The Duke Dilemma

by Shirley Marks

  Edward became acutely aware of just how close he had come to discovery. A few seconds later Augusta moved away with the butler trailing, closing the parlor doors behind them. Had Augusta also appropriated every available footman for her informal gathering?

  Climbing to the top of the stairs, he stepped into the first room off the landing. He turned the knob, slipped through the doorway, and shut the door, latching the mechanism in silence. Edward faced into the room, leaning back against the eight-paneled door. Dim afternoon daylight from the two windows illuminated the bedchamber belonging to Muriel.

  What on Earth was he doing? Was he actually hiding? This was his house. He was a duke. Had a small gathering of women frightened him off?

  Edward had no real knowledge how many delightful ladies occupied his front parlor. To be honest, he had no interest in discovering precisely how many. An escape to a safe place was what he needed. But where?

  He could not go to White’s Club. The mere sight of him dashing down St. James Street on foot might be cause for scandal.

  Was he truly contemplating running away?

  The whole concept was really too ridiculous.

  His gaze swung along Muriel’s shelved books, and when he reached Tragedies of Sophocles, he paused. A Greek text, not his youngest’s usual taste. To him it seemed out of place among her Roman tomes. Edward approached the shelf, laying his hat upon a table along the way. He pulled out the Greek book and allowed it to fall open in his hands.

  There before him lay a small iron key and a folded piece of paper. The paper contained a sketched map with a few notations. No doubt the key allowed the bearer admittance to the denoted destination. Seeing this as an immediate solution, he may as well make use of them now and puzzle out later why his daughter would be in possession of such items. Edward’s intuition told him it was an out-of-the-way place where there would be privacy. And it was exactly that which he sought now. He removed both and replaced the book.

  Edward slid the key into the pocket of his waistcoat, held onto the map, and carried his hat with him to the back stairs, exiting the house using the side door. He had never felt less like a privileged aristocrat and thought of himself as more of a dowdy common thief slinking out of a house after pinching items from his daughter’s room.

  The Duke set his hat upon his head and straightened. To appear less than his position would draw attention to him, which was the last thing he wanted. Edward consulted the map, double-checking the short distance he would be traveling, slipped it into the breast pocket of his many-caped greatcoat, and then continued on foot down the street, keeping in mind how odd it would appear if he should be seen.

  He followed the instructions, making a turn around the next block. The gate indicated on the map must lie just up ahead. He should come across it soon, in a few short—there it was.

  On his right, ivy crept over the wall, clinging to the stacked stone of the building’s exterior. Moving closer, he finally saw the portal, an old, solid iron gate, which the key in his possession must unlock. Edward drew the key from his waistcoat pocket and did not hesitate to unlock the gate and step inside, hopefully to find solitude.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Louise thought she heard the hinges of the iron gate creak. She straightened and pulled her scarf, tucking it securely across her face, in a hasty attempt to disguise her identity lest the lady of the house be discovered dressed in such an unseemly fashion. The task would have been simple if not for the added bulkiness of the gardening gloves.

  Stepping down the path that led to the street exit, Louise hoped to catch sight of her visitor. Someone she hoped was known to her. Then her concealment would be unnecessary. There, at the gate, stood a tall man in a many-caped greatcoat and a high-crowned beaver.

  “I beg your pardon. I did not mean to disturb you.” He removed his hat and inclined his head in a show of respect.

  A most handsome man with light-colored hair. Louise held tight to her pruning shears. Her other hand swept her apron-covered skirt aside. “May I ask your business here, sir?” His accent, the fineness of his coat and hat, all bespoke quality, but she did not know who he was to address him in any other manner than sir.

  “I have this”—he held up a small iron key she recognized at once, and drew a folded piece of paper from his pocket—“and this map which led me.”

  The key, of which there were few in existence, told her he had not forced his way into her garden. The map, perhaps, held a clue to who could have directed him.

  “May I see that?” She was reluctant to move any closer and kept a firm grip on her pruning shears in case she should need protection. Wary of his presence, Louise watched the stranger carefully.

  He stepped forward, unfolding the map, holding it out to her.

  She did not move near enough to accept the paper but only close enough to recognize her nephew’s handwriting. Her apprehension faded at the realization this man must have been acquainted with Sir Samuel Pruitt.

  “I admit I should not have arrived unannounced, and I have no right to intrude.” He replaced his hat and inched backward toward the gate but for all his effort did not make any real progress to remove himself from the premises.

  “Please, sir.” Louise wished to beg his pardon. If he was indeed known to her nephew, she could not turn him away. “I have no right to question you except—your presence was unexpected.”

  “I most sincerely apologize.” He laid his hand upon his waistcoat and inclined his head.

  “The townhouse has been closed for the Season. Only a small staff remains to oversee the property.” That much was true. There was no need to tell him more. “But you must be familiar with the family? You are in possession of a key.”

  “Yes, oh—the key!” He pulled it from his waistcoat. “Allow me to return it.” He placed it in her outstretched gloved hand.

  Something in his manner told her he was troubled. The stiffness of his posture or perhaps the crease that appeared between his eyebrows caused him to appear not as content as he would let on. Louise could not allow him to depart when he was so clearly ill at ease. She could not send him away if he, indeed, was in some sort of distress.

  “May I offer you some refreshment—tea, sir?”

  “Tea?” He hesitated before clearing his throat. “I do not wish to be an inconvenience—clearly I am disturbing your work.”

  “Think nothing of it. If you would care to sit on the terrace”—with the sweep of her arm she indicated the small table behind her—“I shall inform the kitchen staff at once.”

  “You are most kind.” He removed his hat once again, and stepping forward, he followed Louise toward the house and took a seat at the small garden table.

  She continued into the dining room, then headed to the servants’ staircase. “Betty!”

  “What is it, milady?”

  “Not so loud, please.” Louise glanced back over her shoulder to make certain her company had not heard. “Please have Dora bring some tea to the gentleman on the terrace.”

  “A gentleman?” Betty’s eyes grew round with alarm.

  “And the two of you are not to refer to me by my name or title, do you understand?”

  “Wots shall we calls you, then?”

  “I am…” Louise began, “…the gardener.”

  “The gardener?” The maid raised her eyebrows, apparently not entirely believing her mistress’s ruse. “Very well…ma’am. I’ll sees to the tea right now.”

  “Yes, that should suffice. Thank you.” A second thought occurred to Louise. “And Betty?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “You will refrain from calling the gentleman anything other than sir.” Louise would not admit the identity of the caller was a mystery to her as well. He was known to her nephew, and that was enough of a reason to treat him well.

  “Sir. If you say so, my—ma’am.” The maid frowned and shook her head. “In all my days, I never heard of such—”

  “Go on, Betty. Go on.” Louise shooe
d the maid, hurrying her along, and thought she’d best return to her company, who waited at the terrace table near her garden.

  It was a lie, an outright lie. Edward had not denied he knew the family who lived at the residence. With his not exactly truthful answer, he had led the gardener to believe he had been acquainted with them.

  What else could he have done? He shifted in the chair, feeling the irritation of guilt nibble at him. Edward could not give any honorable excuse for his actions. Was it not enough that he relinquished the key? It would bar him from any future unwelcomed access.

  The gardener, from what he saw, was not a young maid but a woman of some years, he decided. Exactly how old he could not say. He could not really see much of her. She was dressed in a plain drab frock with an apron that any servant might employ. She had pulled a cloth across the lower half of her face to protect her from the pollen, which must have made her eyes redden and water and caused her to sneeze. Edward had seen his own gardeners, afflicted with such ailments, mask the lower halves of their faces in a similar way.

  The lady gardener returned only a few minutes after she’d left him. “The maid will bring a tea tray, sir.”

  “Thank you.” In his idleness, Edward thrummed his fingers on the table. The woman had showed him every hospitality, a trait any employer would value in a servant, even in the family’s absence.

  “I’ll return to my work, if you don’t mind.” She barely looked at him when speaking. It almost seemed as if she did not wish him to notice her.

  “Not at all.” He acknowledged her need to return to her duties. Preventing her from completing her tasks would not be looked upon kindly by any employer.

  With pruning shears and pail in hand she bent to work, cleaning up the courtyard enclosure. It did not seem to the Duke there was much to do. Then he had to admit he really knew nothing of caring for plants.

  The tea tray soon made its entrance. The maid who carried it was even more quiet than the gardener and only replied to him after he spoke to her. She addressed him as sir.

  The gardener continued her work in silence, squatting low to the ground, tending to the plants while he sat sipping his tea. He wished he could put the staff at ease and tell them they really need not worry. This was the first and last time he would disturb their domestic habitat. Edward had no intention of ever returning. The sequence of odd circumstances that had led him here this day could not, in a million years, reoccur. However, today he needed to escape the unexpected strains of his life where he craved—no, required—solitude.

  Edward had to admit, despite the manner in which he came into possession of the key and map that led him to this inauspicious place and his awkward arrival, behind the iron gate of this modest townhouse he had found exactly what he needed.

  Many hours later Edward entered his own house, finding the previous unsettling disturbance that had reverberated within its walls absent. He dressed for that evening’s supper party, traveled in his crested carriage—alone—and arrived at the Kimball residence, home to Sir William and Lady Kimball, elder sister to Edward’s late wife, Sarah. Their youngest daughter, Constance, attended her second Season.

  Edward stretched his neck upward, adjusting the fit of his cravat and recalling the previous time he stepped foot inside the house, last year during Muriel’s Season. He entered the front parlor, where Augusta and Charlotte were already present, and stood with their cousin Constance, their uncle Sir William, and their aunts Mrs. Penelope Parker and Mary, Lady Kimball. Across the room, in pleasant conversation, were Frederick and Mrs. Frances Kimball, the wife of Sir William and Lady Kimball’s eldest son, Gerald.

  “There you are, Papa!” Charlotte waved to him. Augusta called for him to approach. The pair of them made, as always, an ever-lovely sight. Even though Muriel was absent, her presence seemed pervasive.

  Constance remained behind, joining her mother and Aunt Penny in their coze.

  “I have not seen you all day!” Augusta, in nearly a scold, said to him. “I thought you might return from your drive in the Park early enough to join us. You’ve disappointed many of my lady friends.”

  “Yes, well…I needed to call on a colleague,” he lied. The term lady friends nearly sent a shiver down his spine. How glad he was to have avoided that gathering. “I believe you were well occupied this afternoon. My presence could not have been missed.”

  “There were only a few ladies for my card party. I’m sure we could have found you a partner for a rubber or two.” Augusta giggled. “There was no need to be frightened away.”

  “Frightened?” Those ladies had sounded like a gaggle of geese from where the Duke had stood. A muffled gaggle, but he had heard them all the same. The truth was he had reached his limit for enduring female company for the day.

  “Delighted to see you again, Your Grace.” The Baronet shook Edward’s hand.

  “Sir William,” Edward greeted his brother-in-law. He inclined his head. “Lady Kimball, Mrs. Parker, Miss Kimball, you are all looking well.”

  “We are delighted you could attend this evening.” Mary, Lady Kimball, had the most delightful smile, a trait the sisters shared. Mrs. Parker bestowed hers upon him as well. “How good it is to see Your Grace again.”

  “Yes, he and Freddie met us last at Almack’s the other night,” Constance interjected.

  Edward returned to Mrs. Parker and said nothing regarding his niece’s comment. It was as if she had not said a word. “It has been quite a while, Mrs. Parker,” he said warmly. Edward was more than grateful to Sarah’s young widowed sister for stepping into his household to help raise his daughters. She’d now moved on to their nephew Gerald’s young family, helping with his three girls and two sons.

  Frances Kimball, Gerald’s wife, accompanied by Frederick, crossed the room to join the others and greet the Duke.

  “Good evening, Your Grace. We are waiting for my husband, then we may be seated,” Mrs. Kimball explained. “I cannot imagine what is delaying him. We arrived together near a half hour ago.”

  “I saw no sign of Gerald when I arrived.” Edward, who had gone directly from the foyer to the parlor, had been the last to enter. “I’m certain he will be along shortly.”

  “Father.” Frederick acknowledged Edward with a nod of his head.

  “I hope you are in better humor than I last saw you,” Edward murmured to his son. No one would have known Frederick had been involved in a terrific row earlier that day.

  “I am much improved, thank you.” Frederick’s fleeting smile told a different story.

  Men’s voices rose from the corridor. Gerald Kimball and another gentleman entered.

  “It’s been years, Gerald,” his friend went on with his discourse, unaware he now had an audience. “How can I be expected to—” He stopped, still clutching a letter in one hand, his hold on it rather desperate. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I did not mean to intrude.”

  “Gerald, this was to be a family supper,” Frances scolded her husband in a tone barely audible to Edward.

  “My dear,” Gerald replied in a soothing manner, “David merely attends me while we conclude our conversation.” He leaned in close to his wife to whisper, “It’s family matters that concern him. I’m sure you understand, don’t you?”

  Frances Kimball pulled a face, showing impatience with her spouse.

  “Nonsense, Mr. Cavanaugh.” Mrs. Parker stepped in. “It’s not as if you are a complete stranger. As Gerald’s very good friend and godfather to his two youngest, Lucy and young Davy, you must feel free to dine with us. I’m certain Lady Kimball will not mind in the least.”

  “Of course not.” Lady Kimball motioned him to approach and join their number. “You are most welcome to dine with us, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

  He stammered, looking a bit more troubled than when he entered. Confused or uncertain what he should do, Cavanaugh turned to Gerald for guidance.

  “Your Grace”—Mrs. Parker turned toward the man—“may I introduce Mr. David Cavanaugh? Mr. Cavanaugh,
this is the Duke of Faraday.”

  “How do you do, sir?” Edward sensed the man’s precarious state. Cavanaugh would squeeze the letter he held in two if he did not take care.

  “How do you do, Your Grace?” Cavanaugh bowed. “I am”—he cleared his throat—“tolerably well, Your Grace.”

  The smile his new acquaintance presented seemed, to the Duke, forced. If Edward had to guess, Mr. Cavanaugh presently had a difficulty of some sort, but it was not his place to inquire about such things. It was also obvious that Gerald was there to advise him. It was certainly not a matter in which Edward should involve himself. The two younger men would be able to sort things out.

  No doubt, if Mr. Cavanaugh’s crisis were at all similar to the Duke’s current difficulties, the problem would surely have something to do with a woman.

  “No port for me, thank you, Uncle.” Frederick stood soon after the women left the dining room at the end of dinner. “I must be off. There are a few young ladies I wish to pay attendance to before this night is out. I must make an appearance at the Forbes rout and then attend a musical party given by Lord and Lady Emerson.”

  “Oh, really?” Both Sir William’s eyebrows and tone rose in surprise. “Well, be off with you, lad, and good hunting.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Frederick bowed to him. “I shall see if my fortune bodes good or ill with the ladies. I bid a good evening to you gentlemen as well.” He inclined his head to Edward and Gerald before he exited.

  Sir William set his port glass on the table, stood, and motioned to one of the footmen to come to his aid. “Help me get out of this coat, will you?” The Baronet was near twenty in advance of Edward’s years and possessed twice the girth. He lamented, when he finally pulled free, “We’ve lost another compatriot this evening.”

  “You cannot blame Cavanaugh for refusing to dine with us; he had pressing business.” Gerald, the oldest son of the Baronet, was not of Freddie’s generation but a good decade older. He retrieved the final glass of port from the footman’s salver.