Susan Johnson (7 page)

D
uff surprised his family by appearing just as they were sitting down to dinner.

“Come in, darling,” his mother exclaimed, waving him in as he stood in the doorway. “How nice you look.”

“Eddie convinced me it was time to dress for dinner again,” Duff said, moving into the room. Recently, he’d been disinclined to honor the formality. On the occasions when he’d come for dinner he’d been casually attired. “You must have seen to the alterations on my evening clothes,” he said, smiling at his mother as he strode across the large room that was bathed in the saffron glow of a midsummer twilight. “This fits.”

“Weston sent a man up. He’s always so very accommodating. You look quite elegant, my dear. Sit here…by me,” the duchess added, signaling that a footman set another plate beside her. “Our big excitement today was little Liza’s pony ride. She rode her pony for the first time and we all cheered her on. What have you been up to?”

“Not much. Eddie and I rode to the monastery ruins at Bedloe. The view was astonishing as always.” No one gave any indication they’d already heard of his activities. But taking note of everyone’s smiles as he approached the table and understanding the swiftness of servants’ gossip, he added, “As you no doubt have already heard, Miss Foster accompanied me.”

“Did she?” his mother remarked blandly. “How lovely. Julius, did you hear?” she said to her husband seated at the other end of the table. “Duff had company this afternoon.”

The Duke of Westerlands smiled. “And very pleasant company, I warrant. What is Miss Foster doing in the country this time of year?” The season was in full swing and Annabelle, on friendly terms with all the great hostesses, was always invited to the best parties.

Debating how to answer, Duff stood for a moment behind his chair, his fingers curved over the polished mahogany back. “Miss Foster is spending some time with her family,” he said, choosing a neutral reply. “If her schedule allows, she’s agreed to go to the races with me tomorrow.” They’d know soon enough, he thought; he might as well tell them. “Also, I only frightened her once with one of my trances, so all and all, things went well.”

“Well, you’re to be commended,” his mother noted with a smile. “Or perhaps Miss Foster is to be commended for her tact. Sit, darling,” the duchess murmured, playing the perfect hostess and not querying him further. “Have a glass of wine. Your papa had a few of his special bottles brought up tonight.”

They all knew
, Duff thought. They knew he’d be coming to dinner. Were they apprised of Annabelle’s family situation as well? Not that he was about to ask. He’d given Annabelle his word he wouldn’t discuss it.

But his entire family had watched over him with varying degrees of apprehension since his return from Waterloo. News of his outing would have been gratifying to them.

In fact, his parents and siblings had all, on one thin pretext or another, foregone the season and chosen to spend the summer at Westerlands Park in order to be near him. His two married sisters and their children, as well as his younger brother, were in residence. Not that Giles was averse to avoiding all the maneuvering mamas in London with daughters to marry off. But Georgina and Lydia were sacrificing their pleasures; they adored the whirl of parties. They missed their husbands as well, who had estates from which they couldn’t be absent for long periods of time.

“You’re looking remarkably well, Duff. Truly you are,” Georgie said with a smile. The youngest of his siblings, she shared their mother’s fair coloring and blue eyes. “How delightful to see you out and about again like your old self.”

Duff wondered what the hell Eddie had said—his “old self” prone to a decidedly intemperate life. But he chose to reply in a different vein. “Eddie thinks the new mare I bought became a talisman for my recovery.” He smiled. “Perhaps he’s right. God knows, he’s put up with my black moods long enough to recognize an improvement.”

“Are you thinking about racing your stable again, then?” His sister Lydia had been horse-mad since childhood, her thoroughbreds consistent winners. “Everyone’s missed your flashy bloodstock on the track,” she said with a lift of her dark brows. “Your jockey, Harry, could always be counted on for a dazzling show.”

“I
am
considering putting my prime’uns out again. Eddie’s going to talk to Harry and see if he can be cajoled into riding for me.”

“He’s working for Armitage. You might make an enemy,” his sister warned.

“It’s Harry’s decision,” Duff said with a shrug. “As for Armitage”—he smiled—“the old coot should pay his jockeys better and they might not stray.”

“He pays well and you know it.” Giles gazed at his brother over the rim of his wineglass.

Duff grinned. “But not as well as I.”

“And Harry dearly loves you.” The duchess smiled at her son. “I don’t know how many times he was over before the race season, hoping you were well enough to speak to him. He’ll ride for you. You needn’t worry.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Duff shot a glance at the rest of his family. “I suppose everyone has a racer on the course tomorrow.”

“But of course, darling,” his mother replied. “Papa has won three races this year and my new little mare is doing well. Giles has a brute of a horse that has a bit of training yet to accomplish, but Georgie and Lydia”—she glanced at her daughters. “Tell Duff about your wins.”

At that point, horses and racing took over the conversation, a not uncommon occurrence at the Westerlands’ table. And for the first time since his return to England, Duff felt a sense of normalcy. Not that his former life would have been characterized as normal by the more staid circles of society. But it had been typical of a wealthy young buck about town.

Gambling, racing, and women had consumed his days and nights, his name a byword for high play, prime horseflesh, and carnal pleasure. While the legions of women in pursuit had been the envy of his male colleagues, he’d accepted female adulation with a casual imperturbability that only added to his allure. Although his reputation for delivering sexual pleasure with a deft and flattering attention to detail couldn’t be discounted. Nor his superior physical endowments and stamina.

Not that he’d been doing anything that required stamina in bed of late.

However, if his recuperation continued apace…

A thought well apart from the heated discussion of horses and jockeys transpired at the moment.

Much later, though, over dessert, when the candles had been lit and the duke’s excellent wine had loosened tongues, Georgie said, “You must bring Miss Foster to our box at the track tomorrow. I haven’t seen her for ages. She simply disappeared from society.”

“She may prefer her seclusion.” Duff’s voice was reserved. “I’ll extend your invitation, but I can’t promise anything.”

“How mysterious you sound, although she vanished from town just as mysteriously.” Georgie held her brother’s gaze for a pertinent moment. “You know Walingame is searching for her high and low.”

“I know.”

“No one has seen Annabelle for months.”

“I saw her at the horse fair in plain sight of everyone,” Duff pointed out. “She wasn’t exactly hiding.”

“Whatever she chooses to do, I’m sure it’s none of our business,” the duchess asserted, giving her daughter a warning glance. “Miss Foster has had her share of fame. Perhaps the country offers her a much-needed respite.”

“I believe she’s enjoying her quiet,” Duff agreed.

“That’s quite enough said on the topic,” the duke interposed, attempting to put an end to the catechism. “Whether we see Miss Foster tomorrow or not is of no consequence. We’ll visit with her some other time.” Annabelle was much feted by society—not unusual, considering her plays were all the rage.

“Why not invite her to dinner,” Giles said with a grin. “We’re secluded enough here at Westerlands Park.”

“Giles,” the duke said repressively.

Duff smiled. “Never mind, Papa. I can’t fault Giles for trying. Miss Foster is enchanting. If she wishes to come to dinner, I’ll let you know, Giles,” he added with a grin.

“You needn’t keep her all to yourself,” his brother muttered.

“We’re just going to the races. I’m hardly keeping her to myself.”

“Boys, for heaven’s sake. Julius, tell them to stop,” the duchess insisted, looking to her husband to referee the brothers.

“You heard your mother. The subject is closed. I think it’s time for port.” The duke nodded at a footman as he came to his feet. “We’ll have tea and port in the drawing room.” He moved down the table to his wife, Elspeth, who looked radiant in aquamarine tissue silk, her beauty undiminished at fifty-four.

While older, the duke was still fit and handsome, although his dark hair had grayed at the temples.

Perhaps their love kept them youthful. Their marriage was filled with joy, their affection for each other deep and abiding.

Taking Elspeth’s hand, the duke helped her to her feet, then turned to his children and deliberately shifted the conversation back to racing. “Why don’t we make our day at the track tomorrow a little more interesting. What say I give five-to-one odds on my black? Although he’s going to win, so perhaps there aren’t any takers.”

“I don’t know about that, Papa,” Lydia quickly retorted. “My bay has a good chance of winning. He came in only seconds behind your black during the practice run this morning.”

“Not to mention Lord Greyson’s ringer from the North is running tomorrow,” Giles noted, rising from his chair. “Your black may not win.”

The duke’s gaze narrowed. “How do you know it’s a ringer?”

“So gossips attest. Or more to the point, a reliable bookmaker said as much.”

The duke softly swore, then quirked his mouth in a faint smile. “We’ll have to find out the truth before the race tomorrow, now won’t we?”

“Excellent idea, darling,” Elspeth said. “You know how I hate to lose.”

Over port and very little tea, the next day’s race card was dissected and discussed, everyone placing their bets on the morrow’s race as was their habit.

It was late when Duff finally rose from his chair and bid his family good night.

Had he stayed to listen at the door he would have heard his family’s consensus strongly favoring his new friendship with Miss Foster. Everyone agreed she was the best thing that had happened to him since his return from Waterloo. His family agreed as well that should events progress sufficiently, Miss Foster should indeed be invited to dinner.

“But I shall do the inviting,” the duchess stated firmly. “And you are ordered to behave, Giles. We want nothing to disturb your brother’s improved situation.”

“I was only teasing, Mama,” Giles protested.

“Your mother is aware of both your susceptibility to beautiful women and Miss Foster’s splendid good looks, however,” the duke noted. “Miss Foster can be very dazzling, so mind your manners.”

“Dazzling?” The duchess sent an amused look her husband’s way. “Do you mean to say you’ve noticed?”

“I only have eyes for you, darling,” he replied with a grin. “That does not mean, however, that I’m blind.”

“I understand, sweetheart,” the duchess noted gently. “We all agree that Miss Foster is a diamond of the first water. Now if only she will be kind to our dear Duff.”

The issue of kindness to the marquis was hardly under debate at the Foster cottage that evening. Annabelle’s mother and Molly were loud and persistent in their praise of the marquis. And while Annabelle was perhaps a tad less enthusiastic in her response, she had to agree in principle that Duff was indeed charming.

And, she decided, it wouldn’t be a question so much of being pleasant to him, but rather of taking care not to be
too
pleasant.

“By all means you must go to the races tomorrow with that nice young man,” her mother insisted. “Molly and I can care for Cricket very well without you.”

“Mama, please don’t read anything more than casual friendship in Darley’s interest,” Annabelle warned, not wishing her mother to harbor false hopes about their relationship. “You know as well as I that nobles keep to their own kind. We are well below his station.”

“It doesn’t hurt to enjoy yourself at the races,” Mrs. Foster retorted. “Does it, Molly?” she added with a wink at the wet nurse. The two women had discussed the marquis at length while Annabelle was gone.

“Not one bit it don’t hurt,” Molly agreed cheerfully. “A little fun would be good for you, Miss Belle.”

“You must wear something pretty tomorrow, my dear,” her mother declared, her good humor in sharp contrast to her recent despairing moods. “Perhaps that lovely pink sprigged muslin with the ruffled hem and lace collar.”

Belle made a small moue. “I’m not sure I wish to wear something so colorful with Chloe so recently gone.”

“Nonsense. Nothing will bring Chloe back no matter if you wear the blackest black forever,” Mrs. Foster asserted steadfastly. “And your dear sister would want you to be happy. Since Papa died we’ve been sadly lacking in anything resembling that emotion. Do you know the marquis made me laugh today,” her mother said, softly, “when I thought I’d forgotten how. And it felt ever so good, darling,” she added with a brisk nod. “So be a dear and wear something nice for me tomorrow.”

How could she refuse when her mother had been lost to her inner world of misery for months? How could she possibly refuse such a simple request. “If you wish me to wear the pink sprigged muslin, Mama, I shall,” Annabelle said, smiling at her mother.

“What a good girl you are,” her mother said cheerfully, as she had so many times during Annabelle’s childhood. “Now, you’ll need a bonnet for the sun, what with the racetrack out in the open. Do we have anything pretty?”

“I have that small leghorn bonnet, Mama.” It had been left behind on one of her previous visits.

“Yes, yes.” Her mother clapped her hands. “The little straw with the pink ribbons and silk roses. Perfect. Now, you must make sure to be ready by one so the marquis isn’t kept waiting.”

If going to the races with Duff and wearing pink could make her mother this happy, she would gladly comply, Annabelle decided. “Don’t worry, Mama, I’ll be ready before-times.”