An Unsuitable Duchess (9 page)

‘And why exactly are we discussing Miss Vandenberg?’

‘She had her father send me this lovely book. I am curious as to what kind of girl would do such a thoughtful thing. You say she did this completely without your influence?’

‘I doubt the lady could be influenced into doing anything at my bidding,’ he muttered.

‘Nonsense—you are Lyonsdale.’

‘At the moment that fact does not seem to be to my advantage with her.’

‘Why not?’

‘Miss Vandenberg is a little cross with me at the moment, due to my title.’ He knew it was absurd, and saying it out loud made it appear more so.

‘I do not understand. Does she not realise the significance of your station?’

‘She does. However, I do not believe she cares.’

‘Because she is an American?’

‘Because she is Miss Vandenberg. In truth, I find at times that she baffles me with her logic.’ And his reaction to her mere presence baffled him more.

His grandmother tilted her head and he realised he’d said too much. Miss Vandenberg wasn’t a woman he was courting, or even a woman he should be thinking of courting. And yet he’d told his grandmother more about her than he had about any other woman.

Knowing that she was annoyingly perceptive, he knew he needed to place distance between them before she started asking a litany of questions. He pushed himself off the chair and walked to the window overlooking Grosvenor Square.

‘Would you take me to Almack’s tonight?’ she called to him.

Dear God, he should have just left the room
. The last place he ever wanted to go was Almack’s. He might as well place a notice in the
Morning Chronicle
, stating that he was shopping for a wife.

‘Why in the world would you want me to do that?’ he asked, trying to think of an excuse as to why he could not take her. ‘You’ve been going there for years without me.’

‘Yes, and it is about time you used those vouchers of yours. Each year you pay for them, and each year you never use them.’

He wasn’t giving in. Her reasoning wasn’t good enough.

She rubbed her knees and sighed. ‘If I don’t move these bones they may stiffen permanently.’

Crossing his arms, he arched a sceptical brow. If the woman hadn’t been born into the aristocracy, she might have made a fine living on the stage.

‘I do not have many years left,’ she continued. ‘Is it so wrong for me to wish to spend time with my grandson? I rarely see you any more, with all the time you are spending with Lord Kenyon’s committee and other Parliamentary affairs.’

She blinked a few times, and Julian wasn’t certain if he saw tears in her eyes.

Should he remind her that they saw each other most mornings over the breakfast table? He searched the frescoed ceiling for an answer, but the cherubs just laughed down at him. He allowed her to live with him in London during the Season because he cared about her, and knew they probably didn’t have many more years left together. Perhaps it was time he hired her a companion and rented her a townhouse.

Letting out a deep breath, Julian knew he was going to regret agreeing to go with her. And yet he was unable to say no.

Chapter Eight

A
s Julian stepped into the cavernous assembly room at Almack’s the large mirrors magnified the many women and men who turned to look. Heads poked around the gilt columns to his right, and some people even had the impudence to raise their quizzers at him. This was why he avoided mixing with the likes of the marriage mart. Their unabashed interest in him was tiresome.

He walked further into the room, with his grandmother on his arm and his mother at his other side. They left a buzz of voices in their wake.

‘This is a testament to how much I care for you,’ he whispered down to his grandmother. ‘Do not expect me to escort you here again.’

She blinked up at him innocently and readjusted her hand on his arm. ‘Evenings such as these have a way of turning unexpectedly. You may change your mind.’

‘There is nothing in Christendom that would make me enjoy myself tonight,’ Julian replied through a polite smile, knowing the people around them were trying to listen to their conversation.

His mother nodded regally at the Duchess of Skeffington and Lady Harlow. Julian knew his mother was not fond of the gossipy pair. He wasn’t either, and had no qualms about pretending he did not see them.

‘You are shocking people tonight with your presence, Lyonsdale,’ his mother said from behind her fan. ‘They see a man in search of a wife. Perhaps you might consider announcing your intentions and quelling their interest?’

‘Madam, tonight I have no intention of announcing anything.’

His mother pursed her lips together and looked away. Julian was surprised she hadn’t broached the subject of Lady Mary sooner. He assumed she was here somewhere. Lady Morley would not be remiss in displaying her daughter to the eligible men of the
ton
. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. Tonight he would speak with Lady Mary and discover if he would be able to endure sitting across the breakfast table from her each morning.

Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the mixed floral scents and the body odour that permeated the room. There would be no escaping to the terrace for some cleaner air tonight. He scanned the room for Lady Mary and stifled a yawn. With all these masses of white spinning about the floor he would never be able to identify her unless she was standing directly in front of him.

He leaned over to his grandmother. ‘Please tell me they have begun serving something more fortifying here than that insipid lemonade.’

‘I wish I could—but that is what flasks are for, my boy,’ she whispered, patting her reticule.

From the corner of his eye he spied Lady Morley, heading their way. Before he was able to summon an excuse to avoid having to speak with the woman his grandmother came to his rescue.

‘Oh, look—I believe I see Lady Cowper,’ she said. ‘Will you excuse us, Beatrice?’ Without waiting for a reply she tugged on Julian’s arm and they began walking towards one of the patronesses who ruled Almack’s.

‘Now you see why I avoid these evenings,’ Julian said, studying the crowd in front of them and trying to determine the least dangerous route to Lady Cowper. ‘They can be most trying.’

‘Chin up, my boy, I believe this night is about to become quite interesting.’

He glanced down at his grandmother. Why did he have the feeling she was privy to something he was not?

They approached the affable Lady Cowper, and the ladies exchanged pleasantries. Then she turned her full attention to Julian. ‘What a pleasure to see you, Your Grace. It has been some time since you’ve been in attendance.’

‘Yes, I suppose it has.’

‘It appears we have caused quite a stir this evening,’ his grandmother commented, glancing around.

‘Yes, in fact I believe your arrival has surpassed tonight’s latest sensation.’

His grandmother stepped closer and lowered her voice. ‘Really, Lady Cowper? Do tell.’

‘That American author Vandenberg is here, with his daughter. I understand the man is entertaining, and his daughter is quite accomplished.’

Julian’s heart skipped a beat, and he fought the urge to scan the assembly room for her.

His grandmother’s eyes widened a little too much. ‘Really? They are here tonight? I would enjoy making the man’s acquaintance.
A Traveler’s Tale
is a most enjoyable read.’

‘I am certain Madame de Lieven can introduce you. She has sponsored the family.’ She leaned in close and lowered her voice. ‘We were astonished when she promoted the Americans. However, I find they comport themselves surprisingly well.’

‘Americans are not the provincials some imagine them to be,’ Julian stated firmly, feeling an inexplicable need to come to their defence.

Both women stared at him in surprise, before Lady Cowper narrowed her gaze. ‘Surely you’re aware that we have seen very few American women in our circles? It was difficult to determine how they would behave.’

His grandmother began to cough, and Julian would not have been surprised if she had dramatically thrown herself on the floor to enhance the effect.

‘My word, do you require assistance?’ Lady Cowper asked with true concern.

His grandmother shook her head and the coughing miraculously stopped. ‘A glass of lemonade should help ease the tickle in my throat,’ she said, patting her chest. She grasped Julian’s sleeve and gave it a subtle tug, leaving him no choice but to walk with her to the refreshment table.

He handed her a glass and held back a laugh when she poured in some clear liquid from a small silver flask. He wasn’t certain what she had added, but as long as it was potent he didn’t really care. Selecting a glass, he held it out to her, and she added a generous splash. The smell of gin reached Julian’s nose as he raised the glass to his lips. If his father had been alive now the man would have had an apoplexy, knowing the matriarch of their family carried gin on her person. However, if it would help Julian survive an evening in the marriage mart he would not admonish her.

‘Do you see her?’ his grandmother asked as her gaze trailed over the room.

He had known she was up to something! He took a long drink. ‘To whom are you referring?’

‘Oh, I think you know.’

‘What exactly are you plotting?’

‘Why do you believe I am plotting anything?’ she asked, arching an inquisitive brow.

‘I am not dim-witted,’ replied Julian, and he arched his brow in return.

‘No, you are not.’

‘That was not an answer.’

‘What was the question?’

He momentarily closed his eyes. When he looked back at her the glass in her hand was empty. ‘I’m trying to decide if it is wise to give you more lemonade.’

She reached behind him and took another glass. ‘You do not need to attend to me all evening. You should look around. You might find someone of interest.’

Julian eyed his grandmother in annoyance. Why did the women in his life seem to have this need to meddle in his affairs? He stood near her, refusing to give any indication that he was in search of a wife. However, this time when his gaze travelled across the room he easily spotted Miss Vandenberg amid the whirl of white. He was transfixed as he watched her attempt to move gracefully through a quadrille with that idiot Lord Boreham.

‘Are you going to dance with her?’ the pest at his side whispered.

He glanced down at her. ‘I have no desire to dance this evening.’

‘Forgive me. I thought you had found something that held your attention. I must have been mistaken.’

‘You most certainly were,’ he replied, his eyes inexplicably drawn back to the dancing couple.

She lowered her voice even further. ‘If that is Miss Vandenberg, Madame de Lieven will know if she has been given permission to waltz.’

Julian stared at his grandmother, aghast. ‘I have never waltzed here, and I do not intend to do so now.’

However, if they did waltz together he would have her undivided attention. She would not be able to leave the conversation when it was convenient for her, as she had each time they’d spoken in the past.

A smile tugged at his lips as he watched her walk off the dance floor.

* * *

When the quadrille ended Katrina returned to Mrs Forrester and Sarah, who were standing near one of the white gilded columns. She was grateful for the reprieve.

‘You appear to have both feet intact,’ Sarah teased. ‘Perhaps Lord Boreham has taken dancing lessons.’

Fanning herself to cool her heated body, Katrina smirked. ‘No, I have simply become adept at hiding my pain.’

‘Did you hear about the caricature that was printed of him recently?’ Sarah asked, staring questioningly into her glass of lemonade.

Most of these satires mocked political figures and the Prince Regent. Katrina knew there were others that were drawn of certain members of the
ton
, but since she was fairly new to London, and not well acquainted with too many people, she never paid much attention to them. However, now she was intrigued. ‘What does it look like?’

Sarah glanced over at Lord Boreham, who was standing a few feet away with a group of young bucks. ‘In it he is sprawled on the ground at the entrance to the Palace of Westminster. I do not recall the caption, but the image was memorable. A number of the dandies standing with him now were having a good laugh over it last evening.’

Although she was not fond of the marquess, Katrina felt sorry for him. It must be mortifying to have someone you didn’t know make a mockery of your life.

‘Katrina, if you persist in moving your fan so rapidly I fear the lady behind you will discover her peacock-feathered cap flying away!’ advised Mrs Forrester.

Katrina slowed her hand. ‘Pardon me, but it is so warm in here. I’m looking forward to stepping through the next dance just to create a breeze.’

‘A waltz would do nicely,’ Sarah said.

Katrina leaned in closer. ‘I cannot believe we need permission to waltz here. I have been waltzing all over Europe, and now someone of no relation to me must give their consent.’

‘Well, I find it unusual that men cannot wear trousers here,’ Sarah said, scanning the stocking-clad calves of the men around them. ‘What an odd rule.’

‘Perhaps the patronesses are using their influence as an excuse to admire finely formed legs,’ replied Katrina. ‘What I don’t—’

‘Madame de Lieven, how wonderful to see you,’ said Mrs Forrester, a bit too enthusiastically.

Katrina raised her fan to hide her laugh and turned. Her eyes widened when she saw the Russian Ambassador’s wife on the arm of the Duke of Lyonsdale.

‘It is lovely to see you, ladies,’ Madame de Lieven said, inclining her head. She introduced Mrs Forrester and Sarah to the Duke, and then turned to Katrina. ‘I understand you are already acquainted with His Grace?’

Katrina could feel the weight of his attention as she lowered herself into a curtsy. ‘I am,’ she muttered.

‘Ladies,’ he said, in that deep voice that reverberated through her body. ‘I hope you are enjoying yourselves this evening.’

Mrs Forrester replied rather quickly—perhaps because she was wary of what Katrina or Sarah might say. ‘Thank you, we are. I believe Almack’s is an experience one must have in order to fully appreciate it.’