The Duke Dilemma

by Shirley Marks

  “Ladies, I beg of you!” Lord Rutherford called out to his female relatives. “If you will do His Grace the honor of ceasing your incessant tittle-tattle and trespassing upon his nerves, I am certain he will thank you very much.”

  “It is your nerves, Papa, not the Duke’s, which protest against our conversation,” Mrs. Jeffries replied in a sympathetic and understanding manner.

  “Why is it Grandpapa always complains when we have things we wish to discuss?” the young Miss Jeffries inquired of her mother and grandmother.

  “Because, my dear gel,” Rutherford replied, in that tone of ultimate tolerance Edward knew so well, “it consists less of substance and more of giggling nonsense. How, I ask you, can you discuss any topic with silly-sounding rubbish?”

  Lady Rutherford stifled her laughter then shushed her daughter and granddaughter. “Very well, my lord, we shall remove to the small parlor and leave you gentlemen to your leisure.” She raised her imperious hand, motioning to the footman behind her, who stepped forward to draw back her chair upon her rising. Two other footmen followed, one behind each of the ladies.

  Edward placed his napkin on the table and stood when the three females rose to leave.

  The Viscountess smiled at the Duke, and she nodded her head, acknowledging his gesture. Mrs. Jeffries and Miss Jeffries followed their elder relative’s example, bestowing upon him smiles with slight inclines of their heads, displaying a remarkable restoration of decorum. The audible soft rustle of their skirts at their exit was a sound Edward had not heard in a very long time, and the memory caused him to smile.

  “You need not hold on such formal behavior here,” Rutherford blustered. “Let us take our port in the library, shall we? I fear that they shall change their minds, find some nonsensical excuse to return, and intrude upon us again.”

  “I hardly think that likely.” Edward moved away from the table and waited for his host to stand. “I don’t find their presence at all disturbing. However, if you insist, I await you to lead the way, sir.”

  It took Rutherford some moments to get to his feet, groaning all the way. He was at least ten years above Edward’s age but had never seemed perceivably older. Walter Rutherford’s hair, what little he had left of it, was gray. He’d grown rounder around the middle, and his added plumpness smoothed out his once-wrinkled face. How time had passed so quickly.

  Edward trailed behind the Viscount out the dining room, down the corridor, until they passed through the open heavy-paneled double-door archway to the library. Two adjacent walls held books from floor to ceiling. A large window, presently behind heavy, dark-colored drapes, occupied the third side. On the remaining wall was a blazing fireplace, surrounded by a carved marble chimneypiece and prepared for the Viscount’s comfort, where he would spend the remainder of the evening.

  Rutherford motioned to the closer of the two leather chairs facing the hearth and prepared to ease into the far one, partially facing the door. His hands gripped the large, rolled arms, and a subsequent groan followed him during his descent into the seat.

  “What a day we’ve had, eh?” Rutherford leaned his head back, resting it on the high back of the chair.

  Edward occupied his chair with far less fanfare. This was the place where he usually sat when they removed to this room. He found no reason to complain. The furniture and the surroundings were more than satisfactorily comfortable.

  “Every day it’s another argument, or two or ten, for repealing the Corn Laws,” the Viscount continued. “Then half as many more for its retention.”

  “I beg that you do not speak of it.” Edward raised his hand to stay further commentary. “That is a topic which, I am sorry to say, I desperately wish to avoid. However, when I am out and about Town, I cannot escape its inevitable effects.”

  “Lawks! The poor are getting poorer. It’s enough to give anyone an apoplexy.” Rutherford’s eyes widened upon the entrance of a footman with a tray laden with a bottle and two glasses. “Ah! Our salvation arrives just in time.” He motioned for the servant to approach. “Bring it here, lad. Lower, James.”

  The footman dropped to one knee and held the tray in the space between the two chairs, and the gentlemen took possession of their port glasses.

  “I had a surprise just before I came.” Edward gazed at his host over the rim of his glass before sampling the port. “My son’s arrived.”

  “Gad! That means my sons are in Town as well. They haven’t made their presence known to me yet. The lads are always up to some sort of mischief. I would never think to blame your boy, Duke. Is Brent staying with you? My boys don’t darken my door. They’d rather spend my money lodging in Clarendon or Limmer’s. They’re an ungrateful lot!”

  “How can you say such a thing about your own sons?”

  “Bah! Not a decent one among them, I say.” Rutherford took a long drink. “So tell me, how goes Brent?”

  “He is coming along remarkably well. Canceled his Grand Tour and plans to remain in Town.” There was no ill news to be had when it came to Edward’s son. “We have the whole of Worth House at our disposal without his sisters or Mrs. Parker. It’s the first time, you know.”

  “Ah, the blessings of the female-free residence.” Rutherford held up his glass, toasting the sentiment. “My sons find the confines of the familial pile…restricting.”

  “I welcome all my family. We get along quite well.” Again, there was no disagreeable news to impart.

  Rutherford’s gaze slid sideways to regard his friend. “I do not hold the odd notions of your family against you.”

  Edward laughed. “I must admit my children and I have an unconventional relationship, but I find it most amicable.”

  “Gad, Faraday, you’re a duke—the tykes should fear you!” Rutherford commented with gusto, then softened his discourse. “But they don’t, do they? I suppose that’s what happens when you don’t have their mother around to keep them at bay. You all have become far too familiar for my comfort.”

  “They had their aunt Penny.” His wife’s younger sister provided a female influence, but she was not, in any way, their mother.

  “Ah, yes, the affable Mrs. Parker, and she’s done an admirable job in raising them.”

  Edward had to agree. Their aunt had been an excellent influence in the absence of their mother, Sarah. There had been some concern as to her age when Mrs. Penelope Parker first arrived, as she was not much older than Augusta. But she had been recently widowed with no household to manage and Edward had lost the mother of his children. The relatives needed to draw nearer, to help one another and to become a whole family.

  “Well, what’s Brent up to? Playing the horses? Frequenting Jackson’s? Chasing the opera singers? I’ll be dashed if he can’t get exactly what he wants, whatever it is—heir to a dukedom, you know. It makes people sit up and take notice of him.”

  “Yes, I do know,” Edward remarked, and that was exactly what concerned him over the years. Frederick could easily tumble into trouble because of his future prospects. “Actually he dropped in on me this morning and informed me that he is ready to marry.”

  Rutherford choked on his port and sputtered to catch his breath.

  “Are you all right?” Edward lowered his glass to the side table, readying to rush to his friend’s side and pound him on the back if needed.

  “A w-wife?” The Viscount gestured for his guest to remain seated. “At his age? I don’t believe it—never heard such gammon! Impossible!”

  Seeing that his host had recovered, Edward eased back into his chair. “I must confess I had my doubts. As far as I can tell, he seems to be serious about this.”

  “But to contemplate marriage? He is not yet twenty, is he? No, can’t be. He’s the same age as Trevor.”

  “He reminded me that I had wed at his age.”

  “For you it was a necessity—last of the line, that sort of thing. There’s no danger of it in his case. Brent’s got plenty of sisters and lots of nieces and nevvies.” Rutherford narrowed
his eyes, seeming to give the idea some thought. “The girls don’t matter so much, but I wish my boys would consider dancing attendance at the petticoat line. Not so much the younger two, but the oldest, Arthur, is past thirty. Wish he’d get on with the nuptial bit. I’d like to see an heir and the spare before I turn my toes up.” The Viscount crossed his legs, placing his right ankle on his left knee. “It’ll be an age before he gets around to it, maybe two.”

  “I’m not about to dissuade Frederick, mind, and he’s smart enough not to rush things. He told me that he merely wished to begin by perusing the available young ladies and see if there was someone who might interest him.”

  “Gad, I can hardly believe it.” Rutherford’s mouth went slack. “He’s every future mother-in-law’s dream, and I’ll wager every young lady’s ideal catch. You’ll have the females swarming all over when it’s known young Brent’s ready to wed.”

  “It remains to be seen how serious Frederick is about finding a bride. If beauty is paramount, one need only look about a room for an answer, it will be obvious. However, it would not come as a shock if he should prove a bit more particular. A lady one accompanies to the theater or takes for a drive in the Park might not be the type of lady one chooses to wed.”

  “That’s a lesson my own sons best learn, doubt it though. Looks ain’t everything!” Rutherford acknowledged the notion like a man who knew it well and had learned it from experience.

  “That’s what comes of growing up with three sisters with great beauty and varying temperaments.” The more Edward thought about his son’s decision, the better he liked it. If his youngest, Muriel, could see her way to the altar, what’s to say his son, who had always seemed far more reasonable, could not make the same very sensible decision?

  “Any chance Brent can pass that bit of wisdom on to my lads?” His lordship leaned heavily on one arm of the chair toward Edward. “Look here, Faraday, you’ve got to know when to count your blessings. And I say this is one of them, because you, my friend, have always been very lucky. Very lucky!”

  “I am grateful.” And it would be a pleasure for him to accompany his son and heir, who was now marriage minded, on a perusal about Town. “You know, Walter? I believe you’re correct. Here’s to Frederick’s success.” Edward looked up from the fire and raised his glass to his friend.

  Lord Rutherford gave a hearty laugh, held his glass high in the air, and joined the toast.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Edward had finished his morning toilette. His valet stood by, waiting to help the Duke don his forest-green double-breasted jacket, the final step that would complete the ritual.

  “Sturgis, is the Earl awake?” Edward’s hopes were not high that he might have a word with his son before leaving for Parliament.

  “Not likely, Your Grace. I expect his lordship is still abed.” Sturgis smoothed the material across the shoulders, making certain the fit of His Grace’s garment was indeed precise and it remained free of wrinkles.

  “I’m sure that is to be expected.” Edward suspected his son’s old ways might not have deserted him completely. Had he supposed an immediate change overnight? A transformation in a week or a fortnight would have been astonishing. As well-intentioned as Frederick’s goals were, old habits were difficult to set aside. “In any case, I give you warning that we both shall be attending Almack’s tomorrow night.”

  “Very good, sir.” Apparently the news did not fluster the valet in the least.

  “You might as well ready all my evening wear. I expect this Season will be full of social festivities and entertainments with the Earl.” Edward glanced down to his trousers, secretly dreading the change to knee breeches, stockings, and dancing pumps.

  “I shall make preparations. I imagine you will be attending the opera tonight and Almack’s tomorrow?”

  Edward met his valet’s gaze in the reflection of the glass. “You’ve learned a bit more than caring for a gentleman’s wardrobe from Sir Philip, I see.”

  Thomas Sturgis had once been a lad performing odd jobs around Bloxwich. Through a fortuitous opportunity, he was able to learn his current craft from a patient baronet who trained him. The boy had abandoned his sporadic rural village existence to take advantage of his newly learned skill for an out-of-reach employment as valet. When young Thomas opted to remain in Town instead of following his mentor to his country seat in Cornwall, the Duke happily took on the apprentice valet as his own man. Edward’s previous valet, Brooks, after serving His Grace for many years, had wanted to retire and wished to be pensioned off.

  “I do try my best to notice what goes on around my employer and the household, Your Grace.”

  “Your attention to detail is appreciated, even when it goes beyond care of my, and my son’s, wardrobe.” Edward kept watch on his young valet, studying the reflection of his face in the mirror. “I think you should know the Earl of Brent intends to find a wife.”

  “Does he?” The valet’s countenance did little to convey what he felt. He stood tall and well dressed before Edward. The country-bred youth had completely transformed in speech and manner from only a few years earlier.

  Edward could not help but smile in reminiscence at the thought of young Thomas and Frederick a very long time ago when they were playmates in the village. “Does it surprise you, Sturgis?”

  “Well, yes, sir.” A gentle smile softened the valet’s usual impassive facade. “I must confess it does.”

  “We’re planning on daily rides, mornings and/or afternoons, I do not know which. I am not certain when to expect that to begin. I suppose it depends if he’s bought a horse.”

  “I believe he has, Your Grace.” Sturgis paused. However, his attention did not stray from the Duke’s wardrobe. “A chestnut gelding arrived this morning.”

  “That would be Lord Fieldstone’s Champion.” Edward hadn’t planned on losing his afternoons this quickly. “We’d both best plan for a trip to the Park as soon as today.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace,” the valet intoned with a slight inclination of his head, acknowledging the instruction.

  “I cannot rid myself of the suspicion that this Season will be such as none other. I do not know how we are to prepare for it.” Edward still found it difficult to accept Frederick’s sudden aim to find a bride.

  “Last Season was not uneventful, and we managed to persevere.” Sturgis reminded the Duke of his previous summer with his youngest daughter, Muriel. Edward had only discovered his valet coming to the aid of Frederick, who was in desperate need of a proper suit of clothes for Muriel’s intended, who had been abducted after the fact.

  “True. However, I have the feeling that at Season’s end we shall have experienced something quite more unusual than the preceding years.” All his daughters were married, and if they should prove problematic, they were now the responsibility of their husbands. Edward could wash his hands of them, almost. No matter their marital status he remained their father and would always care for their well-being.

  “Of course your son’s choice of bride is very important to you.” Sturgis stood and plucked at the Duke’s cravat, straightening the small imperfections.

  “I hadn’t thought so, but his marriage does ensure the line of succession. We shall see what comes of our efforts.” Edward need not have checked the full-length pier glass. He knew Sturgis would not have allowed him to step out of his bedchamber unless he appeared “well turned out befitting his station.” “I thank you, Sturgis. Today may be the start of a whirlwind of social engagements. For the present I am off to Parliament.”

  The afternoon was still early when the coach had passed the last tollbooth into London. Dowager Baroness Louise Vernon had not stayed in Somerset long. Louise had thought they would remain until September with her elder sister, Elizabeth, and her husband, Sir Giles Pitney.

  Louise could not say when the notion first struck her that there was something quite peculiar about the weather this year. When spring had turned to summer, the days did not warm as they norma
lly did. When June arrived, Sir Giles began to complain of his rheumatism almost as if the cold months of winter had never ended. The Baronet decided he needed to remove to Bath and take the waters for the remainder of the summer or until his health improved.

  It had taken Elizabeth years to convince her younger, widowed sister to visit her in Somerset. What finally persuaded Louise to accept the invitation were the estate gardens. To spend months with her sister at Pitney Park was more than acceptable, especially if she were to remain outdoors. There was nothing better than tending a garden filled with blooms for hours on end. The rewards were endless: lovely trailing vines, glorious flowers in various colors, and wonderful scents that perfumed the air. Although her own garden was confined to a small courtyard, she adored every inch that lay behind her London townhouse.

  When her brother-in-law, Sir Giles, made his pronouncement to leave the chill of Somerset, Louise did not care to take the additional fifty-mile trek to Bath. She decided she might as well be in London. So back to Town she went.

  It was nearly another hour before the coach containing Lady Vernon and her lady’s maid, Miss Rebecca Blake, finally rounded the corner, rolling past the narrow, ivy-covered iron gate garden entrance to Louise’s home.

  “We are nearly home, my lady.” Rebecca moved from the window, mirroring the relief Louise felt at the approach of their travel’s end.

  The coach came to a stop. Louise could see the front of her townhouse. It was all she could do not to push her way out of the confines of the interior toward the freedom of the street. The footman who sat next to the driver climbed down from the box, headed up the walkway to the front door, and in the absence of the knocker, pounded on the door with his fist. In the many seconds he stood waiting, it was clear there would be no answer.

  “We did not completely close up the house, did we, Becca? However, it appears no one remains.” Louise had not thought of this outcome. The drapes were drawn, but the shutters stood open giving every indication someone might still reside within. “What can we do?”