“I was never more serious.”
This knowledge seriously discomfited Elise. Why she could not have said.
When the party left for Drury Lane, the duke insisted that Elise wear her new ring over her gloves for all the world to see. As they settled in his box, she was very relieved to see that Somerset was already there, awaiting them. Standing, he greeted both the ladies and patted Ruisdell heartily on the back.
Elise enjoyed the play but was aware that while she watched the stage, the duke watched her. Sheridan had a genius for this kind of side-splitting comedy. And she had to admit that from his point of view, her revolving fiancés were rather humorous. If only Robert were not so dangerous.
At the interval, the duke left the box to fetch her a lemonade. The air was stuffy in the theater, and all of them were very warm. As she fanned herself with her right hand, Elise studied the beautiful ring the duke had given her. She had never owned anything so lovely. Her engagement token from Joshua had been a pearl—suited to her age and innocence at that time.
She felt a slight draft as someone pushed aside the curtain to the duke’s box. To her surprise, the red-headed beauty, who had thrown her wine in the duke’s face the night before, sat down in the duke’s vacated chair. On Elise’s other side, her aunt whispered, “Lady Marianne Hemingford.”
The woman’s nostrils flared, and her lips were tightly set. “It won’t last, you know,” the beauty said.
“Probably not,” Elise answered.
As she suspected it might, this remark truly threw the woman off her stride. Elise continued, “But in the meantime, it is such fun. Just look at the beautiful ring he gave me.”
Lady Marianne rolled her eyes. “Jewels! Yes, he is very free with his money, but not, I can testify, with his heart. And he will not marry you, no matter that you are engaged.” She rearranged the orchid pinned to her dress. “I cannot pretend to understand what a man of the world like the duke can possibly see in a chit like you. Why, I don’t suppose you have even penetrated the first level of his personality! There are depths to that man it took me years to mine.”
Elise knew that in all probability this was true. But she would surely never admit it to such a rude person. Instead, she smiled her sunny smile. “I expect you are right. But he is very kind to me. And our engagement is odd, for I must confess, he does not strike me as the marrying kind.”
This further disconcerted the beauty. “Kind is the last word I would have used! And if you know how opposed he is to marriage, why ever did you become betrothed?”
“I make rather a career of engagements.” Elise said, smiling apologetically. “Have you not heard? This is my fourth.”
“You are making a game of me,” the woman said stiffly. “I am not amused!”
Aunt Clarice had been talking to the marquis on her other side, but now she intervened in Elise’s conversation. “If you came to warn my niece, you need not have bothered, Lady Marianne. She is fully aware of Ruisdell’s reputation.”
“But this is such a puzzle! I declare I do not know what to make of it. Are you preparing to best him at his own game?”
Elise opened her fan and raised it to cover her mouth, pleased she had discomposed the ill-mannered woman. “I beg of you, do not give away my intentions.”
Now Lady Marianne was affronted. “You are playing with fire. Just who do you think you are? Ruisdell will not be taken in by you!”
At this point, Somerset intervened. “Best take yourself off, Lady Marianne. Ruisdell won’t like to find you here.”
Clamping her beautiful lips together, the woman rose and departed. A moment later, the duke returned and handed Elise and her aunt their lemonade. “What was that creature doing in here? Poisoning you against me?”
Elise giggled shamelessly. “Trying to. I laid the groundwork for future events most cleverly, I think.”
“What devilry have you been up to? Confess!”
“I only agreed with her, Your Grace. She came to warn me, you see. But now she believes me to have the effrontery to be the puppetmaster and not the puppet. I imagine the idea will spread among the ton like wildfire! No one will be surprised when I cry off in a few days.”
Ruisdell laughed. “What a little rogue you are, to be sure! You will ruin my reputation for heartlessness.”
The next visitor to the box was Lady Sumner, inquiring solicitously after the duke’s health. “Someone has put it about that you had food poisoning, Peter!”
“Rest easy, my lady, I ate nothing at your ball. I believe these cases to take at least twenty-four hours to manifest. No doubt it was something I ate the day before yesterday. But, why are we talking of such matters as these? Surely, I have transgressed the boundaries of what is proper!”
“When have you not?” Lady Sumner asked.
Elise put up her fan and laughed again.
“Well, I was relieved to hear it was an indisposition of that order,” Lady Sumner said. “I could not imagine what would have driven you from the side of your lovely fiancée in such a desperate hurry.”
“He was very apologetic, my lady,” Elise assured her.
“Show her your ring, child,” Ruisdell said.
“I wouldn’t want her to think me vulgar,” teased Elise, hiding her left hand.
“Oh, come along, Miss Edwards! Do you know how long I’ve waited to see this rascal suitably wed?”
Elise extended her hand with its lovely ring and received fulsome compliments. Already she knew she would miss this token of what was becoming an enchanting charade. It would make such a lovely story. Maybe she would write it . . . someday. For now she was having too much fun living it, as long as Robert kept away.
During the final act of the play, however, her mind grew distracted. The consciousness that she did not at all believe the duke’s story of food poisoning bubbled to the surface. Had he not left her in just the same way the night at the opera? She had not a doubt that Lady Marianne was correct about the depth of Ruisdell’s personality. What chord had been struck on both occasions that might account for the duke’s suffering acute discomfort of what she suspected was an emotional sort?
She fell to taxing herself to remember what they had been speaking of at the opera, and thus failed to laugh in all the right places at the farce on the stage.
“Sunshine?” The duke took her gloved hand in his. “Are you not diverted? Are you quite well?”
“Just thinking, Your Grace,” she said.
“About what?”
“I’m trying to make out your character.”
“Ah . . . That’s all right then. Proceed.” He smiled and squeezed her hand but did not relinquish it.
It was close on midnight when they arrived home, but after her aunt had ascended to find her bed, Elise asked Ruisdell if he would like a night cap. He admitted he would, and they adjourned to the navy sitting room.
“Bates,” she said, “Bring the whiskey decanter from the library, if you would, please.”
“Surely you don’t drink whiskey!” the duke said.
“Of course not! I will have him bring me a cup of tea.”
They seated themselves opposite each other on the facing sofas. Bates brought the whiskey and poured two fingers for the duke. “Soda, Your Grace?”
“Please.”
Elise ordered her tea and then, as the door shut behind the butler, said, “Now, Your Grace . . . uh, Peter, . . . about this indisposition of yours. I am afraid I do not at all believe that it was physical.”
“Oh? And why is that?” His voice was at its most haughty.
“I have thought back to our night at the opera. You left in a similar manner that night. We were discussing Joshua. And now I know he was your adjutant on the Peninsula. I assume my sudden introduction of him into the conversation struck an unpleasant chord in your memory.”
The pleasant, relaxed look on his face was replaced by a black glower. Swirling his whiskey in his glass, he looked into its depths. Finally, he said, “You are
right. The death of Sir Joshua made for the worst day of my life, as a matter of fact. We were intimates in a way that men seldom are. I credit him with that. His manner was confiding. He missed you, and it gave him great comfort to talk of you. In that way, he drew me out.”
“It was a blow, then, to be reminded of his death amid all that gaiety, then?”
“Yes, I must confess it was. I was no longer good company, so I left.”
Elise saw that his brow had become furrowed and the teasing air that had surrounded him all evening had fallen away. His normally bland expression had been replaced with one of hard-eyed anger.
Bates brought the tea. She was silent while she poured herself a cup and stirred in two sugars.
“That will be all, Miss?”
“Yes, Bates. We will manage from here. Good night.”
The butler left.
“Last night,” Elise said, after sipping her tea, “Robert brought up the war yet again. On that occasion your feelings were quite violent, I think. I shouldn’t wonder if you actually were ill because of them.”
The duke did not answer but stood and walked about the room. Finally, laying his arm across the mantle, he said, “I’m afraid I don’t want to talk about this, Elise. It is not good ton.”
“You must think of another excuse, Your Grace. When did you ever concern yourself with being good ton?”
“It is not a laughing matter, and you are very young. I would not let you see the reality of what I see in unguarded moments for any price. It was to counteract my reaction to that hideous view that your Joshua first began to divert me with stories of you.”
Smitten with remorse, she said, “I am sorry to have raised bad memories. Pray, forgive me. I was only trying to understand.”
“I think it’s time you went upstairs, Elise.”
She rose. The anger had disappeared, and the duke appeared to be sunk in gloom as he raised the decanter once more. He did not look up after pouring himself a generous splash of liquor, instead holding the glass in both hands as he appeared to study it, obviously seeing something else.
Contrite and not knowing how to redirect his thoughts, she walked quietly to him and standing on tip toes, pressed a single kiss on his cheek. Then she left him with his thoughts.
It was a long time before she was able to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IN WHICH HIS GRACE IS CHALLENGED YET AGAIN
While breakfasting alone the next morning, the three ladies having gone out shopping with their groom for protection, his grace was informed that the Earl of Waterford had called and was awaiting him in the navy sitting room. Telling Bates to inform his lordship that he was still at breakfast and would be with him presently, the duke poured himself another cup of coffee and cut into the sirloin in front of him. What a bore Waterford was! Why had not the Runners found the fellow yet?
I will do what I can to rid Elise of this dangerous fellow for good. It is past time that I left here and got back to my own pursuits.
Memories of the night before were still painful to him. He had come far too close to confiding in his pretended fiancée. She was exceedingly deft at divining the truths that he was at pains to conceal from the world. And that kiss she had given him—she pitied him! Never in his life had he been an object of pity. He was very glad she had taken herself off this morning with her equally perspicacious aunt.
All at once, unable to stomach the red meat before him, Ruisdell gulped down the coffee and went to deal with Robert, Earl of Waterford.
“Good morning, Waterford,” he greeted the man who was frowning out at the view from the window.
“Elise is not here,” the visitor said.
“No. I believe she is out shopping with her aunt. Buying her trousseau, you know.”
“She cannot marry you.”
“And why not?” the duke asked wearily.
“Because you will sully her. You are a profligate, a gambler, and a perishing Tory. What did you mean by giving me the cut direct at the Sumner ball?”
“If you have come here to seek an apology, you will not get it. What is more, I intend to marry Elise. It suits me to do so. For her part, she longs to be a duchess, you know. And she has said she will not mind my little affaires. I could not ask for a better wife!”
In a moment, Waterford was upon him, his hands about the duke’s throat, strangling him with his manic strength. Ruisdell brought his arms up between the earl’s and, using his superior skill, knocked him smartly on the chin and forced his arms away. Then he dealt him another hard blow with his fist, knocking his visitor to the floor.
“You will meet me for this!” Waterford said, getting to his feet.
“Gladly,” the duke answered. “My seconds will call on you this evening, if the Bow Street Runners don’t pick you up in the meantime. The magistrate set them onto you, you know, when you exited by the window. Where are you staying?”
“With the Red Breasts after me, do you think I would tell you? You hope to escape this duel. Our seconds can meet at the Green Lantern in Islington this evening. Pistols are agreeable to me. I am well known at Manton’s as a crack shot. We will meet at 5:30 a.m. tomorrow. First light.”
“And where is this agreeable event to take place?”
“Hounslow Heath. The clearing at the north end. And if Bow Street shows up at the meeting, I’ll take them out as well.”
“Sir, you are indeed intrepid. Or foolhardy. I expect the latter. I have just come home from the war, you know. And not to put too fine a point on it, I dispatched quite a number of Frenchmen.”
“Well, I ain’t French.” So saying, the earl exited.
The duke breathed a sigh of relief as he watched him leave. He was very glad Elise was not at home. He would dispatch the earl at 5:30 tomorrow morning, and that would be that.
Now, what? Since the earl had made his appearance, he did not think he would be back today. And he disliked the idea of spending such a fine June morning indoors. Going upstairs to his chamber, he changed into riding breeches, topcoat, and boots, not even bothering to call Richards to assist him. He wanted to be out of the house before Elise returned. His stallion, Jupiter, needed a long gallop, as did he. The road to Richmond beckoned.
As he rode, his superb animal taking the road beneath him at full gallop, he thought again of his conversation with Elise the night before. He knew she guessed at least part of the truth. But no one in this country, save the soldiers, really had any idea of what had transpired during the Peninsular fighting. He had a sudden longing he never could have anticipated for the field hospital where he had lain, recovering from the surgery that had removed the ball embedded in his shin bone. There had been a comradeship there that could not possibly exist anywhere else. The men occupying the cots on both sides of him had suffered amputations. Though dosed with laudanum, they still cried out amid nightmare memories of the dead men and horses that had been pulled off the top of them. There was nothing glorious about war. People here at home did not understand that.
But he had to give Elise credit. She had seen the suffering of the wounded foot soldiers who lay starving in the streets of the East End. She had very practically done something about it. And she had gone about it sensibly, too. She was truly relieving suffering. He supposed he ought to give Chessingden credit, as well, for rounding up the patrons for her project. However, the viscount puffed it off to his own political advantage. Lud, I can’t stomach the man. Even after her explanation, he still wondered how such a jewel of a woman could consider marrying such specimens as Waterford and Chessingden after someone like Beynon.
Arriving in Richmond, he circled the park at an easy canter. There were many groups of picnickers enjoying the sunny day with their hampers of food from Fortnum and Mason. Under an aged chestnut tree, he discovered George and pulled Jupiter up to the fencepost. No time like the present to get this duel business taken care of.
His friend sighted him and met him halfway on the velvety carpet of lawn. “Ruisdell.
Didn’t think you’d make it.”
“Oh, I didn’t know I’d been invited. I’ve been staying at Miss Edwards’s, you know. This Waterford business.”
“Thought you might have stayed away. Lady Marianne.”
“The devil! Well, I must talk to you, and then I’ll be off. Perhaps she won’t see me.”
His hope was vain. As he was discussing the details of his upcoming duel with Waterford, desiring George to meet with the earl’s second at the Green Lantern, a group of women in dampened gauzy muslin gowns tripped across the lawn towards him. He could see every detail of Marianne’s delectable body through the thin gauze. Memories of nights past rose in his own body, contrary to his will. Confound it!
They were giggling and whispering, and as he could have predicted, Marianne came straight to him and coyly slipped her hand through his arm, pressing her overflowing breasts against him with supreme confidence in her allure. “I thought you weren’t the marrying kind, hmmm? I had a nice chat with that schoolroom miss you’re engaged to, Ruisdell.”
He looked down into the mischievous face turned up to him. Her lips may have been smiling, but her eyes were hard and bright.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Clarendon urged him. “Tell us all about Miss Edwards. I wouldn’t call her a schoolroom miss, Marianne. It seems to me that she’s had several fiancés already.” A tall, willowy brunette, Katherine Clarendon was one of the ton’s great gossips and an intimate friend of Marianne.
Another friend, Miss Hermione Stokes, a plain girl with a vast inheritance, spoke up. “Yes. Just the other day she was engaged to that dreamy Viscount Chessingden! Did you cut him out, Your Grace?”
For Elise’s sake, he smiled. “Dear me, was that such a Herculean feat?”
“Well, he has a very good reputation,” Miss Clarendon said. “He’s excellent ton, whereas you, Your Grace, have just left our dear Marianne in the basket in the cruelest way!”
“We were never engaged,” he said. Looking down at the limpet on his arm, he asked, “Were we, dear lady?”
“Well,” she huffed. “Not precisely.”
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