By Love Undone (21 page)

The duke regarded him levelly. “Why not tomorrow, if you’re suddenly so eager?”

“Fine by me,” Quin snapped, furious and unsettled and trapped. “I’ll send a note over to Eloise.”

“Don’t try to bluff me, Quinlan,” Lord Highbarrow warned.

“I’m not,” he said shortly, and turned on his heel. “You’d best send a messenger to King George and tell him we’ll be needing Westminster Abbey in the morn
ing,” he continued over his shoulder. “I don’t imagine that will be a problem.”

“So you intend to have the entire peerage thinking you’ve got Eloise with child and
I
forced a quick marriage? I should say not!” the duke roared, his expression darkening. “You haven’t been that much a fool, have you?”

Quin faced his father again. “I thought I was rutting with Miss Willits,” he snarled, white-faced. “Make up your mind, Your Grace.”

“Don’t you dare speak that way to me, boy, or I’ll see you as well liked in London as that red-haired whore!”

That was enough of that. “You will
not
speak about Maddie in that manner, you pomp—”

“
I’m
not the one—”

The drawing room door opened. “Lewis,” the duchess interrupted in a low voice. No doubt the three of them had heard the entire exchange from the drawing room. Quin winced.

“Victoria, stay out—”

“Please,” she interrupted. “Lady Finch and Lady DeReese will arrive here any moment. Calm down.”

“Calm down?
You
tell
me
what to do, wife? Bah! I’m going to White’s!” His Grace stalked down the hallway. “You’ll wed Eloise this summer, Quinlan, or when it comes time for a new Duke of Highbarrow, it won’t be you! Is that clear?”

Quin didn’t answer; he wasn’t expected to. His father had given a direct order, and it would be followed. End of argument, end of conversation. He met his mother’s concerned, searching gaze, then nodded stiffly at her and turned on his heel.

Aristotle looked annoyed at being taken out twice in one day. Under the circumstances, Quin had little sympathy for him. He rode over to Queen Street and asked
if Eloise was in. She wasn’t, but the Stokesley butler gave him the direction of the acquaintance she’d gone to visit.

He felt ridiculous chasing Eloise about London. They’d known one another for so long that he could fairly well predict what her reaction would be if he appeared on the Countess Devane’s doorstep, looking for her. She was lovely and intelligent and had been groomed from birth to be the future Duchess of Highbarrow—just as he had been schooled to be the future duke. But he wanted to know something that had abruptly become very important for him to discover. He wanted to know what he felt when he was with her.

He knew what he felt when he and Maddie were in the same room: frustrated, antagonized, and exhilarated. In truth, whether he felt anything toward Eloise, it didn’t matter. He had always known he would marry her, and so he would. But he continued to Devane’s home anyway, climbed the shallow steps, and rapped on the door.

“Lord Warefield.” The butler bowed as Quin handed over his calling card and his request. “If you would care to wait in the foyer.”

Only a few moments later Eloise appeared from the direction of the upstairs drawing room. “Quin, is something wrong?” she asked, descending the steps toward him.

“No,” he said, taking her hand. “I just…wanted to make certain I wasn’t imposing on you the other day, when I asked you to help me with Maddie.”

She smiled warmly. “Of course not. In fact, I was just arranging for Miss Harriet DuChamps and Lady Devane to join us for luncheon tomorrow.”

“Good. I appreciate your assistance.”

“I’m happy to help.” She looked at him for a moment, her perfect brow furrowing just a little. “Was there something else?”

“No. No, of course not.” He started to turn away, then stopped again. He had to know. “Eloise, might I…make a request of you?”

“Anything, Quin.”

Quin glanced up and down the hallway, which was thankfully deserted, and cleared his throat. “Might I kiss you?”

The brief look of puzzlement passed from her face, and she smiled again. “I would like that.”

Taking a short breath, Quin stepped closer. He lowered his head as she lifted hers, and he brushed his lips against her soft mouth. For a long moment he lingered there, tasting her mouth, hearing her soft sigh.

Finally he stepped back again. “Thank you.”

“Well,” she prompted, smiling faintly, “how was it?”

He returned her smile. “Wonderful, Eloise. I just realized I had never kissed you in all this time. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He bowed and turned away.

“Quin?”

The marquis stopped. “Yes?”

“We need to decide on a date. If we delay much longer, no one will be around to celebrate with us.”

“Yes, I know. I’m…working out the schedule with His Grace. Soon, though. It will be soon.”

He made his way outside, and back to Aristotle. There he stopped, one hand on the gelding’s bridle. She’d given him the perfect opportunity to declare himself, and he had done nothing. Well, nothing except admit to himself that he really had no interest at all in his wife-to-be—and a great deal of interest in a woman who could never be his.

“Hm, and what did Lord Warefield want?” Joanna, Lady Devane, curled a strand of her blond hair around and around her finger.

Eloise smiled and resumed her seat. “To kiss me,” she murmured, and sipped her tea.

Harriet DuChamps sat forward. “To what?”

“To kiss you?” Joanna repeated skeptically. “He came all this way just for that?”

“We
are
to be married, you know,” Eloise pointed out. “And he does dote on me.”

“Seems to me he dotes on someone else these days,” Lady Devane suggested.

“Quin’s always been kind and generous. The poor little ruined bitch had nowhere else to go.” She set aside her tea and leaned forward. “And our task, ladies, is to find her somewhere else to go. Posthaste.”

Harriet giggled. “They drown unwanted puppies, don’t they?”

Joanna and Eloise laughed, and Eloise resumed nibbling at her teacake. “I’ll set a large punch bowl at luncheon tomorrow, just in case.”

Charles Dunfrey sighed as his coach rattled to a halt. What a blasted nuisance, having to leave London in the middle of the Season. And for a trip to Devonshire, of all places, where there would be absolutely nothing of interest to do, and no one of interest to see.

Half surprised the vehicle had made the journey intact, Dunfrey settled his hat on his head and stood as the door opened. “Good evening, Hoskins,” he said, stepping to the ground. “Would the viscount be in this evening?”

The butler stared at him open-mouthed for a moment, astonishment in every line of his thin, dignified countenance. “Mr…. Mr. Dunfrey. Yes, he…he is. This way, sir.”

Hoskins showed him into the drawing room, and in his hurry to leave and inform his employer of their visitor, slammed the door behind him. Dunfrey smiled
briefly, then wandered about, looking at the old familiar porcelain miniatures and collection of crystal vases. Little had changed in five years. He turned around as the door opened again.

The tall, silver-haired gentleman standing in the doorway looked poised between shock and dismay as he looked at his houseguest. Dunfrey could little blame him. He’d never thought to set eyes on the viscount again, himself.

Dunfrey bowed. “Good evening, Lord Halverston. I apologize for not sending advance word that I was coming, but I didn’t know myself, until this morning.” He gave an apologetic, slightly embarrassed smile. “Might I trouble you for a glass of port? I’m…a little unsettled.”

The viscount nodded warily and motioned at the butler lurking in the hallway behind him. “Hoskins, port.” He stepped into the drawing room and closed the door.

For a moment Dunfrey wished he’d asked for Lady Halverston, as she would be easier to deal with, but he didn’t want either of them to go running off until he’d had a chance to explain things properly.

“Forgive my directness, Charles,” the viscount said, in his dry voice, “but what brings you to Halverston? We did not part well, last time we spoke.”

Shaking his head, Dunfrey sat at one end of the couch. “No, we did not,” he said earnestly. “And I wish to apologize for that, as well. I…well, heat of the moment, you know.”

The viscount nodded.

Dunfrey shifted, genuine nervousness augmenting his intentional appearance of agitation. If things went badly this evening, he wouldn’t be willing to wager over his ability to avoid debtors’ prison. “Well. I don’t quite know how to say this. Ah, I—this morning, I saw…I saw Madeleine.”

Lord Halverston’s face went white. “Madeleine? You saw Maddie? My daughter, Maddie?”

Dunfrey hurried to his feet and helped Viscount Halverston into a chair before his knees could buckle, while his own mood continued to lift. Given the circumstances, Robert’s continued interest in his daughter’s whereabouts could only bode well for him—he hoped. “Yes. Actually, I spoke to her.”

“Where is she?” Robert Willits asked, gripping the arms of his chair.

This would be the difficult part. He needed to make himself essential to all this. If Halverston thought himself able to go around outside assistance to get to his daughter, everything would be lost. “In London.”

“Lon—where in London?”

“My lord, she seemed none too eager to speak to me, or to speak of you, other than to say that you didn’t know she was there. Forgive my curiosity, but I…assume that you have not reconciled with her?”

“We haven’t been able to find her to do so,” Lord Halverston admitted, deep reluctance edging his voice. “Is she well?”

“She is beautiful,” he answered truthfully. “Even more so than she was at eighteen.” In fact, it had been almost disappointing to see her looking so well. She hadn’t pined over him a bit, no doubt.

“Did she say where she’s been? Is she—”

“Please, my lord.” Dunfrey offered Robert another embarrassed smile. “I spoke to her only briefly. I…didn’t want to press her tolerance. I have a great deal to make amends for, where she is concerned.”

The viscount looked at him assessingly. “You wish to make amends, then?”

Dunfrey nearly smiled at Halverston’s hopeful tone. “Yes. Yes, I do. You know that I married after Maddie disappeared. My wife…Patricia was dear to me, but
she has been gone for over a year now. And when I saw Maddie this morning—well, I realized that she has stolen back into my heart, Robert. Time heals all wounds, they say.”

“So they do, Charles.”

“I am to call on her tomorrow. I thought, though, that you would want to hear my news immediately. And I also wanted your permission to proceed.”

“You still want to marry her, then? Even though you know nothing of her whereabouts for the past five years?”

This was almost too easy. “My lord, of course I know I’m taking a risk with my reputation. I may very well be censured for my actions if I renew my offer to take Maddie as my wife. And the Lord knows, since Patricia’s death, things have not been easy.” He shrugged. “But I have come to believe that I owe Maddie another chance.”

The viscount sat forward, his color returning. “You are a good and understanding man, Charles. I have always thought so.”

“Thank you, Lord Halverston. It is my dearest hope that I shall be able to convince Maddie of the same.”

“Where is she, then?” the viscount repeated.

Dunfrey had hoped he would forget the question. That, he supposed, would have been too much to hope for. “I will tell you, but might I suggest a plan of action first? No one wants her to flee again, I’m certain.”

“No, of course not,” the viscount agreed hastily. “What’s your idea, Dunfrey?”

“Well, she has apparently won the favor of the Duchess of Highbarrow.”

“Highbarrow? My goodness!” Lord Halverston looked stunned for the third time that evening. “The Duchess of Highbarrow?”

“Yes. She admitted to me—reluctantly—that she was
staying in the Bancroft household. That is where I’m to call on her tomorrow afternoon.”

For the second time, Viscount Halverston looked hopeful. “That’s an exceedingly good sign, I would say. Please proceed, Charles.”

“Of course,” Dunfrey agreed, stifling a triumphant smile. He had Halverston now. “I think you should repair to London, in the—”

“Yes, at once,” the viscount said eagerly.

“No, no…she would know that I had betrayed her trust. You must delay a week or two, and then come to London on some pretext or other. Then we can carefully arrange for you to come across her as if by accident…as I did.”

The viscount was nodding. “I agree. We don’t want her upsetting the duchess and taking flight again.”

“Absolutely not. I don’t wish to risk losing her again.”
Or her dowry
. That, though, could be negotiated later, once he had her safely in hand.

Halverston took a breath. “Nor do I.”

Dunfrey stood. “Splendid. I should get back to London posthaste. It would never do for me to miss calling on her.”

“You have my deepest gratitude, Charles.”

This time Dunfrey’s smile was genuine. “Thank you, Robert.”

Maddie looked about at her newfound acquaintances. Quin continually reminded her that she was of noble birth, and that she had as much right to hold her head up as anyone else. Rare and appreciated as the compliment had been, he really had no idea what he was talking about.

Even before she’d been ruined, she’d never moved in circles this golden. Daughters, wives, and sisters of this duke, that marquis, and a twelfth-generation viscount
surrounded her, gossiping and nibbling daintily on pastries. She’d seen most of them during the short course of her debut Season but had never imagined actually being invited to luncheon with them. She stifled a grimace as a crumb fell from her peach pastry onto the floor. Even less had she thought to be the reason for such a luncheon.

“He actually fell over?”

Lady Margaret Penwide covered her mouth with her hand as she chuckled. “Oh, no. Mrs. Grady stopped his fall.”

Eloise, seated beside Maddie, smiled at her and briefly squeezed her hand. The gesture was no doubt meant to be encouraging, but it caused another piece of pastry to break free. This one landed on Maddie’s foot.