He leaned closer to his father so that The Duke could whisper in his ear.
“Ask Greyfield for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Patrick froze, unable to understand his father’s words. “I beg your pardon?”
“He asked you what you wanted. Tell him you want his daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Patrick’s heart sped up at the thought of having Lady Melissa as his bride. “It is too soon. Lady Melissa hardly knows me.”
“Not her, you dolt,” The Duke hissed, “The elder one.”
“What?”
“She has clearly set her cap at you, now make her the happiest woman on earth and ask for her hand in marriage.”
“I-I c-can't.” Patrick did not know why he was stammering but he felt his entire being was rebelling at the thought of taking Lady Rose to wife. She was the wrong Greyfield sister!
“You can and you will. Our family reputation depends upon it.”
Patrick stiffened, straightening up to face his father with wide eyes. “I beg your pardon? What do you mean by that?”
“Well, clearly you haven’t heard the latest fudge about me. They are saying I forced myself upon a girl and then obligated her to marry my steward to hide the resulting baby.”
Patrick paled. “That is not true,” he breathed.
“Of course, it isn’t. But seeing as my steward took off to parts unknown, there is no way to prove it. This is exactly the sort of thing that can get a man and his family shunned. But with connections like the Greyfields, the ton will be more inclined to overlook these little faux pas.”
Patrick’s brow beetled. Faux pas?
“A-are you saying you did do it, father?” the confusion in his voice caused it to rise to a higher pitch.
“Of course not!” The Duke said impatiently. “I simply mean that that is how other people would perceive it.”
“Well, Lady Melissa is as much a Greyfield as Lady Rose.”
“Humph. The younger cannot marry before the elder. And besides, the elder is the favorite. She is the better choice.”
Patrick looked away; his heart troubled by his father’s words. He did not understand how he had not heard about any of this. It seemed strange to him because he made sure to have his ear to the ground.
He glanced at Lady Rose, knowing that he would ask for her hand because it was his duty if his family needed this from him. Nevertheless, for just a little while, he wanted to rail about it, if only in his mind.
She came up to him, a tentative smile on her face. “Are you quite well, Lord Bergon?” Her voice was so soft and gentle, her eyes concerned. He regretted deeply that her presence did not elicit the same reaction in him as her sister did.
“I am fine, Lady Rose. But it’s late and no doubt you all need to get your rest, so I will be taking my leave.”
Her face fell with disappointment and Patrick felt hollow as he realized that she was enamored of him. It would be a simple job to get her to agree to be his bride. In his mind’s eye, her azure eyes were replaced by ones of dancing hazel, so full of life and mischief. He sighed inwardly, made a leg to her before going to pay his respects to The Duke and Duchess. He could feel his father’s eyes on him the entire time and knew that he took in everything. He was sure that he would be betrothed as soon as his father could make it possible.
The morning brought with it the evidence that his life was altered in interesting ways. His morning mail, usually comprising of bills, the day’s newspaper, and perhaps a letter from his sister or one of his country aunts asking for money, now held a myriad of invitations. Venetian breakfasts, teas, picnics, house parties, he was now invited to them all.
He sighed with bemusement as he put all of them aside to savor his coffee and ponder this turn of events. He had barely finished his first cup when his butler announced that his father had arrived.
“Show him in,” Patrick said with a sigh, “and set another place.”
The thud of his father’s walking stick on the parquet floor alerted Patrick to his presence and he got to his feet, fixing a smile on his face. “Father. How nice to see you although it is a bit early for visits.”
The Duke lifted an eyebrow, “Am I not allowed to have breakfast with my son?”
“Of course, you are father, in fact, I just asked them to set another place. How are you?” Patrick sat back down a moment after his father settled himself into the chair on his right.
“I am well. Your stepmother is driving me mad with all the decorating. Thought I’d look for some peace and quiet.” He aimed a smile at Patrick who returned a commiserating one. “You’ll soon understand what I mean.”
Patrick grimaced, “Can one get married and escape the obsessive redecorating?”
“Not possible. Can’t have one without the other. You just have to endure it.” The butler set a steaming cup of coffee in front of his father and for a little while, they sipped in companionable silence.
“Mmm, is this Java?” The Duke asked.
“Yes indeed. From the last shipment from Indonesia. I believe I sent some to your townhouse.”
“Mmm, well, Her Grace prefers tea or hot chocolate,” The Duke grumped, “and so I try to indulge her.”
Patrick patted his father’s arm in sympathy. “Would you like another cup?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
Patrick lifted his hand and his butler appeared, ready to pour more coffee. It occurred to him to share with his father the pile of invitations he had obtained. If he was getting so many in spite of the damned hum, then it meant that the ton was not taking the stories seriously. Surely that meant he did not have to marry Lady Rose?
His father put down his cup slowly. “Son, I know that what I am asking you to do seems hard. You have clearly set your sights on the younger Lady Greyfield. However, I need you to trust me when I tell you, she is not the right girl for you.”
“Why?”
“There are things about her you do not know and I cannot tell you. Now, put her out of your mind. Lady Rose is delightful. She comports herself well, she plays the pianoforte wonderfully and is well read. She will be of value to you.”
Patrick sighed. “Yes, father.”
* * *
Melissa was quite excited about tea with the Marquess even if she knew she was only invited because it had been her neck he’d saved. If her mother had it her way, only Rose would be present. She did not understand why her mother was pushing her sister at the Marquess. Perhaps it was because Rose had shown interest.
And anything Rose wants, she gets, Melissa thought bitterly.
Nevertheless, she called Brynn to help her coif her hair and apply some color to her cheeks and lips as well as some cream to lighten her skin. She chose a simple chicory muslin gown embellished with gold lace, suitable for receiving guests at home. It cinched just beneath her breasts emphasizing their lushness without sacrificing modesty. Around her neck, she wore a gold-lace choker, which drew attention to the cut on her neck–and the reason they were all here.
“You are looking well this afternoon, Lady Melissa,” the Marquess murmured quietly to her as he took her gloved hand and kissed the air above it. “And how are you feeling?”
She turned, to find her sister glaring daggers at her, her mother pale with anger. Sighing inwardly, she crossed the room and lowered herself obediently next to her mother. Rose immediately took her place by Lord Bergon, plying him with honey cakes.
“So Lord Bergon, it seems passing strange to me that we have not met before. How is that possible?”
Melissa glared at her sister, “Really Rose, what a thing to ask!”
Rose narrowed her eyes at her. “I was just curious. It’s not rude and the Marquess does not mind me asking,” she turned to face him. “Do you?”
“Oh, it’s perfectly fine. I do not mind the question,” the Marquess hastened to assure her. “I am not in town much as I have businesses that take me to the Far East and indeed, sometimes to the New World.”<
br />
“That is indeed fascinating,” Rose said moving closer to him. “I have always wanted to see the world. Maybe one day you can take me.”
The Marquess simply stared, his teacup halfway to his mouth seemingly at a loss for words.
“That would be my pleasure,” he swallowed, looking away from Rose, his eyes flicking toward Melissa and then down to his cup. Melissa frowned.
“Don’t put him on the spot like that Rose. The poor Marquess hardly knows what to say.” She kept her voice pleasant, all the vicious anger she felt plain in the look she directed at her sister.
“Oh, I’m sure he can speak up for himself if he needs to.” Rose actually reached out and touched his arm with her fingertips. Melissa gasped, affronted on his behalf.
“Well, we shall not put him in that awkward situation, shall we? Would you like some more honey cakes, Lord Bergon?”
She reached out, handing him the plate.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” he said sounding choked.
“You’re welcome, Your Grace.” Melissa smiled at him, glad to draw his attention to her at last.
The Duchess stirred beside her. “I understand you have some interest in the arts?” she said neatly capturing the Marquess’ ear. “Would you like to visit our art gallery? Rose can take you.”
Melissa grounded her teeth in anger.
Chapter 5
Pardon Me
They’re fighting over me!
Patrick could not conceive what was happening right in front of him. It would have been funny in other circumstances but just at present, he was having trouble believing that this was his life. Just yesterday, his biggest challenge had been making sure that his stepmother’s furniture arrived in a pristine state, and now he had the daughters of one of the most powerful Dukes in the land vying for his attention. Sadly, he was only interested in one of them while his father wanted him to marry the other.
It’s as if my life has become one of those plays on Drury Lane!
He put down his cup and dutifully followed Rose as she led him to the Portrait Gallery. He was indeed an art lover, although portraits did not interest him as much as landscapes of foreign lands or abstract art.
If you have seen one portrait, you’ve seen them all.
That was his general philosophy, at least it was until he stepped in front of Lady Melissa Greyfield’s portrait. Somehow, it seemed to stand out among all the pale-skinned, blue-eyed Greyfields. She was like a hummingbird in a nest of swallows.
“You like that one?” Rose’s voice was sharp and displeased.
“The artist captured her spirit very accurately,” he said slowly and thoughtfully as if that was the only reason he had stopped.
“Yes well, Melissa does tend to seek the attention.” She sounded as though she was grinding her teeth. Patrick bit his lip so as not to laugh. He turned on his heel to face her.
“And what about your portrait? Where is it?” that brought a pleased smile to her face and she led him further down the gallery, past portraits of The Duke and Duchess, and there was her portrait, in a place of prominence. Patrick wondered briefly why the two girls were not side-by-side, one being at the very back of the gallery while the other was at the front, but decided to hold his tongue.
There really cannot be any diplomatic answer to the question in any case.
“Would you like to see the other paintings in the house? We have quite a few.”
Patrick inclined his head in agreement and she led him down a long hallway, that was intermittently lined with paintings. Most were of events at the castle, the Royal Garden Party, a rendition of Rose being presented at court, The Duke with the Prince Regent; it was a testament to the power of the Greyfields.
Patrick took it all in without comment and soon, they were back in the parlor where Melissa and her mother sat stiffly next to each other, their color high. Whatever had transpired in the room had left behind a lingering tension that could be cut with a knife.
Patrick took a deep breath and resumed his seat.
* * *
“Do you have to throw Rose at him in such a vulgar manner, mother?” Melissa let all the irritation she was feeling bleed into her words as soon as the Marquess and Rose had left the room.
“You’re one to talk about vulgarity. Do you only throw that word about when it suits you? You were practically salivating over the poor man. You really need to stop embarrassing yourself.”
“Embarrassing myself? As opposed to Rose who is…”
“Your sister is simply showing that she would not be opposed to a proposal. It is perfectly within the bounds of propriety for her to do so.”
Melissa’s jaw dropped and she stared in disbelief at her mother. “I beg your pardon. Since when did you decide that he wants to marry her?”
Thalia sighed. “Melissa, you know full well you cannot be married before your sister. You should be relieved that she has finally found a groom…”
“The Marquess has shown more interest in me than her.”
“You’re quite delusional, Melissa. It is a failing I have often noted with sadness.”
Melissa reared back, unable to think of an immediate retort as her heart twisted with hurt. Her mother was constantly saying such derogatory things about her and she did not know why.
“I…” her throat clicked as the words dried up in them.
“You what, Melissa? Disagree? Well nobody has asked for your no-doubt impractical opinion and so you will be quiet and drink your tea. If you cannot do that, you should leave.”
Melissa turned away from her mother, picking up her teacup and pointedly taking a sip. Her eyes fluttered, banishing the tears and she focused on getting through this visit. Her mother wanted to chase her away because she knew that the Marquess was more interested in Melissa than Rose.
I am not delusional!
But Melissa would not let her get her way. She could be stubborn with the best of them, and she would stay right here and continue to socialize with the Marquess until he indicated that he had no more interest in her.
She took another sip of her tea, looking up as the door opened and Rose and the Marquess came back into the room. She took a deep breath.
I can do this.
* * *
Patrick had his coachman drop him off at White’s as soon as he left Greyfield House. He felt in need of a strong drink and perhaps a natter with his particular friend, the Earl of Stenwick, Driscoll Faran. They had roomed at Cambridge together and remained fast friends ever since Driscoll had stepped between Patrick and two boys who felt he should pay for his father’s transgressions–whatever they had perceived them to be.
Patrick knew that people said awful things about his sire. He did not listen to the ugliness but chalked it up to jealousy. His father was a man who blazed his own trails and many in the ton were not fond of those who took the road less traveled. Everyone was expected to fit into a neat little box and his father defied that.
Patrick was proud of his father, he looked up to him even though many times, it was he who paid the price of his father’s individuality.
Driscoll was privy to all of this and still had no issue associating with Patrick. For that, Patrick would forever be grateful.
He found an empty couch in the corner, where he could lean back and relax with his sherry as he waited for Driscoll to arrive. He had sent his tiger with a message to the man’s townhouse as he alighted from his coach and hoped that he would not have to wait too long.
“Bergon, old man, what are you doing here?” a harsh clap on his shoulder had him opening his eyes to see Driscoll staring down at him in surprise.
“That was fast, Stenwick. Did you fly here?”
The Earl took a seat opposite him. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked in amused concern, “Have you finally lost track of your last marble?”
“Oh, ha-ha. Very funny. I take it you’re not here because you got my note?”
“No, I have been here for quite some time. A thrilling g
ame of whist kept me quite occupied.”
“Hmmph. Well, can you spare a moment from your busy social calendar to have a chat?”
“Well, I cannot tell you what a hardship that would be but I shall make the sacrifice.”
“I am ever so grateful. Now, I know you were not at the Greyfield shindig last night, heaven knows why…”
“I actually have no interest in the Greyfield girls and there was really no other reason to attend other than to be seen and you well know I am not concerned with that.”
Bewitching the Forbidden Duke: A Steamy Regency Romance Page 4