“Fortune has certainly favoured me this evening, Your Grace. There is no denying it.”
The gentlemen placed their wagers and, with a flourish, Lord Edward grinned and revealed his winning hand.
“I seem to be Fortune’s favoured player this evening. If this continues, no one will wish to try their luck. I shall be forced to play alone!”
The crowd laughed at the young Lord’s heartfelt sigh and weary complaint, yet the Duke had watched him most carefully and was strangely keen to suggest another hand.
“I am also fond of the gaming table and would wish to try my luck again. Perhaps for the sake of good sport, you would be willing to increase the wager?”
Lord Edward looked across the table and glanced down at the Duke’s finely-crafted leather purse.
“But of course, Your Grace. What would you suggest?”
“Your winnings. Let that be the wager on the next turn of the cards.”
Fitzhugh smiled and nodded graciously. “As Your Grace wishes.”
The Duke waved his hand at the other players.
“But let us not dilute the sport with these other players, who are, I believe, your friends?”
A brief flicker crossed Fitzhugh’s face before he quickly recovered his composure.
“Well, Your Grace, that would certainly make the game more interesting. Higher stakes and only two players. Very well.”
The other two players stood up, glancing at each other and moving away from the table, settling to watch from the side.
Lord Edward began to shuffle the deck.
“I believe it is my turn to deal, Fitzhugh.”
The Duke smiled as he extended his open hand across the table. Now there was a flush of colour around Lord Edward’s finely stitched and embroidered shirt collar. He hesitated and the Duke remained with his arm outstretched, smiling and unblinking.
Cordelia had joined Miss Millpost in the circle of onlookers and could not quite understand what was going on at the table.
Lord Edward seemed more ill at ease than she had ever seen him, and the Duke, by comparison, seemed completely relaxed.
“What’s happening?” she whispered to her companion.
“More than meets the eye,” the older lady replied.
The Duke accepted the pack of cards and began to shuffle them, slowly, carefully, methodically, never moving his gaze from the young man seated opposite him.
“Fitzhugh.” The Duke began to deal with a calm, deliberate placement of each card. “Why are you not serving with your father, the Earl, in Spain?”
The question took Lord Edward by surprise.
“Speak up. Why are you not serving with your father against the French?” The Duke’s voice had taken on a hard edge, but his calm handling of the cards never slowed.
“I am waiting to be summoned to the colours in due course, Your Grace.”
“Nonsense, sir. No summoning is required and well you know it. The purchase of a commission can be achieved speedily, and with no impediment for one such as you. Your place is alongside your brave and noble father who fights for King and country. Why are you not with him?”
The Duke placed the last card face down on the table and leaned forwards.
“I am waiting for your answer, Sir. Why are you not in Spain with your father, the Earl?”
“I did not come here to be harried and questioned, Your Grace.”
“You will answer my question, sir, or I will demand satisfaction with my sword. For I find myself offended by your unpatriotic attitude.”
The crowd of onlookers gasped and Cordelia put both hands to her mouth. She found herself torn – the Duke looked so powerful, so impressive, and she liked him, she did not wish to see these men fight. Lord Edward was all that she had thought of for months – she could not bear to see him harmed – and she felt quite certain that the Duke was more than capable of harming him in a duel.
“No,” she whispered, “not a duel. Not with my sweet Edward. That cannot be allowed.”
Lord Edward looked angry. “What will you have of me, Your Grace? I thought we had agreed to play a simple hand of cards and now you accuse me in front of these guests as if I were a common criminal. It is not right that you treat me so, Your Grace. It is not right!”
For the first time, his charming composure shattered - his voice rose and he was trembling.
“I have not, as yet, accused you of anything that would make you a common criminal – although, perhaps, that too could happen.”
The Duke shrugged and flipped over his cards to reveal an unbeatable hand.
“It appears that you have lost the game, young Fitzhugh, and I will have your coin and I will have the truth from you. One way or another.”
“Damn you, but I will show you who are trifling with!”
Lord Edward, eyes wild and an expression of desperation on his face, sprang from his seat and drew a narrow, wicked blade from his sleeve, knocking over the chair and preparing to lunge across the table at the Duke.
In that instant, a swinging blow to the back of his oiled and coiffured head, with a crystal decanter of Madeira, stunned the young aristocrat and sent him sprawling to the floor. Miss Millpost studied the glassware and declared that, happily indeed, it had not broken and, more importantly, not a single drop of the precious liquor had been spilt.
“Miss Millpost!” Cordelia wailed. “How could you? You struck Lord Edward. You could have killed him!”
“And what a tragic loss of a vain and strutting popinjay that would have made!” She turned to Cordelia and looked her squarely in the eye as she continued.
“He drew a blade and was intent upon mischief. He was fortunate that I am not a man, for if I were, the blow would surely have done far more than lay the oaf out senseless.”
“Madame, that was as fine and timely a blow as I have ever been privileged to observe.” The Duke bowed graciously towards Miss Millpost. “I am indebted to you for hastening to my aid. Have you considered enlisting in a regiment of Amazons and scaring the French half to death with your martial prowess?”
His voice was smooth, but an underlying edge of laughter accompanied his words, and his mouth twitched into an irrepressible smile. For the first time in her seventeen years, Cordelia swore that she saw Miss Millpost blush.
She almost appeared coy and coquettish in the face of the Duke’s compliments.
Turning to a pair of footmen who were stationed at the door, the Duke instructed them to detain young Fitzhugh in the cellar. And then he added that the Lord’s companions should be restrained too, on suspicion of less than honest dealings with the cards.
“By heaven but I will get to the bottom of this and learn the truth before morning.”
As the swirl of agitated gossip and speculation rolled through the room, the Duke calmly offered his arm to Lady Cordelia, and escorted her from the room.
~~~~~
Six large footmen escorted the dazed Lord Edward and his friends to the cellars, to await the decisions which would determine his future.
Baron Setford went to find Tillingford, and, after he had shown Tillingford the letter from his informant, they descended to the cellars, to await Rotherhithe before questioning the miscreants.
As the Duke escorted her from the drawing room, through the crowd of shocked, whispering, gossiping onlookers, Cordelia was in a state of total confusion. How could it be true? How could her sweet Edward have transformed so, before her eyes, into a hateful, knife wielding madman?
That moment had terrified her – the look in his eyes, his obvious intent to kill, or at least seriously harm, the Duke, was like nothing she had experienced before, except perhaps the day when, as a child, she had seen a rabid dog attack one of their grooms. She could never allow a man who could look, and behave like that to touch her. The very thought made her shiver in revulsion.
She clung to the Duke’s arm, his calm strength anchoring her as the storm of her emotions raged through her. Such a contrast, she realised vaguely – the Duke�
�s calm composure and Lord Edward’s mad behaviour. Stepping out of the room, her racing heart eased, and she was grateful to sink into a chair when they reached the library. The Duke closed the door behind them, and, once she was settled, fetched her a glass of brandy.
“You’ve had quite a shock my dear Lady, here, sip this slowly, and let it restore your sensibilities. Shall I fetch Miss Millpost? “
The first sip of brandy sent warmth swirling back into Cordelia’s body, and brought the world back into focus a little.
She realised that she was staring at the Duke, blankly, like an idiot. She took another sip.
“Miss Millpost? Perhaps… I am overset, I don’t know what to think.”
As the Duke turned towards the door, intent on finding Miss Millpost, it opened, and not only Miss Millpost, but Georgiana, and Mary, their maid, rushed in.
Georgiana took one look at her and rushed to her, wrapping her arms around her sister. Miss Millpost dextrously captured the glass of brandy as Georgiana’s heedless hug caused it to slip from Cordelia’s fingers.
“Delia, what happened? You look so white and scared!”
Georgiana’s question finally freed Cordelia from her half-frozen confusion, and a tear slid down her cheek. She hugged Georgiana tight to her.
“Oh Georgie, it was so terrible! Lord Edward turned out to be not nice at all! He seemed, in fact, quite mad! When the Duke asked him some questions he reacted like a bedlamite. He went so far as to draw a knife upon the Duke!”
Georgiana gasped, turning to look at the Duke, as if seeking evidence of knife holes in his person.
The Duke spoke gently, laughter in his voice.
“No, Lady Georgiana, he did not succeed in attacking me. My person remains quite whole. With, I must say, much thanks to Miss Millpost here, who efficiently knocked the young man unconscious with a fortuitously handy decanter of madeira, before he could actually reach me with the knife.”
Miss Millpost actually blushed, before Georgiana and Cordelia’s startled eyes. That was twice now – truly remarkable. Georgiana turned back to Cordelia, and, in the way of all siblings, could not resist stating her opinion.
“See, I knew he wasn’t worth all that fuss! I never did understand why you all thought he was so delightful, prancing about spouting poetry and waving that lace kerchief.” She shuddered in an over dramatised manner as she spoke. Cordelia sniffed, and her face crumpled a little. Georgiana was instantly contrite.
“Oh, Delia, I’m so sorry – you thought you loved him, didn’t you? It must hurt so much to know that he was a bad man after all.”
Cordelia nodded, hugging Georgiana again.
“Yes, Georgie, I thought I loved him. That is exactly the truth of it. I must have been blind to what he was truly like, taken in by all that flattery and poetry and the like. I feel like such a fool now. I don’t want it to be true that he is not at all a good man, but I cannot deny what I saw with my own eyes.”
The Duke watched quietly.
“About time you came to your senses, my Lady! I never liked the young fop. Always thought he was just too good to be true.”
Miss Millpost spoke with her usual firmness, and what was, unmistakably, a hint of self-satisfaction.
“Indeed, Miss Millpost, you were correct. And more correct than you knew. For, in addition to his unseemly attack on me, and his cowardly refusal to obey his father and take up arms for his country, it would seem that the young man has been cheating at cards, with the collusion of his friends, gulling half of the ton out of rather large sums of money for many months now. The cards he used tonight were marked.”
Cordelia covered her face with her hands at this last revelation. Now she felt more the fool than ever. She had watched, and enjoyed watching, a man conduct utterly dishonest play, and steal from others. She felt deeply ashamed at the thought.
It was so obvious now that Lord Edward had intentionally taken her in, from the start, gulling her as surely as he had been gulling those he played cards with. And for what purpose? There was but one she could think of – her dowry. It was so lowering to realise that he had not cared for her, as a person, at all, only for her money. The tears ran down her face, and Georgiana patted her hand, looking rather lost for what to do. Miss Millpost, pragmatic as ever, pushed the glass of brandy back into Cordelia’s hand.
“Drink that, my girl, you need it.”
She took it, and sipped obediently, her eyes meeting the Duke’s golden brown ones, so like the colour of the brandy, over the rim of the glass. She was, again, struck by his powerful, calm demeanour.
He was undeniably handsome, and everything about him was elegant, understated by comparison to most of the men she had met in London, yet somehow more. He made her, she realised, feel safe. That was a startling thought, for, in reality, she had rarely, if ever, before tonight’s incident, felt in danger, in her life. He smiled, and unbidden, her lips curved in response and her cheeks heated as she remembered the feel of his arm beneath her hand as he had escorted her from the room.
“I must leave you with your sister and Miss Millpost now, Lady Cordelia, and seek out your father. Young Fitzhugh’s fate must be decided. For we would see him punished for his transgressions, but not at the expense of his family’s honour. I wish you good rest, and I look forward to your company upon the morrow.” The Duke bowed over her hand, and left the room.
For some minutes, she simply sat, sipping the brandy, trying to truly take in all that had happened. Her grand Ball had certainly not turned out the way that she had expected! Oddly, the moments of the evening that stood out in her mind as wonderful, were all of those spent with the Duke of Rotherhithe. Even before Lord Edward’s shocking revelation of his true character, there had been no moment of true pleasure in his company, not since the kiss by the fireplace – a memory that now made her shudder – at her own childish foolishness, to be so taken in.
When she considered it all now, there was only one conclusion she could come to. Lord Edward was like a wayward boy, stubborn and selfish, caring for no one else. The Duke, however, was, she now understood, truly an honourable man, worthy of respect in all ways. Miss Millpost’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“Come Cordelia, let’s get you to your bed. You need to rest, if you are to look your best tomorrow. And you, Miss Georgiana, should have been abed hours ago. Mary – do take Miss Georgiana to her bed, and I’ll help Cordelia.”
Cordelia, a little unsteady after the substantial glass of brandy, was only too ready to comply. As they ascended the stairs, Miss Millpost had one more thing to say.
“And Cordelia, you must, absolutely, remember to thank the Duke tomorrow, for his assistance in all ways this evening. I think he will forgive you for most scandalously forgetting to do so just now, given your harrowing experience, but you must make sure to remedy your error in the morn.”
Cordelia simply nodded, allowed herself to be put to bed, and surprised herself by almost immediately falling asleep. To dream of brandy coloured eyes and being held in strong arms as she danced an endless waltz.
~~~~~
Whilst Cordelia fell into restorative sleep, the Duke joined Setford and Tillingford in the cellars, where Lord Edward and his young friends were being held under guard of six burly footmen. After a short discussion, it was agreed that Tillingford would return abovestairs and see to his guests, attempting to quiet the turmoil that the events in the card room had caused, and minimise the spread of gossip, whilst Setford and Rotherhithe questioned the young men.
The truth was far easier to discern than the Duke had expected.
Fitzhugh’s companions, afraid for their own reputations and allowances from their families, had readily admitted to their complicity in Fitzhugh’s schemes, which they had, to begin with, seen as just a bit of a lark.
As Setford’s informant had reported, the Earl had been outraged by his son’s reluctance to follow him into battle. The shame had cast a stain upon the Earl’s honour and, rather than publicly a
cknowledge the disgrace, he had simply cut the young Lord off without a penny until he found his courage and joined the colours.
In order to maintain his lifestyle, Fitzhugh had conspired with his companions to regulate the card games he played, with false dealing and a marked deck. The result was that he always appeared to be uncannily lucky when, in reality, he was cheating.
Rotherhithe had, with the warning provided by the letter from Setford’s informant, suspected as much, and easily, once looking for them, discovered the markings on the cards - thus allowing him to win, once he had taken control of dealing.
The Duke and Baron Setford felt honour bound to inform Fitzhugh’s father and brother, but elected to keep the affair private. Gossip might spread through the ton, but with no actual charges laid, the nobility would, as usual, close ranks to protect their own.
The boy would be shunned in society, but his family would be well regarded for dealing with him. And deal with him they must, and fast. Rotherhithe had some ideas on how to manage that.
At the very least, he had spared Tillingford’s lovely daughter the disgrace of marrying a cad and a coward. She was an enchantingly lovely girl and deserved far better than the sly and manipulative Fitzhugh.
The foolish young friends were released, after swearing an oath to discuss nothing of what had occurred, at the risk of having their father’s informed of their transgressions, should they fail to stand by that oath. Young Lord Edward was a more difficult case. Even while still somewhat dazed from Miss Millpost’s well placed blow, he was aggressive, arrogant and defiant, the reality of his selfish personality surfacing from under the polished surface he had previously displayed.
Eventually, though, the reality of his situation was impressed upon him. He could be charged, and sent to Newgate, with a fair chance that he would hang, or he could take up a commission that would be arranged for him, and follow his father to war. It was the choice between almost certain death, and less likely death. Should he survive the army, he could return home, with honour, and no-one the wiser about his foolish choices.
Being disinclined to die, he was wise enough to accept the course of action which his father had wanted all along. It had a dark and suitable irony to it. He was to be held in the cellars overnight, in case he took into his head any silly ideas of avoidance, and then on the morrow, Baron Setford would escort him, under guard, to his brother, arrange the commission, and see him onto a military ship. As Setford said – he might be lucky – the war seemed to be turning somewhat in their favour – perhaps he would not need to survive over there too long.
Enchanting the Duke: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 5) Page 6