by Amelia Grey
“What can I do for you?” he asked, stepping aside so she could enter the room before him.
“The first thing I need to know is if you still wish me to be Miss Tweed’s chaperone and have her ready for her first party next week. I’ve decided that must be at Lady Windham’s house because she will have only the cream at her soirée.”
Did he want that?
“Yes, of course. My thoughts on that haven’t changed.”
And Lady Windham’s was the best choice because she had already reminded him that he owed her for not tattling on him last year when she saw him in a passionate embrace with Miss Barbara Camden. That could have been a disaster. Blake certainly hadn’t wanted to be forced to marry Miss Camden, whose kisses had left him feeling like he’d jumped into a cold river in the deep of winter.
“Then please tell me: how I can possibly get her ready in time if you are running off with her to ride in balloons or engage in some other mindless frivolity that will in no way enhance her qualities to make a suitable match?”
“I must say that I didn’t give a thought to the possibility you might need her today, Constance. She has been out with you every day for a week. If I had thought about it at all, I would have assumed the two of you had finished with whatever you needed to do. It’s Saturday.”
“Men!” she exclaimed in an exasperated voice. “As if we could do all that we needed to do in a week! You have no idea what goes into having dresses, gowns, and everything else properly made.”
Thankfully.
“Blake, we have to pick fabrics, styles, trimmings. Several women are working around the clock to get dresses, gowns, capes, gloves, and even unmentionables, made for Henrietta in time for Lady Windham’s ball next Thursday. Henrietta will need to be at fittings all next week, and probably much longer than that, to get all her clothing finished.”
“I leave all that up to you,” he said, becoming quite bored with the conversation and Constance’s harangue.
“Not only does she need to be fashionably clothed and coiffured, but I need to quiz her on manners to make sure she knows how to present herself and what to say and what not to say when she makes her debut in Society next week.”
“Is that necessary, Constance? She seems quite well mannered to me.”
“I need to make sure she knows that she can dance only once with a gentleman in any one evening no matter how charming he might be or how much he might engage her. I want to make sure she knows that you must approve anyone who asks to pay her a visit or take her to the park. I need to know—”
Blake held up his hand to silence her. “You’ve made your point, Constance. Do whatever you need to do.”
“I need you to not claim her attention.”
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you, Blake. You know some women in the ton absolutely live to find fault with young ladies, especially if they or their close friends have no connection to the young lady. And no one will have a connection to Henrietta, except you.”
“I am not without friends in the ton, Constance.”
“Of course you’re not.” She smiled. “And while you are extremely well liked, Your Grace, keep in mind that you have rejected all their daughters through the years and have remained a bachelor. In other words, you are considered a rake who has amused himself with their tender affections and broken their hearts. Take my word for it, these ladies will be looking for any slight imperfection in Henrietta and will pounce on the smallest detail. If I’m to be her chaperone, you must stand aside and allow me to work with her all day, every day, and into the evening, if necessary.”
Blake started to tell Constance that he didn’t like being reprimanded by his former lover but, at the last second, decided against the reprimand. He had, after all, asked for her help.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, as long as we understand each other.”
“We do.”
“Good. With your permission, I’ll go find Henrietta and we’ll get started on what we have left of the day.”
“Please, by all means, she’s yours.”
For now.
Eleven
My Dearest Grandson Lucien,
Read this splendid quote from Lord Chesterfield: “Never hold anybody by the button, or the hand, in order to be heard out; for if people are not willing to hear you, you had much better hold your tongue than them.” This one might possibly give you a smile, as well as the sage advice offered in these words.
Your loving Grandmother,
Lady Elder
AS SOON AS CONSTANCE LEFT THE ROOM, BLAKE walked over to his desk and sat down in his chair. The first thing he saw was the pile of mail and papers on his desk. It had gotten bigger since last night.
A lot bigger. What a nuisance.
Blake continued to stare at the messy desk and knew that Henrietta would not approve of the clutter. But why in the hell did he care what she thought? She was his ward, not his keeper.
Why in the bloody hell had he turned off his father’s secretary? Why had he not taken the time to find another? And why had it only started to bother him since Henrietta arrived? He had to make a priority of getting a secretary. Soon. Maybe Race or Morgan, or even Gibby, might know of someone.
In frustration, he swiped the jumble of envelopes, documents, and papers to one side of his desk with the back of his hand, sending two or three of them so near the edge that they fell off. He would deal with all that correspondence later. He didn’t have the patience for it right now. He had too many other things on his mind. Gibby’s plight and his own attraction to Henrietta were at the top of his list. Not that he could do anything about either one of them at present.
He was certain Mrs. Simple intended to get her hands on Gibby’s money—and quite possibly him, too. But did she want to abscond with it or actually pour it into a balloon business? Either way, the money would be lost.
He was baffled by the unexpected feelings he had for Henrietta. But why? He was a man; he was supposed to be attracted to beautiful, intelligent, desirable women. But, somehow, it just seemed wrong for him to want to bed his legal ward.
A shadow crossed his vision, and he looked up and saw his housekeeper standing in the doorway. He could only hope she hadn’t seen his little display of irritation with the mail.
“Yes, Mrs. Ellsworth?”
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” she said. “I was wondering if you’d be wanting something to eat. I can prepare a tray and bring it to you.”
“No, thank you, but please prepare a tray for Miss Tweed and take it up to her room right away. She’ll be leaving again soon.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I’ll see to it immediately,” she said and disappeared as quietly as she had arrived.
With the frame of mind Constance was in, she wouldn’t think about getting Henrietta anything to eat before she whisked her away to do whatever ladies did. Who would have thought being fitted for dresses would be such an ordeal? A man only had to be measured once, maybe twice, and then he was finished until his clothing was ready.
Blake leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. He remembered how soft and pliant Henrietta’s lips had been beneath his, and how lovely she looked in sleep.
“No,” he said aloud as he opened his eyes. She was his ward. He was her protector, and he would keep her safe from every man with improper intentions, including himself.
What he needed to do was get away for a few days and clear his mind. Maybe then he could look at his predicament with a fresher eye. Or maybe the easiest way to do that was to get another woman on his mind. He should go out tonight and dance, drink, and gamble until dawn and then find a woman to bed.
He had turned off his last mistress about three months ago. At least she would have been able to ease his frustration and calm the eagerness that raged in his loins every time Henrietta smiled at him. A number of young widows would welcome a rendezvous with him. Maybe he would make some inquiries at the parties tonight.
Blake sensed someone in the doorway again. He looked up and saw Ashby. Blake groaned silently.
What now?
Servants could be a hell of a bother. They constantly wanted to ask him something, tell him something, or do something for him. Sometimes, he wished he lived completely alone.
It was hell being a duke.
“Yes, Ashby. What can I do for you?”
“Sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but I thought you might want to see the cards of the gentlemen who called on you today.”
Ashby placed a silver tray in front of Blake.
Blake looked down at it. There must have been more than a dozen cards. Receiving one or two a day hadn’t been unusual since he became a duke, but why so many today? That was odd. He usually had half a dozen or so cards by the end of the week, mostly from members of Parliament—all wanting to know when he would take his rightful seat as the Duke of Blakewell and fulfill his political duties. Blake had not set a time to join the Parliament in any capacity—even if the duty and honor came with his title.
Rubbing his chin, he looked at Ashby and asked, “This many men stopped by to see me just today?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Blake was puzzled. “Have I forgotten anything important?”
“Not that I’m aware of, Your Grace, but I’m not privy to all your engagements.”
Blake pushed papers aside and moved things around until he found his appointment book. He had recorded several entries when he went through his mail a couple of days earlier. Only one looked interesting. He had made a note that Lady Houndslow was in Town. She had sent him a note saying she’d like him to pay her a visit.
He had forgotten about that invitation. The young widow had just finished her time of bereavement and was accepting visitors and invitations. He hadn’t seen her in over a year because she had decided to spend her mourning at her estate outside London. Maybe this was the perfect time to reacquaint himself with the voluptuous widow. She might be just the woman he needed to take his mind off the alluring Henrietta.
“Thank you, Ashby. I think I’ll make an unannounced visit to Lady Houndslow today. Make sure I have a bouquet of flowers to take with me.”
“I’ll have them ready and waiting for you at the front door.”
“Good. Add a basket of Cook’s plum tarts.” A plate of those sweets would melt any woman’s heart.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Ashby remained standing in front of Blake’s desk.
Blake asked, “Is that all?”
“No, Your Grace. Lord Raceworth and Lord Morgandale are here to see you. Should I send them in?”
By the saints! What next?
“Yes, of course, Ashby. Have them come in.”
The butler left and Blake fingered through the cards on the tray. What the devil were all these visits for? Some of the men he knew well, like the pretentious fop Lord Snellingly, and others were names he recognized, but he couldn’t say he knew the blokes. That was puzzling.
Blake rose from his chair as Race walked in with his usual swagger. Morgan was right behind him with his regal strut. Both cousins wore all the self-confidence of a mighty king. Mother Nature had blessed his kindred with splendid looks, easy charm, and more intelligence than they deserved. And just as their grandmother had instructed them from an early age, they never failed to take advantage of their good fortune.
“Don’t tell me you two have already found out all we need to know about Mrs. Simple and whoever in London has interest in balloons.”
“All right, we won’t tell you,” Race said with a smile. When Blake didn’t return his good humor, Race continued by sheepishly saying, “Sorry, not me. I haven’t done a thing yet to check on Mrs. Simple’s past, present, or future, but I do have an appointment to meet this afternoon with a man who will assist me.”
“I’ve done a little better,” Morgan said. “I have a man making discreet inquiries for me. I plan to meet with him later today to hear what he has to say. I’ll stop in some of the smaller clubs as well to see if there is any chatter about balloons.”
“I’ll get my solicitor to hire someone from Bow Street to make discreet inquires about Mrs. Simple and her past,” Race added.
Blake walked over to his side table and took the top off a crystal decanter. He didn’t have to ask his cousins if they wanted a drink. They always appreciated a glass of the expensive port he had shipped in from Portugal each year. His father had began that ritual years earlier when France wouldn’t export wine to England.
“If you have no information, why are you here?” He poured splashes of the wine fortified with brandy into three glasses and then replaced the decanter’s top.
“Do we need a reason to visit you?” Race asked.
“Usually,” Blake said, giving a glass to Morgan and one to Race.
“We wanted to see how it went for you this morning,” Morgan said.
“Yes,” Race added. “We were worried.”
Blake picked up his own glass and took a sip of the slightly sweet, yet strong wine. “There’s no need to worry about Gibby. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He loves the attention Mrs. Simple gives him. But you know, the more I think about Mrs. Simple, the more I believe she is serious about a business. I’m beginning to think she doesn’t want to take his money and run. I think she truly believes she can start a transportation business with balloons and get people, women mostly, to buy passage to travel from place to place.”
“Ah, Blake, thank you for telling us what you think of Mrs. Simple. I think we will have to wait for more information about her before we proceed. But what we really wanted to know was how well you fared when you went up in the balloon this morning.”
They tried to keep straight faces, but Morgan’s lips twitched from wanting to smile and Race’s lips puckered like a fish because he was trying so hard not to smile. They were both about to burst from holding in their laughter.
If they thought he was going to give them the satisfaction of details, they could think again. Blake’s lips were sealed about what happened on the balloon ride. He wasn’t telling them anything, especially that the bewitching Henrietta had gone with him.
Maybe Gibby was on to something by calling them Guardian Fools. Blake was beginning to feel like Race and Morgan were watching his every move.
“I was fine,” Blake said innocently and took another sip of the port.
Race and Morgan looked at each other.
“Are you sure? You’re still looking a bit pale to me, Cousin,” Morgan said, trying to goad him into saying more. “Yes. Your hair is still standing straight up on your head, and your hands look a bit shaky to me.”
It was not only hell being a duke; it was hell having two inquisitive cousins!
Blake raked his hand through his hair. He should have paid attention to it when he first got home. He forced himself to remain collected and calmly said, “It was bloody cold so high up in the sky, and the wind blew like the devil, but I’ve never witnessed a more beautiful sunrise. Wish you could have seen it and enjoyed the champagne with me. It has never tasted better than it did this morning.” Blake ended by giving them a crafty smile.
“Come now, you can’t blame us for worrying about you,” Morgan said.
“Worrying?”
What a laugh.
“Yes, considering how strange you acted the time you went up with us. Remember, you went ghastly white and felt like you were going to faint. Did you feel that way again?”
“Damnation, Race, what are you talking about? I have never felt faint in my entire life. I said I felt like I was falling. There is a big difference between that and feeling faint. Leave it to you to muddy the facts.”
“Oh,” Race said in a voice that let Blake know he didn’t believe a word of what he’d just heard.
“This time was better, much better,” Blake lied without compunction. Some times he just couldn’t be completely truthful with his cousins. “The devil take you both. You wer
en’t worried about me. You want to make fun of me.”
Race chuckled. “Of course we do. Can you blame us for wanting to have a go at you?”
“Yes,” he grumbled, and then immediately said, “No, of course not. I suppose I would do the same. But I’ve said all I’m going to say on the subject. Now, was there anything else you two Guardian Fools wanted? If not, I have a lot of work to do.”
“Guardian Fools, are we?” Race said with a huff. “What kind of name is that to call us?”
“Yes, Blake, if we didn’t look after you, tell us who would,” Morgan said with indignation.
Blake smiled and then laughed. He had said something very similar to Gibby when he had called the three cousins Guardian Fools.
“What’s so funny?” Race asked.
“Nothing that I want to discuss with the two of you,” Blake said and walked over and picked up the decanter and refilled all their glasses.
“Well, there was one other reason we came to see you this afternoon.”
“Or two,” Race added and then sipped his drink.
Blake knew something was up, but they were taking their own sweet time telling him about it.
“That’s right. One is that we were hoping to meet your ward,” Morgan said. He walked over to one of the wing-backed chairs and sat down.
“She’s all the rage,” Race said, taking the other chair. “You certainly know how to stir up gossip and set the scandal sheets on fire. I can’t remember there being such a furor over a new young lady coming to London as there has been with Miss Tweed.”
Blake leaned a hip against his desk and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. He could just imagine what the tittle-tattle must be among the ton. It was still a shock to him, too.
“I’m afraid that you won’t be able to meet her today. She’s with Constance doing whatever ladies do to get ready for balls.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to make us wait and meet her when everyone else does.”
“As a matter of fact, I hadn’t given it a thought at all, but I think I will make you wait, as that’s all you two devils deserve. Make your plans now to make Lady Windham’s first party next Thursday night. That is where Henrietta will make her debut.”