Always the Chaperone

by Murdoch, Emily E K

  He shifted in his chair uncomfortably and was in half a mind to tell the gentleman with the beard that if he had a problem, he should say it rather than swallow it because of society’s rules.

  But no, he was a duke, and he had to act like it. Whether he wanted to or not.

  “Well, I shall argue with you no more on the point,” John hiccupped, putting his glass down. “I suppose it is unseemly for me to bicker with the head of my family. I just…I wish Honora was around to see us.”

  Something painful flamed in William’s heart as though he had been punched.

  Three years. Had it been that long? Yes, years had passed since he had last seen her. She could be out there in the world, hurt, worried, lost, believing he did not care about her. That she did not matter. That he had forgotten about her.

  William’s hands balled into fists, and a savage anger overtook him. He would burn the world down if it would bring Honora back.

  “We will find her,” John’s words were quiet, but they interrupted William’s thoughts as if they had been shouted.

  “And what are we doing about it, Gloucester? Sitting here, the two of us, in our fancy gentleman’s club, drinking port.”

  “That is not true,” said John fiercely. “You know what we have done, what we have had others do on our behalf. Think of all the advertisements we have put out, the reports we have made and sent up and down the country. Think of the money and bribes we have spent gaining information, asking anyone and everyone who could have an inkling about where she is. I do believe we are doing all we can.”

  William shrugged, pain behind his eyes that threatened to become tears. “If it was enough, we would have found her.”

  What more could they do? There were few avenues they had not explored, and although money made people talk, it could not solve everything.

  No one had seen their sister in three years.

  “—don’t you think?”

  William blinked at John. “What?”

  His brother laughed. “Christ alive, Mercia, I do not know what has got into you lately! I said I was sorry for keeping Miss Darby to myself at the opera. To tell the truth, I would not have pursued her if I did not believe she returned my affections. I should have discussed the matter with you first.”

  William shrugged. Truth be told, he had not given a single thought to Miss Darby since he had reached out and helped Lady Charlotte descend from her carriage. At that moment, all thought of the young chit still waiting in the carriage had been utterly driven from his mind.

  Lady Charlotte. A puzzle. There was something about her, mysterious and whimsical, with a maturity and grace that drew him unlike any of the things fluttering fans or eyelashes.

  Miss Darby? John could have her. It was Lady Charlotte he wanted to know better. She kept him awake at night. He wanted to touch her, kiss her…

  William swallowed. It would not do to get carried away. Lady Charlotte was the daughter and sister of a duke, and unlike him, she had been raised with the knowledge of her place in society.

  “Have Miss Darby,” he said nonchalantly with a grin. “I have been introduced to more pretty young chits than I can count. You are more than welcome to my leftovers!”

  John punched him good-naturedly on the arm. “Now then, William, I have no need of your leftovers! You may be the greatest womanizer of the Forty Sixths, but you have lost your touch since you left the regiment.”

  A lazy smile crept over William’s face. “That was years ago, John, and I do not believe greatest is a term I appreciate, nor womanizer!”

  “There was not a single woman in Nice who had not received some sort of affection from the dashing major,” John laughed. “And most of them were hanging off your every word by the time you left. The tears, my God, I have heard tales of the weeping caused by the news you would be leaving them!”

  It had certainly been surprising just how many women had been affected by his regiment’s orders to return to England. William had been more than a little sorry to say goodbye to Marie, a woman he had spent time with.

  “All that is past me,” he said. “I am a duke now, and that requires a little more sense when deciding where to rest my head.”

  A grin from John was enough to make William realize how his words could be interpreted.

  “You know what I mean! Besides, ladies talk here in England. You can hardly look at one without someone assuming you have professed your undying love to her, and I have no wish for the Mrs. Bryants of the world to write missives to me about my behavior.”

  “I have never seen so many eager beauties in one place,” John said heartily. “I shall have to start being more careful and discrete. We can’t have the heir to the dukedom acting in such a wild manner. No more seducing women or visiting houses of ill-repute for me!”

  He chuckled, draining the bottle of port into his glass and throwing the contents into his mouth.

  William grinned wryly. “That behavior is now expected of me. Dukes are meant to have mistresses, aren’t they, one in each city, and one stowed away at home! As long as I marry and have plenty of sons to carry on the family name, it does not matter.”

  “Well, there is no need to hurry,” John said in a mock-serious tone, placing his empty glass on the table. “I am sure, given time, Miss Darby can give me plenty!”

  The two brothers guffawed and received several frowns from gentlemen around the room, but that did nothing to quell their merriment.

  William called out to the waiter standing quietly by the door. “Another bottle here, my man!”

  There was an appraising glance and then a nod from the servant, who within a minute, had brought them a second bottle of the most expensive port the York Club could offer. John attempted to open it before the waiter took pity on him and opened it for him, pouring two generous helpings of the blood-red liquid into their glasses.

  “Have one yourself, why don’t you,” William said generously.

  The servant pinked around the ears.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said in a squeaky voice, “but I am not permitted to drink while serving the gentlemen of the club.”

  John chuckled. “Poor sod, off you go then.”

  The servant hurried back to his post, eyes averted from the brothers.

  William raised his glass in a toast, but his joyful expression had disappeared, and he stared intently.

  “Honestly,” John said quietly. “You do not mind?”

  William smiled. No matter how much his brother jested, there was a serious soul in there somewhere, and every now and again, he got a glimpse of it.

  “Honestly,” he said. “I do not mind. Take Miss Darby, if you can persuade her to have you. Be happy.”

  William thought of when he had touched Charlotte’s arm, the instant their fingers had touched after he had passed her the program.

  He had known women, all soldiers had. It was part of the life on campaign, and no one thought much of it—or of them. They were just women, there to perform a service.

  This was new. He had never experienced anything like it before, and unless he was mistaken, neither had Charlotte.

  John drained his glass once more. “You are right—Miss Darby has plenty of friends, bound to. I will ask her to invite one of them to the carriage ride.”

  William was startled from his stupor. “Why?”

  “Why, for you, of course!” John laughed, spraying the table with port. “We cannot have you getting lonely!”

  He could have blamed the port or the heat of the room. But it was because Lady Charlotte had been on his mind continuously since the opera, barely aware how it had ended, conscious she was leaving his presence, and he had not said half the things he had wanted to say to her.

  These thoughts caused William to take a drink and say without thinking, “No need, Gloucester. I will have Charlotte.”

  A wide grin crept over John’s mouth. “Oh, a new conquest! And why have I not heard of her, you sly old dog?”

  William
laughed. “Not heard of her? You have met her several times, you clod, and she accompanied us to the opera. Lady Charlotte. The chaperone.”

  “Y-you cannot be serious!” He managed to place his drink down. “I hate to scoff, Mercia, but your sense of humor is getting wild! The chaperone!”

  Irritation sparked in William’s heart as his brother laughed, but he did not say anything. Perhaps the second bottle of port had been a mistake.

  “No, you mock me by suggesting her,” John said, still grinning. “Dear God, the chaperone! Well, if it’s a nursemaid you are looking for, I think you have found the perfect candidate.”

  He did not think. At his brother’s words, William stood for a fight, fists raised, pulse pounding in his ears.

  “Steady on there, Mercia!” His brother raised his hands in surrender, eyes wide.

  The gentleman with the graying beard looked irritated, evidently unable to concentrate on his reading, and after folding his newspaper, walked out of the room.

  William took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He was being a fool; anyone could see that. She was not his to defend, and he was an idiot for even suggesting it. He lowered himself back into his chair.

  “What has got into you?”

  John looked genuinely concerned, and William shook his head. “I-I won’t take any rudeness about a lady, especially a St. Maur. She is nobility, born and bred into it, not like us. I will not have it.”

  Why was he so overwhelmed with anger? It was ridiculous, this sudden need to protect a woman who was not even here.

  A vision of Lady Charlotte standing behind him as a horde of French soldiers approached them hit his mind, and he reveled in the way she clung to him.

  William shook his head. It was unseemly, and what’s more, a fantasy. There was no chance Lady Charlotte would consider him a suitor. She had been charmed by many a gentleman who had been born for such a thing, and she was still unmarried. Evidently, she had turned them all down.

  “I will not say another word about her.” John still appeared shaken by his brother’s violent outburst. “I trust I am safe?”

  William nodded. He had to get this obsession under control. Lady Charlotte was nothing to do with him and was merely the chaperone of his brother’s conquest.

  A smile crept over his face. Perhaps that was all for now. But things could change.

  Chapter Five

  It was five past eleven. There was no way to ignore it. Charlotte could see the clock over the mantelpiece from where she was seated.

  Five past eleven, and they had not yet arrived.

  The two Lennox brothers. She was sitting here waiting like a green girl for one of them.

  Charlotte scrunched her nose and stood, pacing around the room like a cat. This was ridiculous. The last thing she wanted to do was spend another few hours as a chaperone, but it would mean William’s company—and she could not decide whether that was a blessing or curse.

  The memory of his hand on hers, the heat between them, a connection she did not understand, rushed through her mind, and she sat heavily on the sofa.

  Is this what people felt when they were attracted to someone? Was that it, the beginnings of love, or lust, or whatever it was that encouraged two people to meet at the top of an aisle and speak vows to each other?

  Charlotte pulled her pelisse tighter around her. This was nonsense, and she should put it out of her mind. The duke was certainly not thinking such things, and she would only embarrass herself. He may not be interested in Miss Darby, but he was certainly not interested in her.

  Picking up her reticule, she glanced at her reflection in a small looking glass and frowned. Her bonnet was crooked.

  The door opened, and Matthews entered. “The Duke of Mercia and the Marquess of Gloucester are here, my lady.”

  Charlotte was still frowning as she attempted to straighten her bonnet.

  The butler coughed. “They have…”

  “Yes, I know, thank you, Matthews,” Charlotte said distractedly, giving up the bonnet as a lost cause and turning to face him with a weary smile. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? I expect to be a few hours, so please ensure luncheon is on the table by half-past one, two o’clock at the latest. If I am not here by then, eat it yourself and expect me sometime in the afternoon.”

  The butler bowed as Charlotte swept past him, taking a deep breath to prepare herself.

  As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she saw William, and the sunlight streaming through the front door accentuated his handsome features. She swallowed as she dropped into a curtsey.

  Do not allow yourself to become overwhelmed, she told herself as her eyes rested on the floor. You are a St. Maur and not that sort of woman. And you are too old!

  As she raised her head, she saw both brothers bow.

  John spoke first. “How are you this morning, Lady Charlotte?”

  She thought briefly of the sleepless night in anticipation of today’s meeting, the hurried breakfast, and the agony of deciding which bonnet to wear.

  “Very well, thank you,” she said. Her eyes flicked over to the silent person in the room, willing him to speak.

  But William just smiled as if perfectly aware of her wish, which he had decided to refuse.

  “Shall we depart?” John gestured at the door.

  She stepped past William with a spark of irritation in her heart. Why had he been so…well, attentive was the only word one could use, last week when they had gone to the opera, only to be silent now?

  She saw precisely why when she saw two curricles waiting outside.

  “But—but I thought we were all going to go together in a barouche?” She turned to the brothers, hoping her accusatory tone was not too obvious.

  “Ah,” John said, glancing at his brother. “W-well, you see, Lady Charlotte, the thing was not, exactly…”

  The Duke of Mercia shrugged with a grin. “My dear Lady Charlotte, there was not a barouche to be had in Bath! We have had to settle on two curricles, and I know you will acquiesce when you see what a fine build they both have and how delicately they have been painted.”

  She stared. This was intolerable. What cheek! They had both known full well that a barouche where all four of them could sit together was the only acceptable transport, and here she was, completely fooled!

  The duke was grinning too knowingly. Heat surged through her at the thought of sitting in a curricle with him alone, all nestled up together.

  And only yesterday she had sent her own carriage back to Stonehaven Lacey. A coincidence that played right into their favor.

  Finding her voice, she said stiffly, “Well, you have certainly made my role as chaperone difficult, my lord marquess, for I cannot comprehend how I can fit with yourself and Miss Darby. Unless you are suggesting, the best chaperoning occurs from a distance of ten feet in a completely different curricle?”

  John had the good grace to look sheepish as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I had thought of that, Lady Charlotte, and as Miss Darby and I will be in the front, we will always be within view to ensure nothing untoward is happening.”

  Charlotte glared at him. They had been clever and forced her into a corner. What could she do? Her own carriage was miles away by now, and it would not do for a duke, a marquess, and a St. Maur to hire a common hackney.

  What could she say? Either announce she did not think it a good idea, thus silently accusing John of ill intentions, cancel the day entirely, or…

  Miss Darby would never forgive her if she canceled her time with the Marquess of Gloucester.

  What’s more, and this thought caused Charlotte to stand up straighter, her St. Maur name was well-respected in Bath, and if she declined to chaperone him, John would struggle to find anyone else. His reputation amongst the mamas of society would be ruined, and that would, in turn, ruin his chances of marriage this Season, if not longer.

  Charlotte twisted her fingers around her reticle. There was no choice in the matter, and she had almost resol
ved to allow it with a short, sharp word with John later about taking advantage of her good nature when her eyes fell on William.

  John was watching her innocently, hopeful but concerned he had gone too far.

  Not so with his brother. She stepped back at the hunger on William’s face, his eyes filled with such intensity, she had to move. He was staring so desperately; he might convince her of anything.

  “What do you say, Charlotte?” His gaze did not waver from hers.

  Charlotte’s jaw dropped. Only one person alive called her Charlotte, and her brother called her Lotty most of the time. It was astonishing to hear her name spoken with such little respect—and astonishing to feel exhilaration rush through her body.

  A shaky smile crept over her face. “We must not keep Miss Darby waiting.”

  John grinned. “Oh, thank you, Lady Charlotte. I am entirely in your debt, as you well know.”

  She relaxed as she saw his genuine pleasure. “I do. Do not ask me to stick my neck out for you again, do you hear?”

  The younger brother grinned, and he rushed over to the first curricle, leaving Charlotte alone with William.

  The duke offered his hand. “Let me assist you into the curricle, my lady.”

  Her hesitation was brief. She did not want to place her hand in his. What if she felt the same heat, the same magnetism, which she could not explain?

  Without waiting for a response, he took her hand and led her to the curricle. Within seconds, Charlotte found herself seated beside him, her hip pressed against his leg. Her heart pounded, and the pelisse she had chosen was suddenly too hot. How could she endure an entire curricle ride with him?

  The first curricle moved off, and the duke clicked his tongue, encouraging their horses to follow. Charlotte had expected him to speak and had a few forceful putdowns ready. But he said nothing.

  Eventually, the silence became oppressive. As they passed people on the pavement, they looked with surprise to see her in the company of a gentleman, which did nothing for her own peace of mind. This was intolerable; he had to say something!