An Unsuitable Duchess (5 page)

‘I had already accepted another invitation,’ Julian said as he slid one of his black pawns along the board.

‘You do not like the girl?’

He gave a careless shrug. ‘I have not spent enough time with her to form any opinion of her character.’

‘You have danced with her recently.’

‘She is a rather quiet partner. Do not fret. I am aware of her family’s history and I know she is an appropriate choice.’

‘It matters not to me if she is the one you will choose. I will not be marrying her. She does show quite well, though. I wouldn’t think it a hardship to produce an heir with her.’

Julian jerked his head up. ‘This is hardly a topic you and I should be discussing.’

‘Why not? You’re a grown man. We have both been married. I doubt there is anything you could say that would shock me.’ She arched a challenging brow.

His stomach gave a queasy flip. ‘You are my grandmother.’

She took a sip of her sherry and waved her glass in the air. ‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘It was not meant to shock. Discussing my marriage bed with you is unsettling, to say the least.’

‘I am mentioning it because I know how important finding a suitable partner in bed can be for a happy marriage. Your grandfather and I had a happy marriage. Did you?’

Every muscle in his body turned to stone. She knew he hated discussing Emma. It was too painful.

He shifted his attention back to the board, trying to blink away the wretched image of his wife’s lifeless form lying on the bloody sheets of her bed. He’d been holding her hand when she had slipped away. Offering her comfort at the end had been the least he could do, since it had been his fault she would never see her twentieth year.

‘I had a satisfactory marriage,’ he bit out, moving a random chess piece.

His grandmother’s attention was back to analysing her next move. ‘You were never cruel to Emma, however, I always had a sense that you were indifferent to her presence.’

He forced his jaw to unclench. ‘And you think I was wrong in that?’

‘I suppose it depends on what you want in a marriage.’

He rarely lost his patience with his grandmother, but she knew as well as he that what he wanted in life for himself did not matter. His parents had chosen his bride for him when he’d been away at Cambridge. When he had returned home one Christmas he had been informed that he would be married to a girl he’d never met. It had made him ill, but he’d understood that his needs and desires did not come before his duty. What mattered above all else was the legacy he left to the Lyonsdale name. He had known that to be true then, just as he knew it to be true now.

‘I accepted my responsibility,’ he said, looking his grandmother in the eye and raising his chin.

‘Yes, you did—quite well, I might add. To my knowledge you never questioned your father’s decision.’

‘You know I could not cry off, even if I had wanted to. A man does not break an engagement. It is not done.’

She leaned in. ‘But would you have done so if you could?’

If he had, Emma would still be alive today.

He took a large swig of brandy. ‘I knew how important it was to have an exemplary woman share the Lyonsdale name. Father made an appropriate choice in Emma. There was no reason to protest.’

‘And yet even though you accepted their choice the spark in your eyes you had as a child went out when you made your vows, and it has not returned since. You need to find that spark again.’

She made it sound simple, but Julian knew that honouring the responsibility of his title meant he would be bound, yet again, to a marriage of convenience. The only sparks that mattered were the ones he could fire off in his speeches at Westminster.

‘Why am I certain you are about to tell me how I can regain what I have lost?’

His grandmother gave a slight shrug. ‘I was fortunate. I married your grandfather and we fell in love. Your father was not as fortunate. We were certain your mother would be a rose in his pocket, but she had thorns. Being married to her killed something precious inside him, and he became consumed with politics and Westminster.’ She leaned across the table and levelled him with a pointed stare. ‘There is more to life than that. It did him no good.’

His father had been the very model of what an English duke should be. Nine years had passed since he’d collapsed and died while delivering a speech to the House of Lords, and to this day people continued to tell Julian how much they had admired him. If only Julian could be half the man he had been.

‘I disagree. He helped this country achieve great things.’

‘And it cost him his life. No one will convince me that his heart did not give way because of the strain of his political career.’ She drained her glass of sherry. ‘We were wrong in preventing him from choosing his own bride, and he was wrong when he did the same to you. Life is too brief, Julian. Trust someone as old as I. Do not waste your life tied to someone you do not want.’

If only it were that easy. Out of an entire ballroom of girls the only one he had been drawn to wasn’t an appropriate choice—to say nothing of the fact that she was probably married to a man old enough to be her father. The point of taking a wife was to produce an heir. His father had told him many times that it wasn’t necessary to like the person you married. You just needed to tolerate them.

Thankfully his grandmother’s attention was back on the chessboard. ‘Oh, and Julian...? I seem to have misplaced my edition of
A Traveler’s Tale
by that American author—Vandenberg. Would you mind purchasing another one for me the next time you are near Hatchards?’

The Vandenberg name should
not
follow any conversation about marriage. He needed to concentrate on finishing this game of chess. Soon Hart would arrive, and they would be off to the Langley ball. However, tonight, he vowed, he would not search for the American at all.

* * *

Only the flutter of shuffling cards and the soft murmur of voices could be heard in the card room at Langley House. Footmen stood along walls that were hung with yellow silk damask, ready to refill crystal glasses at the mere lift of a hand. Purposely removed from the hubbub of the ballroom and the front public rooms, this drawing room was located near the end of a long hallway. Serious gambling was always done at the Langley ball, and serious gambling required concentration. It was the ideal place for a man who needed to keep his mind occupied. It didn’t even matter to Julian that he was losing miserably.

‘Perhaps a new table is in order?’ Hart suggested as he collected his winnings.

A new table would not change his luck, but Julian surveyed the other seven tables for open seats anyway. As his gaze skimmed past the doorway he caught sight of Helena, in a jonquil satin gown, its bodice cut to accentuate her womanly curves. With an air of confidence she scanned the room until her grey eyes landed on him.

The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of her full mouth as she made her way to his side. ‘Do not tell me luck is against you tonight,’ she said in a silky voice.

‘It definitely is now,’ mumbled Hart, low enough for Julian to hear.

He shot Hart a look of reproach and turned to her. ‘I’ve had better luck,’ he replied congenially.

‘Have you been to the ballroom yet? The orchestra is exceptional.’

The American woman was probably in the ballroom—dancing with some braggart. ‘The ballroom does not interest me tonight. Perhaps I’ll try another table.’

She cocked her head to the side, exposing the pale skin of her neck. ‘Perhaps we could play together,’ she whispered.

‘Perhaps we could.’ He should have found the smooth skin of her neck enticing. He had before. However, looking at it now, he found his body surprisingly unaffected.

They were about to search for an open game when a footman approached him with a request for his presence at the Duke of Winterbourne’s table. He felt an unprecedented sense of relief in having to leave Helena’s side to join his friend.

Excusing himself, Julian followed the footman across the room.

* * *

Helena watched Lyonsdale walk towards the table full of his friends who were playing whist. As he leaned over to whisper into Winterbourne’s ear Lyonsdale’s black tail coat stretched across his broad shoulders. It was a pity the tails covered the outline of his muscular legs and his firm backside...

She could feel Lord Hartwick’s eyes on her. For the last five years he had never once attempted to hide his hatred of her. It was perfectly reasonable, considering what she had done to him. However, watching the drama unfold around her at the time had been so entertaining she refused to feel any remorse. Her only regret was that she had believed his father’s lies. He had told her that he would marry her if she helped him with his plan—a plan that she was certain had devastated the man’s son.

Why hadn’t Hartwick walked away when Lyonsdale left?

He tossed a lock of hair out of his eyes and pulled back his shoulders. ‘He will never make you his duchess. I will see to that.’

Although he was splendid to look at, his confidence grated. ‘Do not imagine you will be able to dissuade him.’

‘But I find I rather like the idea, and I don’t believe it will take much effort on my part. I suggest you search elsewhere for that elevated title you so desperately seek.’

The foolish man thought he could best her. ‘I do not follow suggestions—least of all from you.’ She shook out her fan and pasted on a sly smile, glancing pointedly across the room at the woman she knew to be Hartwick’s current conquest. ‘You should tell your friend she should not wear emerald. The colour does nothing for her complexion.’

Hartwick turned his head and followed her gaze. His lips pressed together as he took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman. ‘Maybe in this instance you should follow my suggestion. I hear Ponsby is on his last breath. You might want to try him. You’d have better luck.’ He did nothing to hide the sarcasm from his voice.

Why would she want a decrepit duke when she could have a handsome, virile one? ‘It appears you are worried for your friend. Do you believe I will damage him?’

‘Your excitement is stirred by breaking people. You won’t be able to do that with him.’

‘You mean like your Lady Caroline? It’s a pity she is no longer with us. Your father enjoyed her immensely.’ She arched her brow and anticipated his reaction.

He brought his glass to his lips and his nostrils flared. ‘I see you have no remorse for your part in bringing an innocent woman to his bed.’

Why should she? The foolish girl hadn’t been forced to accept every glass of champagne Helena offered her.
She hadn’t poured them down the girl’s throat.

Recalling that entertaining night brought a smile to her lips, and she leaned close to Hartwick, purposely pressing a full breast into his arm. ‘You might not want to discuss this here, where someone may overhear us,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘You don’t want them to guess the truth about her death, now, do you? Tell me...did she choose poison, or was it something more dramatic?’

His jaw clenched, and his athletic body stiffened against her breast. If they had not been in a drawing room, with a good number of the
ton
around them, she might just have provoked him enough to strike her.

She couldn’t help but smile. ‘I do believe I have found a weakness of yours, Lord Hartwick. Everyone has at least one, and it is so delicious whenever it is discovered.’

‘I warn you—if you cause any problems for Lyonsdale you will regret it.’ He moved from her side, downed the remainder of his champagne, and strode across the room to join his friends.

It was amusing that he thought he could stop her. She deserved that title, and all the wealth and power that went with it. She should have had such an advantageous marriage the first time. Instead, due to one minor indiscretion, she had found herself married to a gambler and a drunkard.

Hartwick’s father had promised to make her his marchioness and laughed at her when she’d reminded him. No one made a fool of her. It would be her turn to laugh when she became Duchess of Lyonsdale.

* * *

Near a corner of the Langleys’ ballroom, in front of a large potted palm, Katrina was learning that she was not the only one who regretted dancing with Lord Boreham.

‘I do so wish I did not have to agree to dance with everyone that asks me.’ Lady Mary Morley pouted as she stood beside Katrina. ‘On that last turn Lord Boreham managed to elbow me quite hard in the stomach.’

‘How was that even possible?’ Sarah asked, staring at the area in question, which was covered in elaborately embroidered white muslin.

‘I can assure you it’s possible,’ Lady Hammond commented dryly while fanning herself. ‘He once knocked heads with me during a quadrille.’

They began to laugh, and Lady Mary immediately covered her mouth to stop herself. The diamond bracelet on her wrist sparkled in the candlelight.

‘Surely there must be a way to avoid him,’ Sarah said.

Lady Mary shook her head. ‘Mother says one should have a full dance card if one is to be considered an incomparable, and if you decline even one offer to dance you must decline all the others.’

Katrina found that rule of social conduct one of the hardest to accept. She suspected she was not the only woman in the ballroom who felt that way. ‘That hardly seems fair.’

‘That might be. However, it is the way of things. Mother says if one is to catch a duke or a marquess one needs to rise above all the other girls vying for such a title and become an incomparable.’

‘And how does one become an incomparable?’ Sarah asked with amusement.

Lady Mary was not as naïve as she appeared. She tilted her head coyly. ‘I suppose if everyone knew the answer to that, no one girl would stand out.’

‘Well done, Lady Mary,’ Sarah said with a smile, glancing around the crowded ballroom. ‘And are there many dukes and marquesses for you to choose from?’

‘I’m afraid there are very few, and I don’t think I’d like to settle for an earl.’ She turned to her friend and offered Lady Hammond a genuine apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean anything against your Hammond.’