Barbara Metzger (22 page)

“I confess, I’m worried about Trev. It’s not good for a man to have no future and nothing to do. I know. His family will support him, but I know he’d rather earn his own keep than be handed it like a remittance man.” St. Sevrin was chafing enough under the yoke of his wife’s fortune.

“Is he honest? Intelligent? No, I take that back. He must be if he’s your friend.”

“Thank you, Duchess, for thinking all my friends are paragons. May you never meet the scum I play with at cards.”

“Those are not your friends.” She was positive. “You wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of fetching one of them home, would you? Lieutenant Roe was obviously worth the effort, worth your worrying over him now.”

“Trev is a good man and a good friend. He was a deuced good officer, with a head for details and strategy that even Old Hokey recognized. He was one of Wellesley’s aides when he went down. Trev’s no scholar, but he’s certainly more intelligent than most of the gossoons they have working at the War Office now.”

“Then why don’t you make him your man of business? Mr. Mackensie won’t be around forever, and you admitted yourself he doesn’t keep up with the shipping ventures you’re interested in.” She hesitated a moment. “And if you’re not to be in London all the time, you’ll need someone responsible to look after your banking interests and such. Perhaps you could make him a loan so he’d be a partner instead of a mere employee. That way he’d have a share in the profits and could pay you back when he makes his own fortune.”

“And I’d have an excuse for keeping him at St. Sevrin House rather than letting him go to his parents’ stuffy mausoleum of a place or cheap bachelor digs with no one to watch out for him. He can have an office of his own and his own apartment. It’s a brilliant idea, sweetings, thank you!” He kissed her gloved hand right there in front of Mary, who giggled.

After luncheon, the duke again rode in the carriage. “Now that you’ve settled Trevor so happily, my sweet, what about Kelly? He’s too good a man to waste opening doors or ironing cravats.”

Lisanne had it all worked out. “Oh, he’s to be your estate manager when I—we—return to Devon.” Lisanne wasn’t sure how long before St. Sevrin’s interest in the country, or his interest in her, waned. He might want her to go to London to make things more comfortable for him now, but he might forget about his promise to come home later to take up the reins of his holdings. She couldn’t trust the duke yet, but she could trust Kelly. “The people like him and respect him for being a veteran, but more for being farm-bred himself. He knows a great deal and can learn more from working with the bailiff at Neville Hall. There is too much work for one man, or even two, to do it all. Even if…if you are there, you’ll need help. And Mary will be happy.”

The maid was blushing scarlet. St. Sevrin laughed. “Ah, so the wind sits in that corner, does it? I’m not surprised. It’s a fine man you’d be getting, Mary, if you can bring him up to scratch.”

“Oh, I aim to, Your Grace. He’s already hooked. I just have to reel him in.”

“Poor Kelly, he never had a chance, did he?” No more than he had, Sloane supposed. He wasn’t exactly complaining. His duchess was looking charming in an apple green merino traveling costume, and another of those silly bonnets with a posy of silk roses tucked under the brim. She looked like a sprite peeking out from a garden. She was a good traveler, too, when she wasn’t worried about her dog, her plants, the goat, or the drivers out in the rain. Lisanne would have ridden farther without breaks, but Sloane made sure they stopped long enough at every change of horses for her to eat something. He wasn’t bringing any undernourished nymph to Town.

Sloane also stopped early enough every evening for a leisurely dinner and a good night’s rest—in separate rooms. The duchess had enough in her dish now, he decided, being out in the world for the first time in her life. Hell, she’d never been out of Devon. And she was too frail. And shouldn’t be breeding during the Season he meant for her to enjoy. St. Sevrin did make sure that they shared a good night kiss, though, for her to think about in her solitary chamber. He stayed down in the taproom, so he
wouldn’t
think about it.

Back in the carriage, Sloane was pleased to find his wife didn’t jabber on like some females he knew, but asked reasonable questions about everything she saw. St. Sevrin was looking forward to showing her the sights of London, the Opera House, Astley’s Amphitheater, Hyde Park with its swans and Serpentine and Society on the strut. He was sure she’d adore the stuff he’d disdained for ages. As the cortege moved closer to Town and traffic got heavier, Sloane grew more eager, more assured of the welcome she’d receive there. Lisanne, however, grew less and less confident with every mile. She was twisting her gloves and biting her lip and not asking about the passing scenes. She wasn’t doing more than crumbling her toast, either, and feeding it to whatever creature was handy.

To keep her from dwelling on tomorrow, from retreating into that quiet shell she erected, Sloane teased: “Now that you’ve got Trevor’s future mapped out, and Kelly’s, what have you planned for me, Duchess? You haven’t left me much to do but sign the checks. Surely you don’t intend me to become just another useless pet of Society, do you?”

“I doubt if Society would relish a bored timber wolf in its midst,” she answered without thinking, and blushed when he laughed.

“They haven’t in the past, sweetings. What am I to do, then, besides escort the newest comet about Town?”

“You have to make the decisions. You can’t expect Kelly or Lieutenant Roe to know your mind. You can’t do everything, of course. I know, for I tried. There’s always a leaking roof or a blocked drain just when you’re thinking about next year’s crop rotations. Or there’s an account that doesn’t balance when you’re needed to choose a new doctor for the village. Kelly and Trevor can handle the details. Besides, you’ll be starting the horse-breeding farm you’ve always wanted. A racing stud, is it?”

“My word, woman, are you a mind reader besides? I’ve never mentioned that to anyone. How did you know?”

“Why else would you have bought a difficult animal like Diablo? And then, when you saw what he was, why would you keep him a stallion? I’m not a fool, Your Grace.”

He kissed her hand again. “No, but you married one, Your Grace.”

*

He wasn’t such a fool, for he’d designed a room Lisanne couldn’t help but adore. The walls were painted a pale yellow, but then he’d had an artist come in to paint trellises and flowers from floor to ceiling, with painted vines climbing the gauze-covered windows. Painted clusters of wildflowers adorned the white lacquered furniture, with matching live bouquets on every surface. The bed hangings and upholstered lounge and chairs were deep forest green, with make-believe birds in brilliant colors woven into the fabric.

Lisanne just kept turning in circles, trying to take it all in, together with the fact that St. Sevrin had done it for her. “It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.”

The duke was standing by the doorway, frowning. “Then why are you crying?”

“Because it’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.”

The duke shrugged and went downstairs while Lisanne refreshed herself after the long journey. Mary was already bossing the line of footmen over the placement of Her Grace’s trunks.

St. Sevrin waited in the library, which he’d also furnished with Lisanne in mind. Not that he’d made another garden in this wood-and-leather domain, but when Sloane had restocked the shelves of books his father had sold off, he’d considered her tastes as well as his own. The walls held all the classics, plus whole sections devoted to modern works on botany, agriculture, and medicine. He’d bought whatever he thought she might enjoy, encyclopedias and foreign dictionaries, along with current works of poetry and fiction that mightn’t have come her way. Considering that he’d never seen her without a book in her pocket or nearby, even in the carriage, he thought she might like the library. He found a measure of peace there himself usually, studying the farming journals or investment guides.

His Grace would find no peace today, for Trevor found him there and demanded to know what had kept them so long. Bets were on at the clubs that St. Sevrin had decamped for parts unknown rather than presenting his wife in Town.

Instead of discussing his stallion’s affection for a goat, Sloane mentioned Lisanne’s proposal to his friend. Trevor was thrilled. “Told them at Whitehall I had a head for figures. This’ll be much better. Mother will have kitten fits, of course, that I’ll be going into trade, but the pater will be so relieved, he’ll come down heavy with my share for investing.”

Trevor was still excited when Lisanne came down. “I’d get down on one knee to thank you, Your Grace, but since I only have one knee and Sherry would have to haul me up off your carpet, I’ll just declare myself your devoted slave. And now I’ll leave you to start my packing, so you might have your privacy.”

“No,” they both shouted.

“It’s part of the package,” Sloane told him. “You’ve got to be nearby to be of sufficient help. This place is surely big enough for all of us to rattle around in.”

“And I’ll feel better about being in London if I have familiar faces around me. Please stay.”

“My lady, you are as gracious as you are beautiful. I accept, if only to have more time to convince you to leave this cad and run off with me.”

“What, are you trying to give her a disgust of London already?”

Then Aunt Hattie arrived, to St. Sevrin’s relief. He wasn’t worried about Trev turning Lisanne’s head; he was worried about getting her launched properly. He didn’t know the first thing about introducing a proper female around. Sloane hardly knew any proper females, in fact, and Trev wasn’t much better, having been with the army even longer. For certain they couldn’t take Lisanne to their usual haunts, and neither was currently high on the invitation lists of polite hostesses. Sloane vowed to himself to keep out of low company while his wife was in Town, since it would be easier to establish her respectably if he could salvage his own reputation.

Aunt Hattie was also convinced to stay in Berkeley Square to preside over Lisanne’s presentation, and Trevor was quick to enlist his mother on her behalf, too. Viscountess Roehampton was as starchy a matron as any of Almack’s patronesses, but she felt a debt to the duke and his little duchess.

While the duke and his new
charge d’affaires
got busy over their investment schemes, the two pillars of Society got busy over Lisanne’s introduction to the
ton
. They decided not to pitchfork her into the Season, where a green girl could flounder so easily, but to ease her into the stream. In a well-orchestrated campaign, Lady St. Sevrin was carefully escorted to the theater to sit in the Roehampton box, and to the park in Lady Comstock’s barouche. She was taken along on morning calls to the dowagers’ friends, who just happened to be the most influential women in the
belle monde.
She was introduced to small groups at select dinner parties, and slightly larger ones at musicales and card parties. The duke, meanwhile, was permitted to take his wife sightseeing when nothing more important was planned, if he swore not to let her appear blue, collect interesting weeds in her pockets, or try to rescue every overworked cart horse in London. He was expressly forbidden to take her to the Tower with its filthy, flea-ridden menagerie.

Finally Lisanne’s mentors deemed her ready for her presentation to royalty. With their connections, Ladies Comstock and Roehampton managed to get their protégée a private audience with the queen and her son, instead of one of the chockablock drawing rooms. After all, Lisanne was a duchess, not a debutante, and it was the prince himself who had asked to meet her, in her mandatory hooped skirt and feathered headdress.

Prinny seemed very pleased about it, too. “Now we see why you wanted to keep this beautiful creature in the hinterlands, St. Sevrin. Glad we convinced you otherwise, what? Beauty is to be shared, St. Sevrin, that’s our credo. And we hear you are back at the clubs again, too. Good man. Next we’ll be looking for you to take your rightful place in Parliament. We are well satisfied.”

St. Sevrin was, too. Lisanne wasn’t Prinny’s type, thank goodness. He mopped his brow in relief when they were in their carriage. The meeting had gone remarkably well considering what could have happened if his bride had pulled a baby rabbit from her pocket. Sloane marveled that Lisanne hadn’t seemed nervous about meeting the monarchs in the least. She only regretted that the poor king wasn’t well enough to join them, which had the queen declaring her a very sweet child.

That very sweet child lit into her husband on the way home. She pulled out the ridiculous ostrich plumes that had taken an hour to place correctly in her hair and frowned across at him. “Do you mean to tell me that you don’t sit in the Lords? Even my papa made sure he came for important sessions. I have been in London a sennight now, and I have seen more disease, hunger, filth, and crime than in my entire life in Devon. And you have the power to do something for the climbing boys, the child prostitutes, the unemployed veterans—and you don’t?”

The duke wished he could take her in his arms and shut her mouth with a kiss, but those damnable hooped skirts were in the way. “Hold, Duchess. I’ve been to the stodgiest of tea parties, the most boring of musical evenings, and even a lecture on the healing properties of fungus. You and your watchdogs have dragged me to church on Sundays, by Jupiter, and to every historic cathedral betweentimes. Must I suffer another sermon after facing Prinny’s? Have a heart, sweetings.”

“I do. For the people you could be helping.”

“Do you see your goodness in everyone? Even me?”

“I see that you aren’t nearly as evil as you play at being.”

If she could see what he was thinking about doing under her hooped skirts, she might reconsider. He smiled. “What makes you think I’m not all bad, Duchess?”

She smiled back. “I saw you pet the goat.”

Her
Grace was officially out. His Grace was unofficially back in the prince’s favor. Both their graces were in good graces with the
ton
. For now. Invitations came pouring in, but more from curiosity, Lisanne knew, than any sense of friendliness.