The Duke's Holiday (27 page)

“He’s bloody well knocked out,” he concluded. He himself
had been more conscious after ten rounds in the boxing ring.

“What’re we gonna do now?” Stevenage murmured. “He just
cocked things up royally with Miss Astrid.”

“Aye, but she were liking it well enough ‘til then,” Flora
said with amusement.

Newcomb scratched his head. Only one thing was still clear
to him. He couldn’t let the Duke leave until he fell in love with Miss
Honeywell.

“He’ll be in the devil of a temper tomorrow, and all afire
to leave,” Newcomb said.

“Well, we can’t let him,” Stevenage declared.

Newcomb and Stevenage had come to a mutual understanding
down at the festival today after witnessing the argument between the Duke and
Miss Honeywell, as well as its unlikely result.

The Duke had clearly met his Waterloo, and it was about
damned time.

Now they only needed the Duke to realize he had already
lost the war.

That meant more time in Miss Honeywell’s company.

“Well,” he said, bending over to heave Montford up, “we
can’t leave him here. Grab his legs, Roddy.”

Roddy hunkered down and grabbed Montford’s ankles.
“Where’re we taking him?”

Newcomb braced Montford’s torso against his chest. “Heard
Miss Honeywell was off to Hawes tomorrow. ‘Twould be a shame to let her go
alone, don’t you think?”

Stevenage sniggered so hard he nearly dropped Montford’s
legs.

Flora shook her head and helped Stevenage with one of His
Grace’s ankles. Her eyes danced with merriment, her spectacular bosom jiggled
with exertion as she helped haul the Duke of Montford to his fate. Newcomb could
see why Stevenage had elected to remain in Rylestone. “Oh, this is terrible
naughty, ain’t it?” she whispered without the slightest trace of remorse.

“Remember, we’re doing it
for their own good
,” Newcomb said solemnly.

They found Monford a bed for the night, but it wasn’t in
the castle, and soon it wouldn’t even be in Rylestone.

MEANWHILE,
BACK IN LONDON…

AT
THE precise hour Montford fell across Aunt Anabel, dislodging her wig, Lady
Katherine, Marchioness of Manwaring, was encountering her own bit of mayhem
several hundred miles away in London. She discreetly pulled her skirt hem out
of the way of three pairs of tiny feet as Lady Victoria, aged five, was pursued
by her twin cousins, the Ladies Beatrice and Laura, aged six, in a lively game
of tag in the formal drawing room of the Earl of Brinderley’s London residence.

Katherine winced when the game terminated in a loud crash.
One of the Earl’s prize Chinese vases was shattered.

So was the Countess of Brinderley’s patience with her eldest
child and nieces. A harried nurse was summoned, and the children were packed
off to the nursery, a course of action Katherine would have prescribed fifteen
minutes before when the matching vase had suffered a similar fate at the other
end of the room.

But the Countess was an indulgent (i.e. inconsistent)
mother, and let her children run riot, especially when their cousins visited.
The Countess’ nieces were famously unmanageable, and Elaine professed herself
unequipped to discipline them. Such a task was, she claimed, more exhausting
than simply letting them run amok.

That point was debatable, as the Countess was looking quite
exhausted at the moment, reclining on the divan, fanning her flushed face.
Katherine suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Elaine had been possessed of a
theatrical streak ever since they were girls together at school.

If Katherine had children,
she
would not have raised them in such a haphazard manner.

But she hadn’t any children and never would.

The pain of this fact was always significantly lessened
after a visit to the Countess’. Her children were a cautionary tale.

Elaine sighed again and munched on her biscuit. “I’m quite
put out with Marlowe, fobbing the twins on me while he’s off in Cornwall with
you-know-who doing god-knows-what.”

Katherine could only guess what the latter euphemism was
meant to include – no doubt drinking, carousing, and cavorting with loose
women, the Viscount’s usual regimen when he repaired to the country – which,
incidentally, was the same regimen he employed in the city. The
you-know-who
was easier to pinpoint. Mr.
Sherbrook, the Viscount’s bosom friend, was always referred to by such a code
in her presence. Owing to the estrangement between her husband and his nephew,
it was considered
de trop
to speak
Sherbrook’s name to her face. As if it would somehow offend her sensibilities,
which it would most certainly not. Mr. Sherbrook
himself
offended her, not his name.

Elaine, quite recovered, now the children were packed off,
sat up with alacrity and refilled her teacup. “Now, tell me how fares your
upcoming event at St. George’s?”

Katherine had been wondering how long it would take Elaine
to mention her sister’s wedding. “My sister and mother assure me everything is
going famously.”

The wedding was sure to be the social event of the year, if
not the decade.
Everyone
, her mother had
told her in that disapproving, slightly anxious tone she used whenever she
addressed her eldest daughter, was well-pleased with how things had turned out.

Everyone but Araminta. But Katherine knew her parents well
enough not to confront them about this small hitch to their grand schemes. Her
own marriage was proof of how well such opposition worked upon her father. No,
a subtler game must be played in her sister’s case, if she was to escape this
marriage and marry her Mr. Morton.

Katherine held no romantic notions of true love between
Araminta and Mr. Morton. And she didn’t think Mr. Morton, a younger son who
fancied himself a poet, was the better man. In fact, she didn’t like her sister’s
choice of mate any better than she did their parents’. Katherine was determined
to help her sister for one reason only, and that was to vex her father. Not
very noble or kind of her, but there it was.

She hated her father.

He
hated
everyone.

And this time, Lord Carlisle could not punish
her
for thwarting his will, as she was a
married woman.

Katherine smiled into her teacup. She couldn’t wait for the
day when her father discovered what she had done. “It shall be a wonderful
wedding, Elaine. I
do
hope you’re
well enough to attend.”

Elaine’s gaze narrowed on Lady Katherine. “You are up to
something, aren’t you?”

Lady Katherine’s smile deepened. “Oh, I’m always up to
something, Elaine. It is just most of the time no one notices.”

Lady Elaine returned Katherine’s smile with a sly grin and
pointed her fan in her direction. “Ah, but then I’ve known you for years and
years. Your eyes always give you away. They sparkle when you’re scheming.”

“I am not scheming,” she protested.

“Ah, well, I shall not press you. I suppose I shall simply
sit back and discover for myself what all of the twinkling is about.”

“I suppose you shall,” Katherine murmured into her tea.

At that moment, a servant entered, bearing a letter on a
silver salver. He bowed over Elaine’s seat. “A letter delivered by courier, my
lady.”

Elaine was immediately diverted. “Who could be sending a
note by courier? Unless it is Marlowe, telling me he cannot come home today. In
which case I shall be most annoyed …” She stared at the seal and her eyes
widened. “How very
very
odd, my dear
Katie, it’s from Montford.”

Katherine refilled her tea and ate a biscuit, trying to
look discreetly uninterested in the letter, while Elaine ripped the missive
open and read the contents, tsking in disbelief now and then at something she’d
read.

At length, she lowered the document and gave Katherine a
perplexed, considering look. “Did you know His Grace was in Yorkshire?”

“I had heard he’d taken a trip, but I assume he had
returned, since the wedding is in a fortnight.”

“No, he’s in Yorkshire. A place called–” she
referenced the letter “—Rylestone Green. Never heard of it. Most
irregular.”

“Yes, it sounds very irregular.”

“He writes to me that he has come into the possession of
four cousins.”

Katherine arched her eyebrow. “Indeed.”

“Four
female
cousins. Two of them of marriageable age. He asks me to sponsor them for a
Season.”

How very interesting.

The Countess sighed in exasperation. “I can’t figure out
what he’s thinking. The Season is over. We shall have to wait for next year,
unless he means for me to present them during the Little Season. Which shall be
impossible to pull off if they need proper wardrobes, which, judging from what
he says of these …
ahem
, country
misses … they shall. And then there are bonnets, hats, shoes, and deportment
lessons. Can you imagine? Men never think of such details. Besides which, I am
in a delicate way and cannot be bothered with such a monumental undertaking,”
Lady Elaine continued, patting her belly significantly, smiling a secret, smug
smile.

“Not again, Elaine. So soon after the last?” The Countess
was always
enceinte
, which never
failed to surprise her acquaintances, who were also acquainted with the introverted
earl. Brinderley was more interested in his coin collection than his wife. Except,
it seemed, in the bedroom.

“Brinderley wants his heir, and I’m obliged to indulge
him,” the Countess said, looking not at all upset by her duty.

“Well, that is wonderful news.”

Elaine’s smile faded as she glanced down at the letter.
“Four country females from some unknown locale, relatives he didn’t even know
he had! Goodness me, this is all quite distressing!

Katherine too was quite astounded, though her outward
façade did not reveal this. She didn’t know Montford well – no one did
– but she was acquainted with him enough to find this behavior a complete
about-face. Montford writing to the Countess, attempting to fob off four poor
relations, was an inconceivable development.

“I fear something horrible has befallen him,” the Countess
murmured, echoing Katherine’s own drift of thoughts. “He sounds very unlike
himself. And the worst of it is, he expects
me
to drive up to this Riverstone place myself and fetch these girls.” Lady Elaine
sniffed and tossed aside the letter. “Montford is so used to having his way.
But I will not do it, Katie. I cannot. I mean, look at me.”

Elaine indicated her person, which looked healthy, plump,
and dressed impeccably in the latest fashion, with nary a wrinkle or stain in
sight.

Katherine, seeing an opportunity to further her own plans,
came heroically to her friend’s aid. “Perhaps I could go in your stead. I am
soon to become Montford’s sister-in-law, after all.”

Elaine seized upon this idea with enthusiasm. “Yes! Yes!
It’s a wonder he didn’t ask you to begin with!” Elaine grimaced at the end of
this outburst, knowing full well why Montford hadn’t written Lady Katherine.

Because of
you-know-who
.

Neither lady mentioned this, however, and Katherine
continued, “I can leave at first light, as he has indicated such urgency.”

“Yes, yes. First light. Just the thing. His tone is very
strange, Katie. I think it best if you fetch him back too.”

“I shall take Araminta with me.”

Elaine’s eyes widened. “Do you think you should? I mean, of
course you should. The wedding and all. But what if …”

“What if what?”

Elaine waved away whatever she’d been about to say. “Oh,
nothing. Just that his writing was most odd. Do you know, Katie, he used
adjectives?” she asked in a low tone.

Lady Katherine failed to see the import of this
pronouncement, but clearly it meant something monumental to her friend.

“He never uses adjectives. Here, look,” she said, jabbing
the letter into Lady Katherine’s hands and pointing to a line. “See how he
describes the eldest gel.”

Lady Katherine read dutifully. “‘Forward, argumentative,
blue-stocking.’ Hmm. Do you know, Elaine, but I quite like the sound of this
chit.”

“You can be sure His Grace doesn’t. He never describes
things. Something strange is going on up there, mark my word.”

“Who are these creatures, I wonder.”

“Honeywell is their surname.”

Lady Katherine folded up the letter and handed it back to
Elaine, careful not to let her surprise show. She knew enough of her family’s
buried history to know exactly who these Honeywell chits had to be.
Her
distant cousins.

The cousins her father would never have her know existed.

How very,
very
interesting. She was glad she had stopped in for tea today.

Yes, a trip to Yorkshire sounded in order. Just the thing,
perhaps, to solve all of her problems.

She set aside her tea and rose. “I shall take my leave to
prepare for the journey.”

Elaine was surprised by her easy agreement to the scheme
and rose to see her out. “It is so good of you to take this upon yourself. I do
not think the Duke would disapprove. Indeed, how could he not? His fiancé and
sister should be the ones to take these Honeywell chits in hand, anyway.” She
pursed her lips. “Besides, it’s not as if Manwaring is even in the country.
Certainly the Duke can’t object to your patronage on that particular ground.”

Katherine inclined her head. “We shall see.”

Elaine furrowed her brow and caught Katherine’s hand. “Do
be careful, my dear. The roads are dangerous this time of year, and Yorkshire,
of all places!”

“Yorkshire? Yorkshire? What’s all this talk of Yorkshire?”
boomed a voice in the doorway.

Lady Katherine turned towards the owner of that basso
profundo and stiffened.

It was the Viscount Marlowe. He was rumpled beyond repair
with several days’ worth of beard growing on his chin. He looked as if he
hadn’t slept in a week – nor changed his clothes. His cravat was missing
and his waistcoat hung open over the swell of his gut. He appeared to be
wearing bedroom slippers.

When he saw her, he looked startled and a little chagrined,
and he attempted to tuck in the hem of his shirt into the back of his pants.

Lady Elaine grinned at her brother and rushed over to greet
him in the French style. No matter their differences, the Viscount was Lady
Elaine’s favorite sibling. No one else in her family could stand him.

Marlowe feigned disgust at this emotional display, and told
his sister to leave off gruffly, wiping the kisses from his cheeks. “What’s
this about Yorkshire?” he repeated. Lady Katherine was shocked he had kept his
train of thought. Marlowe wasn’t known for his brain.

“Lady Katherine is traveling there tomorrow, my dear, on an
errand for me.”

“Oh.” His brow creased as if struggling with a real
thought. Suspicion dawned across his florid features, and his eyes narrowed on
Katherine.

Katherine didn’t wait for explanations. She moved towards
the door. “I must take my leave. I’ll see myself out, Elaine. Stay and talk
with your brother.”

She shut the door behind her and shook her head. The
Viscount was more than Katherine cared to deal with at the moment.
Insufferable, rude, crude. A more unmannerly buffoon she had yet to encounter.
Worse, he couldn’t hold a serious thought in his head for the time it took him
to draw a breath. Though he had seemed serious about wanting to know why she
was going to Yorkshire. Doubtless he knew where the Duke was and didn’t want
her or her family to know. The Viscount had made it obvious on several
occasions how little enthusiasm he had for the match between his best mate and
her sister.

If only the Viscount knew that they were in complete
sympathy on this matter. But she couldn’t explain this to him and have all of
her own plans ruined.