would be the case. Everyone knows how much he detests gambling, drunkenness, and inappropriate behaviour.”
Hmm. Darcy watched him for a little while longer before a throng of beaux bowed before her during the next few hours and she was swept away into waltzing, cotillions, and all thoughts of the duke were forgotten.
That was until some hours later she walked out onto the terrace to find the Duke of Athelby bent over the balustrade and groaning.
“Athelby can I be of assistance? You do not look very well, your grace.”
“I’m mortified to say that you’ve come across me Lady de Wolfe in a state of inebriation. What a hypocrite you must think me.”
Darcy smiled and even though she was certainly thinking it, she wouldn’t tease him on the fact right now. He really did see quite ill. “It’s actually a relief to see you such. I had thought for some time that you weren’t human.”
He barked out a laugh and then groaned. “I’m human I promise you.” His words were slurred, and the duke looked anything but ducal right at this moment.
“I know you think I’m a pompous fool. A man who thinks too highly of himself.”
Darcy met his gaze. “I won’t lie to you since we were friends as children, but yes, I do think that sometimes. But I also wonder why. You never used to be like that Cameron.”
The use of his given name wasn’t missed by him, even in his foxed condition. Surprisingly he took her hand, idly playing with her fingers. “If anyone saw me now they’d think I was my brother. The drunken fool who couldn’t hold his liquor.”
“You don’t talk of Marcus very often. And you do yourself a discredit, your grace. You’re nothing like your brother.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I fear that with only the smallest coaxing I could turn into him. And where would that leave the title, my home, and tenants who rely on me.”
“You are foxed, that will not make you your brother. And anyway,” she said, placing her hand over his that continued to clasp hers. “What was so wrong with being like your sibling. I vaguely remember him, but the times we did meet I never thought him an ogre.”
“He was my brother, and I loved him, but I refuse to follow him into an early grave.” Cameron groaned and turning toward the gardens retched all over Lady Glenn’s roses.
He waved her away, but instead of leaving, Darcy pulled out of his coat pocket his white handkerchief and handed it to him.
The duke took it, wiping his mouth, before groaning and dropping his head to sit on the stone balustrade.
“When I’m better I will kill the Marquess. Aaron stated it was merely a new punch that Lady Glenn’s cook had created. I will not forgive the man his duplicity.”
Darcy rubbed along his graces’ shoulders and ignored the fact that beneath her hand was a very firm, muscular man, more so than she’d thought. She pushed the thought aside of what he’d look like without his shirt and instead said, “I shall fetch you some water. I will be right back.” After hearing of his fears of turning out like his brother, Darcy couldn’t help but feel for the man. In his quest to be the perfect duke, he’d become a man who never relaxed, no longer knew how to live even in moderation.
She did as she promised and within a few minutes returned to where she had left his grace, only to find him missing.
“I am here,” he said, the slurred voice sounding from behind her.
Darcy looked about and went and sat next to him in the small alcove that was situated between two windows. The rooms were not lit, and not in use this evening, so they were kept hidden. Probably a fortunate thing considering his grace was not very well and should anyone catch him in such a state, the gossip that would befall him would not be easy for the man to take.
Such a stickler for proper manners, he could not bear to be seen as anything other than what he preached. And after tonight, she understood a little as to why that was. His grandmother had tried to tell her in her way, but it wasn’t until Cameron explained that Darcy understood him better.
“Drink this, but only in sips. It should make you feel better.”
He took the glass and did as she bade, not saying a word, merely sat there like a lost little boy. Although he didn’t look like a boy at all, in fact, the disarray Darcy now saw him in, his untied cravat, messy hair that was no longer suitably combed, and slightly blood shot eyes made him look wild, untamed, and nothing like she’d ever seen him before.
In fact, the duke in this unkempt state was exceptionally handsome.
“Please do not tell anyone of my state. I know we’re not friends, but please, if you can do this one thing for me I’ll be forever grateful.”
Darcy turned her attention toward the garden, seemingly thinking over his grace’s question, though she knew she would never tell of his shame. She might be a woman who enjoyed parties, dancing and revelry, but she was not a snitch or gossiper. And she could never make fun of a man who’d had a cruel joke played upon him.
She turned to look at him and a shiver stole over her when she found him staring at her. In this dark alcove, his grace seemed predatory, nothing like he normally was. It left her a little unsure and wary. Maybe it was she who’d had too much wine this evening.
“I will not tell a soul, ever. You have my word.”
His grace sighed and leaned back against the house. “I feel dreadful. Is this normal? If so, I wonder why so many people indulge in such pastimes.”
“You were drinking quite a few glasses, your grace and in quick succession. It is no wonder that you do not feel well.” Darcy stood, holding out her
hand to him. He took it and stood.
“Walk to the front of the house, and I shall have your carriage called at the same time as mine. Return home, keep drinking water and get some sleep. You may have a megrim tomorrow, but you should start to feel better by the afternoon.”
The duke took her hand, bending over it and kissing her gloved fingers lightly. “Thank you, Darcy.”
It wasn’t often he used her name, in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time. Maybe when they were thrown together unwillingly as children, either way, again a shiver of awareness flowed through her, and she stepped back to break whatever absurdness was taking over her body.
“You’re welcome, but go. Wait in the shadows and you will see your carriage soon enough. And may I suggest in future not to listen to Lord Aaron. You know how much he loves to have a laugh at others’ expense.”
“I do, and he will have his comeuppance if it’s the last thing I do to his lordship.”
Darcy smiled and left, doing what she promised. While waiting for her own carriage, she watched as his grace came from beside the house and stepped up into his vehicle. Again, she was reminded of how tall his grace was, his athletic form that she’d not noticed on him up until tonight.
She sighed, wrapped her cloak tighter about her, stepped down the three steps and climbed up into her own carriage, calling out the address for Sir Richard Walton’s card party that she’d also been invited to. With her good deed done for this evening, it was still early, and more fun was to be had. And maybe, just maybe luck would be on her side tonight and she would win a few hands instead of always donating her funds to others’ deep pockets.
Chapter 3
Darcy did not see his grace at any events over the next several days. She put it down to the duke being embarrassed over what she’d seen him doing and the state of his dress and appearance. Not to mention what he’d told her of his brother, which in his inebriated state may not have been on purpose.
But it was not so, and now, after too long a time, Darcy wanted to see him, something she’d never thought to imagine if only to see for herself that he survived his night of drunkenness and was well again.
Back to his normal self of insulting matrons and scaring the breeches off young bucks who acted without decorum. This evening she’d not even seen her god mother whom she’d been told had returned to the family’s country estate after coming down with a cold. Darcy would have to write her well on the morrow and wish for her speedy return.
Darcy’s heart thumped when the master of ceremonies called out the Duke of Athelby. She turned to see his grace making his address to their hosts.
He searched the crowd as he walked through the gathered throng before his gaze caught hers and did not shift. Darcy smiled at him, nodding slightly and he, in turn, came toward her, the sea of people seemingly moving out of his way, so his progress was swift and without incident.
Darcy curtsied, holding out her hand as he bowed, kissing her fingers slightly. “Lady de Wolfe, I hope I find you well this evening?”
“And I you, your grace.” Understanding dawned in his eyes and he laughed. Darcy stood mute for a moment. The duke had a wonderful, rich laugh. A laugh that lit up his eyes and changed his stoic look to one of animated delight.
Damn it all to hell.
“I am very well, and I promise to only drink non-spiked punch this evening.”
She smiled. “You know, there is no crime in having whisky, champagne or wine, your grace. As long as it is in moderation.”
“And this is from a woman who not a week ago was in her cups.”
Disappointment stabbed at her that his grace’s attitude had not changed. Here he was, back to his cutting jibes within five minutes at arriving at the ball.
“I may have been foxed, but I did not have the pleasure of regurgitating it like others are wont to do.”
His jaw clenched. “Touché, I cede your point.”
“I do hope you do.”
Lord Aaron joined them and bowed before Darcy.
“I believe this next set is mine, Lady de Wolfe.”
Darcy dipped into a curtsy before the duke, not missing the flash of annoyance that the marquess had asked her to dance. It sparked a little devil inside of her to play up to his lordship and irritate Athelby more than she ought.
“It is, my lord.” Darcy took his hand and let him lead her to the dancefloor as others set up to join in a quadrille.
The dance gave Darcy the opportunity to find out why the marquess had played such a trick on his friend. “Did you know that the punch you gave his grace last week was anything but punch, and was, in fact, some sort of beverage that made him foxed?”
The marquess grinned, laughter in his eyes. “I did know, but my sister’s cook is very clever indeed, and anyone drinking the brew had no idea that too much of it will leave you in your cups.”
“I thought the duke and yourself were friends. How could you let him get into such a state knowing he is against those sorts of vices?”
“Because,” the marquess said, growing serious. “If he does not loosen up a little, see life for what it is, that it is to be lived and enjoyed, it will end with him a lonely, bitter old man. I do not want to see that for him. He deserves better.”
“That, my lord, is something that we at least agree on, but I would ask you do not trick him in such a way again. It was not becoming of you.”
The marquess seemed suitably chastised. “I promise I shall not, but what of you and your concern for him. I did not think you even liked Athelby.”
What the marquess said was certainly true, they were not close, nor was she very fond of him up until the night she found him vomiting onto roses. But she was associated with his family as a young girl and owed it to his grandmother to look out for him if she had to. “Out of my love for his grandmother and our friendship as children make me say these things, do not read into that concern any further, my lord.”
The dance took them from each other for a few steps before they were reunited. “Well, you may not be attentive in the duke, but he’s certainly taking notice of you. Even now, he’s watching, probably trying to find fault with both our steps.”
Darcy frowned. It was not very becoming of his lordship to laugh at his friend so. Having had enough of him, she stepped out of his hold and dipped a quick curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me. I find I do not wish to dance with you, my lord.”
He raised his brows, clearly shocked. “You do not?”
“No, she said, “I think you’re a dolt.”
The few people about them gasped, some of the gentlemen laughed before she walked over to the duke and took his hand, pulling him onto the dancefloor. “Shall we?” she asked.
Athelby, with elegance and ease guided her back into the steps. They were silent for a time before he said, “You seem displeased. Is anything the matter?”
“Only that you have very strange friends, your grace. If I were you, I would watch what you say around the marquess. He does not seem true to me.”
“If what has your feathers ruffled is solely due on my behalf, my honor, do not tax yourself. Aaron is just as honest as I am, if not a little less cutting and if he’s teased me before you, and said something that seems beneath our friendship, I would not worry about it. For I shall not.”
“He said that you have a concern in me, beyond that of a friend.”
The duke looked down at her, and she was shocked to recognize desire in his grey orbs. Who would’ve thought the too proper duke even had such emotions in his indifferent body and mind?
“He is mistaken.”
Really… Darcy narrowed her eyes, not believing that for a moment. “I’m relieved to hear it.”
Athelby could see by Darcy’s disbelieving lift of her brows that she did not agree with his statement, and she would be right. After her help the other evening, and the lack of rumors concerning his embarrassing slip of etiquette, she’d proven to him that she was trustworthy. More so probably than his oldest
friend Lord Aaron.
“Did you know that there are two bets on me at Whites as to who I’ll take as a lover or even a husband?”
He pulled her closer than he ought, blamed it on the crush of dancers around them. “I do, and I have stated to those who have placed a bet that they are vulgar and not gentlemen in the least.”
She smiled up at him, and the breath in his lungs seized. Blast it she was so beautiful, so kissable that it hurt to deny himself. But she was not for him, the de Wolfes were too wild, non-manageable, and certainly did not play by the rules in which he set his life.
But to taste her, if only once would surely sate him for the rest of his days.
“How do you know of this bet in any case?”
This time she laughed, a rich, intoxicating sound that almost undid his years of strict decorum and made him seize her here and now. Kiss those smiling lips until they were both lost to each other and noted nothing and no one else around them. Athelby ripped his gaze from hers and stared steadfastly over her shoulder. Anywhere but at the temptation that was in his arms which would lead him to ruination just like his brother.
“I know everything that happens in your little secret Whites, and I may have at first been a little put out about the bet, but I now find it quite amusing.”
He couldn’t see anything remotely comical about the bet. It was belittling to her and anyone who partook in such scandalous behaviour. Darcy did not deserve to be the butt of jokes and games of his fellow man. “I do not.”
“I can tell by your face that you do not. But should I play the little game that all the gentlemen at Whites are betting on me to do? Who would you suggest that I marry? Or, alternatively, who should I make my lover?”
He stuttered, unable to respond straight away. “I wouldn’t know how to give such advice.”
She harrumphed, and he refused to look at her. How could he when he didn’t want her thinking of any of the gentlemen of the ton in that way. Not that she was for him either he reminded himself, simply he thought it best for Darcy to remain a spinster for the remainder of her days. Perhaps travel the continent and become an expert in embroidery. Anything but to marry again where he would have to watch her from afar.