Along Came a Duke (16 page)

Roxley colored a bit and made a resounding
harrumph
in return. “I daresay I would follow you onto the fields of Spain, but stepping into my aunt's sights, well, that is just foolhardy.”

“Then you won't mind if I suggest to Lady Juniper that she invite your aunt for tea?” Preston repeated his
tsk tsk
, this time as a warning. “Terrible shame if the old gel were to discover you'd been holed up in my house all this time and not off ‘managing your estates' as you have Fiske passing off.”

The earl's response was both an affirmation of his attendance at Lady Knolles's ball—and altogether unprintable.

Chapter 8

“G
 ar, miss,” Daphne's maid exclaimed as she, her mistress and Tabitha surveyed their work in the mirror. “You look like a princess.”

The girl had the right of it, for indeed a beguiling creature in a new gown and hair done just so stared back at them. Gaped, might be the better word.

“A queen,” Daphne corrected, reaching out to tuck a stray ringlet back into place. She winked at Tabitha. “You will make Mr. Reginald Barkworth the envy of all.”

Tabitha glanced at herself in the mirror and marveled at the transformation the pair had wrought. Changes her friend had hinted at for years—like wearing her hair in softer ringlets than her usual tight chignon or the blue ribbon and tiny silk flowers that sat atop her head like a May Day crown.

Not that Aunt Allegra would have ever allowed such things, calling them “unnecessary vanities.”

“The flowers aren't too much?” she wondered aloud, reaching up to adjust the decorative piece.

Daphne swatted her hand away. “There is no such thing as too much. It gives you the right hint of innocence and youth.”

“I am hardly young,” Tabitha muttered. In little over a week she'd be five and twenty—in comparison to the rest of the London misses, a bit long in the tooth.

“No one will know otherwise,” Daphne insisted, pulling on her own gloves and taking a quick check of her own perfectly arranged hair.

Harriet came into the room—also done up in a new gown and just as polished—though already most of her dark curls had escaped their pins. “The carriage is here.” She paused for a moment, taking in Tabitha's new appearance. “Oh, my,” she said, eyeing the gown with a cautionary glance. “Why, no one in Kempton would know you.”

“It is the first stare and will mark Tabitha as a lady of distinction,” Daphne told her, arms crossed over her chest and her mouth set in a line that dared them to contradict her.

As if there was any chance either of them could win an argument over fashion with Daphne.

But even Tabitha thought the gown rather scandalous—no matter that it was the first stare, as Daphne averred. Certainly one couldn't find fault with the Van Dyke lace around the neckline and the pretty crisscross slashing in front, which let the sapphire blue silk beneath shine seductively through.

What had her at sixes and sevens was how the hem stopped well above the floor, leaving her ankles on view. If that wasn't bad enough, the short, puffed sleeves and low neckline revealed far more of her figure than could possibly be decent.

Fashion or not.

Tabitha shook her head. Aunt Allegra certainly wouldn't approve. And then there was the problem of her other aunt.

“Lady Timmons will never let me wear this gown out in public.”

Harriet didn't appear to approve either, given the wrinkle of her nose. “My brother George would say that gown is like fishing with extra bait.”

Daphne took great offense to this, rushing over and fluffing the lace and straightening the skirt like a French dresser. “What a vulgar thing to say, Harriet. You make it sound like Tabitha must lure Mr. Reginald Barkworth to her side. That is not the case. With her in this gown, he will simply do everything he can to ensure that he has her affections secured before someone else does.”

This last statement came with a significant glance—since Daphne's maid was still hovering in the background—for Tabitha had confessed everything to them on the way home from the park.

That she had dined privately with Preston. Nay, make that the Duke of Preston, and that he had kissed her.

“And that was all?” Daphne had asked, having come up short on the gravel path and refusing to move until she'd had all the details. “He kissed you and left?” Her question had left Tabitha with the impression that she hadn't been convinced.

“Yes. One moment he was kissing me and then he—” Tabitha had closed her eyes and wished she could forget that terrible, haunted look in his eyes. “Then he was gone.”

“Why didn't you tell him you were engaged? That you were coming to London to be married?” Daphne had asked. Thankfully her friend had resisted asking the more obvious question:

What had Tabitha been thinking accepting the man's invitation to supper?

Tabitha had shrugged, for there had been no answer. Goodness knows she'd been asking herself the same thing for a fortnight.

And the most ready answer,
“Because the Yorkshire pudding smelled heavenly,”
would hardly have satisfied Daphne.

As it was, Daphne had paced back and forth on the gravel path. “And you haven't told a soul?”

“Who would I have told?” Her cousins? Lady Timmons?

Daphne had nodded in concession. “And you weren't seen?”

Tabitha had shaken her head.

Heaving a great sigh, Daphne had said, “Then we can be assured you will not be ruined by this unfortunate event.”

“However is it unfortunate?” Harriet had asked, finally chiming in. “It sounds to me as if His Grace realized that he couldn't ruin Tabitha because he'd fallen in love with her. Overcome by the unfamiliar nature of those feelings, he fled, only to regret it later.”

“Fallen in love? Over supper?” Daphne had thrown her hands up in the air. “He's a Seldon. That he would regret anything is the most ridiculous notion of all.”

They'd both looked at Tabitha for confirmation—that it was or was not impossible to fall in love in one night. She'd pressed her lips together, for until she had run face-to-face with Preston once again, she wouldn't have believed it herself . . .

It was utterly possible.

She had fallen in love that night. And now it was all an impossible coil.

“Oh, Tabitha, this is a terrible muddle,” Harriet had said. “You don't think Preston will make trouble for you? He looked ever so angry when he heard the news.”

He had indeed. Furious, really.

Whatever for? she'd wanted to ask. He had hidden his identity as much as she hadn't revealed why she was going to London.

“Of course he'll make trouble, he's a Seldon,” Daphne had added. “But I hardly think he'll be at Lady Knolles's.” When neither of them had replied, she'd continued, “Because, as Harriet said, he is not received.”

Tabitha had acknowledged this with a nod.

“Forget about him,” Daphne had continued, brushing her hands over her skirt. “After tonight, you will be well out of his nefarious reach. You will meet Mr. Reginald Barkworth, who must be a decent, esteemed gentleman, and he will sweep you off your feet in a proper, well-chaperoned courtship. Then you shall be married—exactly how it is supposed to be done.”

Daphne had turned from the path, leading the way back to the Timmons household as if the matter had been finished.

Not so Harriet. She had looked over at Tabitha with a deep, silent gaze that had seemed to predict that this encounter with Preston had been merely the beginning.

“Whatever will you do if you see him again?” Harriet had whispered out of Daphne's earshot.

Tabitha had shaken her head as she'd tugged a reluctant Mr. Muggins to follow.

However could she answer, when the only thing she had wanted to do the moment Preston had taken her in his arms was to beg him for one more kiss?

Now, all these hours later, as Tabitha gathered up her belongings—her pelisse, her gloves, her reticule—she paused for a moment, once again caught in the memory of Preston's kiss.

“Are you coming, Tabitha?” Daphne asked as she and Harriet awaited her at the door.

“I'll be right down,” she said, and they nodded and left her, seeming to understand that she needed a moment of privacy before this monumental evening.

But what she really needed to do was reach inside her delicate silk reticule and take out the only thing inside it.

Preston's nicked penny.

Biting her lower lip, she knew what she must do—get rid of it. Spend it, give it away, toss it in the gutter if she must.

And most decidedly, stop carrying it around like a favor, a memento.

She opened her drawer, her hand wavering over the opening and then back over her reticule.

“Oh, bother,” she muttered and dropped it exactly where it belonged.

I
f Tabitha had hoped the ride to Lady Knolles's town house would quell her growing nerves, she quickly realized she should have walked. Nay, she should have known from the way Euphemia, Edwina and Eloisa happily joined their father in the second carriage that something was afoot.

Namely in the form of Lady Peevers, Lady Timmons's sister, who was already inside the first carriage and seized hold of Tabitha and plunked her down on the spot beside her, launching right into a recitation as to Mr. Reginald Barkworth's qualifications—that is, when she wasn't chiding Tabitha for one thing or another.

“Oh, goodness, gel, do stop fidgeting! You will make one and all think you are nervous,” Lady Peevers declared.

Daphne rose to her friend's defense. “My lady, this is the first time Miss Timmons is to meet Mr. Barkworth.”

“And whatever is there to be nervous about?” the lady asked, pinning her nearsighted squint on Tabitha. “Your Uncle Winston chose well for you—something I can say with assurance. My dear, departed husband was related to Barkworth.”

“You're related to Barkworth?” Daphne and Harriet asked, glancing at Tabitha to see how she judged this news.

“My nephew!” Lady Peevers declared proudly. “My husband's sister was married to Lord Francis Barkworth, your Barkworth's uncle. And now, Miss Timmons, that connection will bind us all happily together.”

Tabitha didn't know if she shared this lady's enthusiasm. Especially the “binding” part.

Truly? Was that going to be necessary?

“I don't know why you look so ill, child,” Lady Peevers complained. “Mr. Reginald Barkworth of Acornbury, and now of Foley Place in London, is a most respectable gentleman, and one day, if all continues as it aught, he shall inherit.”

“Barkworth is a man of elegant manners, so composed. Why, he has had more than his fair share of ladies cast their eyes in his direction,” Lady Timmons added.

“So why hasn't he been snapped up?” Harriet muttered under her breath.

“Snapped up?” Lady Peevers sputtered, her gaze turning to Harriet. “What a vulgar phrase to use. Snapped up, indeed!”

“It is just that it is hard to believe a man so prestigious would have remained unmarried,” Harriet said, holding her ground.

With five brothers and Lady Essex as her patroness, Harriet never suffered indignation as a set down.

Rather a challenge.

“If you must know, and apparently you do, Miss Hathaway,” Lady Peevers said, fluffing the lace at her cuffs and shaking her fan, “the Barkworths are terribly discerning. They do not marry lightly—as they hold their family standing and reputation in the highest of regard. Not just any young lady is worthy.”

“Our Tabitha is,” Daphne said. “And one day she'll be a marchioness. Oh, can you imagine it, Tabitha?”

“Indeed,” Lady Peevers said, taking another glance at Tabitha as if she could hardly believe it herself. “One day. And when it comes, you must never forget that I lent you my support on this very important night.”

Which she followed with a “Straighten up, gel, your posture is deplorable” and an “Oh, good heavens, would you smile? This is a ball we are attending, not an execution.”

When the carriage pulled to a stop and a footman came dashing down from the steps to open the door, Tabitha sighed with relief. How could whatever was to be faced inside be any worse than the drive over?

“Good luck,” Harriet whispered as Lady Timmons and Lady Peevers got on either side of Tabitha and all but pushed her into the thick tide of guests moving up the steps and into Lady Knolles's house.

The only thing buoying up her spirits was the thought that at least Preston wouldn't be here—it was bad enough he knew of her betrothal, but if he were to discover that she had yet to even meet her future husband, she could imagine the lark he would make of that.

Lady Timmons began issuing a litany of instructions. “Remember, it is of the utmost importance that Barkworth finds you worthy. Smile, speak only when spoken to and show due respect to his mother. It is important that you win his favor.”

“I would think,” Harriet said, “that since the inheritance is Tabitha's, he should be doing his utmost to win her favor.”

Lady Peevers and Lady Timmons shared a look of horror at such a notion. But that was nothing compared with their expressions as Tabitha slipped off her pelisse.

“Good heavens above!” Lady Timmons exclaimed. “That is not the gown I ordered!”

Lady Peevers stood by, speechless. Which said volumes for just how scandalous Tabitha's gown must be.

“You cannot meet Barkworth wearing that! Why, you look positively . . .” Tabitha's aunt stammered for the right word.

“Undone,” Lady Peevers managed.

Which only served to leave Lady Timmons glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed. She caught Tabitha by the arm and was about to tow her toward the door, but stopped when she found their path blocked by their elegantly clad hostess, who stood chatting with another lady.

Lady Knolles had barely paid them heed when they'd arrived, but seeing Tabitha's gown, she shot across the foyer, her friend in tow. “Lady Timmons, how lovely to see you! This divine creature you've brought is your niece, is she not?”

“Yes, my niece,” Tabitha's aunt managed, though she looked as if she wanted to disavow the relationship most vehemently.

That, or drown her in the Thames.

“What a divine gown!” Lady Knolles announced. “When I saw that print in the
Ackermann's
last month, how I wished I was young enough to dare. You will be the belle of the ball, my dear girl. La belle!” she declared before she fluttered off to greet more guests.