The Brooding Duke of Danforth

by Christine Merrill

  He smiled. In a minute or two, this dance would end. He would be left in a perfect position to help without having to charge across the room like an idiot. Since he would be standing right in front of her, it would look quite natural to request that a patroness introduce him to a newcomer. He knew from experience that even the most stubborn tyrant would be silent in the presence of a peer. An acquaintance with a duke, even though the meeting was a brief one, would increase Miss Prescott’s worth in the eyes of the ton and assure that she never need be a wallflower again.

  Most importantly, she would remember him fondly when he called upon her later in the week.

  Another travelling step around the ladies brought him back into position to continue his eavesdropping. And for the first time, he heard her voice, a resonant alto that cut through the tirade like a honey-dipped knife. ‘Father?’

  The older man emitted a low growl of warning at the interruption.

  ‘Mother is about to cry. If you do not stop hectoring her immediately, I shall make a scene that all of London shall remember.’

  His partner nudged him until he remembered that one did not stop dead in the middle of a dance floor to listen in on strangers. He rushed the next steps to return for more.

  ‘A fit, perhaps. Or demonic possession. We shall be banned from more than Almack’s when I am finished. No man in England will want me.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Would you care to try me?’

  Benedict grinned as the pattern of the dance moved him away from the group again. She did not need his help after all. Abigail Prescott was better equipped than he had ever imagined to rescue the night and protect herself and her mother.

  Across the set, his partner smiled brilliantly back at him, convinced that he was smitten.

  Indeed, he was. The Duke of Danforth had found his Duchess.

  Chapter One

  Three months later...

  Abigail Prescott stood in the entry hall of Comstock Manor, staring down at the puddle of muddy water that had dripped from her skirts onto the immaculate marble floor. It was an excellent metaphor for her interactions with the peerage thus far. She could not seem to stop making a mess of them.

  And her mother could not seem to stop apologising on her behalf. ‘We cannot tell you how grateful we are for your assistance.’ Mrs Prescott’s hands fluttered nervously as she spoke and drops of rain water splashed from lace cuffs to baptise the little dog that sat at the Countess of Comstock’s feet. ‘If there had been any other choice...’

  ‘One cannot predict the weather,’ the Countess said with a shrug. She was a plain woman with a matter-of-fact manner. Though she was even younger than Abby, she had the serene composure of a woman twice her age and did not seem the least bit bothered to have a carriage full of wet strangers imposing on her hospitality.

  ‘But to arrive in your home with no introduction...’ her mother added, still pretending to be horrified that they had wandered into an earldom without an invitation.

  ‘Do not discompose yourself. Even if your carriage was undamaged, I would not have expected you to return to the village in this storm when my home was in sight.’

  The exaggeration was another example of the Countess’s generosity. The Manor was almost a mile from the spot on the main road where they had abandoned the brougham, leaning drunkenly on its broken springs. Since she and her mother had got thoroughly soaked during the trudge up the muddy drive to the house, it could have been no worse to walk back down the road to the nearest farm. But her mother had turned towards the luxury of the Manor like a needle to a lodestone and here they were.

  ‘We have interrupted your house party,’ her mama said, throwing a wistful glance towards the back of the house and the sound of laughter and conversation.

  ‘You cannot possibly continue your journey until your carriage has been repaired and the road cleared of fallen branches. That will not be possible until the storm has ended,’ the Countess replied. ‘In the meantime, there is ample space here for a few more guests.’

  It was probably true. Abby had got little more than a glimpse of the Manor as they had run towards it, bonnets dipped to the ground to protect against the driving rain. But it had seemed almost ridiculously large, with more wings and ells than could be filled by even the largest party.

  ‘If it is truly no bother...’ her mother said, all too eager to be persuaded.

  ‘I will send a servant to retrieve your luggage and a maid will show you to your rooms. However...’ The Countess paused. There was a faint smile playing about her lips as though what she was about to say would pay them back for any inconvenience they might have caused. ‘I feel it necessary to warn you that the Duke of Danforth is currently among my guests.’

  At this announcement, her mother’s composure failed and her lip trembled, signalling the beginning of a response that might be far too sincere and more embarrassing than her dripping apologies.

  Abby grabbed her hand and tugged sharply, pulling her away from the Countess before she could speak. She felt worse than her mother did about seeing the Duke again, but she was not about to break down in the entrance hall and display her emotions to the whole house. ‘Thank you for informing us. I will do my best to prevent any awkwardness.’

  ‘As will I.’ The Countess smiled. ‘As I said before, it is a very large house.’

  Not large enough.

  Abby had known that she would have to face the consequences of her actions eventually. But when the moment came, she’d assumed she would have had time to prepare for it. She had not expected that she would come upon him without warning and be unable to get away.

  ‘I will arrange the seating at the table accordingly. You need not speak, if you do not wish to. Or participate in any activities that might force proximity.’ The Countess gave an airy wave off her hand to indicate the insignificance of the problems. Then she grew serious. ‘But the other guests are likely to gossip.’

  Behind her, Mama gave a small yip of distress and the Countess’s lapdog whined in response.

  ‘There cannot possibly be more talk than there has already been,’ Abby said, reaching into her sleeve for the spare handkerchief she kept for her mother. She turned and offered it, and accompanied it with a warning look to remind the older woman that fussing over the situation only made it worse. Then she turned back to the Countess with a smile. ‘We will be fine. And again, we thank you for your help.’

  Lady Comstock nodded in return and reached for a nearby bell pull. ‘You will feel even better after a hot drink and some dry clothes. Dinner is at eight and I do not want you to miss it.’

  When the maid arrived to take them to their rooms, they were led up the main stairs, past the main wing of guest rooms and down a dimly lit centre hallway with threadbare carpet and faded wallpaper. Her mother cast a longing glance over her shoulder at the newer, nicer rooms in the front of the house.

  ‘I am sure these are lovely, as well,’ Abby whispered, not wanting to appear ungrateful in front of the servant.

  ‘It does not matter,’ her mother replied with a watery sigh. ‘We will not have the opportunity to compare accommodations with the other guests. Despite what the Countess said, we shall have to take all our meals in our room.’ The maid had opened the door of the first room and Mrs Prescott hovered in the doorway, fluttering in and out like a moth trapped in a chandelier.

  Abby walked in without hesitation and smiled at the maid. ‘The room is lovely. Please thank the Countess again for her generosity.’ The statement was true enough. Though it was clear that it was not in the first tier of accommodation, the linens had been recently aired and the blue silk on the walls and heavy damask curtains on the bed were free of stains or dust. She gave her mother what she hoped was a significant look. ‘And I assume you are right next door.’

  The older woman disappeared after the maid only to reap
pear a few moments later through an adjoining door. Before she could embarrass them again with her complaints, Abby glanced into the hall to make sure the maid had gone, then shut the door.

  Judging by the look her mother was giving her, she had decided against tears in favour of recrimination. ‘Have I not told you often enough that your past misbehaviour would come back to haunt us? Now, when a perfect opportunity to re-enter society has appeared, we have been relegated to the back of the house and kept far away from the rest of the guests like lepers.’

  Abby sighed and closed her eyes, trying not to imagine what might be in store for them when they went downstairs again. Just the thought of seeing the Duke again made her head ache. But that was the future and could not be predicted. Here and now, she must calm her mother or she would have two scenes to deal with instead of one.

  She opened her eyes again, then put on her most patient smile. ‘We have been given these rooms because the best ones have been given to people that Lady Comstock invited to her home. We would not be here at all if you had not ignored my request to return home when the weather worsened. You insisted that we must go on towards London. Now we are trapped and must make the best of it.’

  ‘And if you had not jilted the Duke of Danforth, we might have been invited here in the first place.’

  There was some truth to that. But if she had married the Duke like everyone had wanted her to, she’d have made everyone happy but herself. After years of keeping the peace by putting her own needs behind those of the family, Abby had not been able to manage it. ‘The Countess of Comstock seems prepared to forgive me on that account. Perhaps, some day, you will as well.’ She sat down at the dressing table, removed her soggy bonnet and began pulling out pins so she might properly dry her hair. ‘For now, I mean to do as she suggested and prepare for dinner. I have no intention of hiding in my room to avoid one man.’ Even if she wanted to, now that they were in the same house, she doubted she could prolong the inevitable meeting for more than a day or two. It would be easier to get it over with quickly.

  ‘Have you no shame at all?’

  ‘I have nothing to be ashamed of. I am not the one travelling about England with a mistress always in tow.’

  ‘Do not be ridiculous.’ Her mother tutted. ‘You could not possibly do so because you are a young lady.’

  Abby sighed again. ‘As usual, you are missing the point.’

  ‘I am ignoring it,’ her mother replied. ‘That is what a decent young girl would do, when given the opportunity to marry a man of such stature.’

  ‘Then I am sorry to be such a disappointment,’ Abby countered. ‘Despite all your efforts to the contrary, you have raised an abomination.’

  It was fortunate that she had not expected a denial after that proclamation, for none came. ‘I knew there were too many books in the house. But your father insisted you be educated. And now look at you.’

  Abigail smiled into the mirror. ‘Despite the rain, I do look quite well today, thank you.’

  ‘You know that is not what I meant.’ Now Mama was positively huffing with indignation.

  ‘I am what I am,’ Abby announced. Though, in her heart of hearts the fact frustrated her even more than it did her parents. Life would be so much easier if she were anyone else. ‘If I could not manage to ignore Danforth’s mistress before we were to be married, it would have been just as hard, after. I saved us all from future unhappiness.’ In truth, it had been nothing more than a brief reprieve. Despite her mother’s belief she was without shame, she had been far too embarrassed to question the Countess as to whether the Duke had come alone or brought Lady Beverly with him. Tonight, she might have to face her worst nightmare at dinner. She would have to share a table with the two people in England she had never wanted to see again. At the thought, her stomach clenched. Perhaps she could excuse herself early, for she doubted that she could eat a bite, feeling as she did.

  ‘I am more concerned with the past than the future. The least you could do is apologise to him for the trouble you have caused,’ her mother said with a note of pleading in her voice.

  ‘Since a lady has a right to change her mind, I have nothing to apologise for,’ she replied, ignoring the niggling fact that there had been many less embarrassing ways to call an end to the engagement. Instead, she had chosen to make a spectacle of him. She felt even worse knowing that she had earned any punishment society decided to inflict.

  Her mother deserved some small share as well for putting her in this situation, so she added, ‘I will endeavour to avoid him so as not to make things worse. And, since you were no doubt hoping when we barged in here that we might find me a husband, I will set my cap for the first fellow I see on the ground floor. Then Danforth can keep his mistress and I can keep house somewhere else. The whole matter will be settled by morning.’

  At this, her mother’s lip began to tremble, a signal that her brief show of courage was over. ‘Abigail Prescott, you will not flirt with a stranger under the nose of the man you spurned. If you humiliate me again, I do not know what I shall do.’

  She would probably cry, in public or private. If Abby was the cause of those tears, she would be no better than Father was. She rose and went to her mother, taking her hands and giving them a comforting squeeze. ‘I was jesting, Mama. It was cruel and I am sorry. While we are here, I shall be on my best behaviour. Since I refused to marry one total stranger, I promise you I will not be flirting with another.’

  ‘He was not a stranger. He was a duke. Everyone in England knows him,’ her mother said with a wail, still mourning the loss of Danforth. ‘What more did you need to know?’

  ‘What else could I possibly need to know but his title?’ she said with an ironic smile that was lost on her mother.

  There were myriad answers to that question. His favourite colour. Whether he preferred coffee or tea with breakfast. If he had a dog. There were a hundred things she wished to know about him that she had not learned. The most important of them was what had motivated him to offer for her in the first place.

  She pushed them all to the back of her mind and tried to give her mother a sincere smile of encouragement. ‘Since he was not particularly interested in me during our engagement and has made no effort to speak with me after, I doubt he will want to acknowledge my existence, much less trail me around the house interfering in my doings. I am sure we will both feel better if I ring for a maid to get us out of our wet clothes and changed for dinner. Then we will go downstairs and meet the other guests, and I will prove to you that things will not be as terrible as you fear.’

  Chapter Two

  Benedict stood patiently in the finest guestroom of Comstock Manor as his valet dressed him for dinner. When he’d arrived, the Earl had told him that it was a former repose for King Henry VIII.

  He had seen better.

  Until recently, Comstock had been an American. It was quite possible that he knew little to nothing about the house or its previous guests and had made the story up out of whole cloth. Still, it was comfortable enough. The mattress was not a Tudor antique and he slept well on it.

  ‘Chin up, Your Grace.’

  He obliged as Gibbs flipped the linen cravat about his neck and began the knot.

  There was a single knock on the door and, as usual, it opened and closed before he could even give his permission for entrance. He watched in the mirror before him as Lenore crossed the room to sprawl among the pillows on his bed.

  ‘You should not be here,’ he reminded her with a sigh. ‘Especially not during the day when anyone might notice.’

  In response, she laughed in the deep, throaty way that made heads turn and breeches tighten. After twenty-two years of exposure, he had developed some immunity to it. ‘Might notice? Darling, I made sure that they did. I would much rather that people think I am with you than that they realise what I really get up to on these trips. I doubt some of them could s
tand the shock.’

  Despite himself, he laughed. The movement of his head earned an annoyed grunt from Gibbs, who tossed away the spoiled neckcloth and went to the wardrobe for a replacement.

  He took advantage of the respite to turn from the mirror and address her directly. ‘You know that I would never deny sanctuary to a lady in distress, especially when she is my best and oldest friend. But some day, it might be interesting to go on a trip where I do not have to be the last bulwark between you and disgrace.’

  She answered with a shrug and a smile, and, as usual, no promise to change in the slightest.

  ‘Do I want to know who you have been visiting when you are pretending to be with me?’

  She shook her head. ‘It is better that you do not. But my liaison will pale in comparison with the scandal about to break at supper tonight.’

  ‘Do tell,’ he said, taking care not to move as Gibbs began the new knot.

  ‘The weather today is as bad as it was yesterday, which is to say, only a bit better than last night,’ she said. ‘We shall all be trapped inside until the storm breaks and that could take days.’

  ‘I am aware of the fact. The room has windows.’ He flicked a glance to the panes which were currently rattling in their frames under pea-sized hail.

  ‘But today, there have been some surprise additions to the party. A fallen tree in the road caused a carriage accident. The travellers are sheltering here until the weather turns and the vehicle can be repaired.’

  He turned to glance over his shoulder, receiving a sigh of frustration from the valet, who tossed the second spoiled cloth aside and picked up another.

  ‘Since this is not my house, I have no say in the matter. I am told there are forty rooms. It should not matter at all if a few more people come here.’

  ‘The stranded guests are Mrs Prescott and her daughter.’