Duchess 02 - Surprising Lord Jack (15 page)

“Nonsense,” Her Grace said. “Of course you need another walking dress. You need many other dresses.” She smiled with what appeared to be sincere delight. “This is just to get you through the first few days.”

“But . . .” There was no possible way she could wear so many clothes, and they would be useless once she left London. It was a shocking waste of money. “I have clothes at home.”
If Viola hasn’t shredded them.

Madam Celeste’s face flushed, and she popped the pins out of her mouth. “Oh, mademoiselle, you cannot wear country dresses in Town. Eet would be une grave erreur. Très, très grave. Everyone, they will laugh and turn their noses up at you.” The woman turned beseeching eyes toward the duchess. “Tell her, Your Grace, s’il vous plaît. Tell her eet would be une catastrophe.”

The duchess laughed. “Madam Celeste is quite right, Frances. You can’t wear country clothes in Town.” She raised her brows. “But I think you know that.”

She did know it. And truthfully, if she let herself consider the matter, much of her clothing would cause comment even in the country.

She’d never gone to any social gathering other than church services. She had no time for such things or any interest in their main purpose, which was catching a husband. She didn’t know how to make small talk or sing or even how to dance.

Oh God. And Jack’s mother was proposing to drag her to all manner of society events, some of which were sure to include balls.

“Will you just finish up that dress, Madam Celeste? Miss Hadley and I need to have a little chat.”

Frances heard the duchess’s words faintly over the pounding in her head; she felt Her Grace take her arm and lead her out of the sitting room and into a smaller room across the corridor.

“What’s the matter, Miss Hadley?”

“Ah.” She swallowed. “Ah.” What could she say?

The duchess was looking at her calmly, as if she had all day to stand there and listen to her sputter.

“I don’t have the money to pay for all these dresses,” she finally managed. It wasn’t the real problem, but it was the one she was willing to discuss. “I mean, I assume the estate will cover some of it, but I—”

The duchess patted her arm. “Miss Hadley, please. Don’t worry about cost. I’m quite certain Rothmarsh will be delighted to pay for all your things.”

“Ah.” This was even worse. It was only supposition that her mother’s family would want anything to do with her, and here she was going to introduce her scandalous self by presenting them with a sheaf of bills? “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The duchess sighed and led her over to a small settee. She pushed her gently to sit and then sat next to her. “My dear, may I call you Frances?”

“Um.” Apparently she still couldn’t form a coherent sentence, so she simply nodded.

Her Grace held Frances’s hand in both of hers. “I remember talking to Charlotte—that’s Lady Whildon—about the pleasures and the . . . well, I guess you might say regrets of having only sons. We both love our boys, you must understand, but we’re a little sad not to have the fun of a daughter’s come-out: the dresses and shoes and all of that.” She paused and looked at Frances as if she expected a response.

“Er,” Frances said, nodding. “Quite.”

“Ash’s wife and Ned’s first wife had no interest in coming up to London, so you might guess my excitement at having you and Ellie here now, doing all of this.” She gestured back at the sitting room and Madam Celeste.

Frances flushed. “But I’m not . . . you have Ellie, of course, but I’m not—”

The duchess held up her hand to stop Frances from heaping more excuses on her head. “I distinctly remember Charlotte telling me how sad Lady Rothmarsh was when your aunt wrote refusing her offer to sponsor your come-out. I know the marchioness will be thrilled to have this second chance to see you grace London’s ballrooms.”

Oh God. The marchioness would see her stumble through all those ballrooms. She’d—

Frances blinked at the duchess. She hadn’t considered . . . “My grandparents are in London?”

“Yes, of course.”

Panic and something else—excitement?—battled in her chest. “Aren’t they rather old?”

The duchess shrugged. “They are past seventy, but still quite spry. I sent word telling them you’re here and that your wardrobe needed a bit of refurbishing.”

“Yes, of course.” The duchess looked a bit puzzled. “I told you I was sending a note to Rothmarsh House.”

Yes, Frances remembered Her Grace saying that, but she hadn’t thought Rothmarsh House actually meant
Rothmarsh
. Her grandfather.

“We certainly don’t wish to keep it a secret, my dear. I expect—”

Someone scratched on the door.

“Come in,” the duchess called. “Oh yes, Mr. Braxton. What is it?”

The butler bowed and extended a silver plate with a folded note. “This came from Rothmarsh House, Your Grace.”

“Splendid. I expect this is Lady Rothmarsh’s reply.” Her Grace broke open the seal. “Yes. We are invited to dine with them tomorrow.” She smiled at the butler. “Please send our acceptance, Mr. Braxton.”

“See?” the duchess said, turning back to Frances and handing her the note. “Your grandmother is
very
excited. She plans to have the entire family over, which will be a bit confusing for you, I’m afraid, but it will be for the best. We want to be sure the
ton
knows all your relatives accept you.”

“I-I see.” Frances stared down at the somewhat wavery writing on the vellum. This just got worse and worse.

“We will also have to locate your brother and his new wife. Oh, not in time for tomorrow’s dinner, of course—that would be too difficult. But we should find them soon. Rothmarsh and his family will want to meet them as well, but we also want to be certain they don’t somehow add to the problem. Have you given any thought to where they might be?”

“No.”
Why
hadn’t Frederick told her he was getting married? And if the landlady was right, and his wife was a trollop . . . well, there was nothing at all she could do about that. “I have no idea, though I suppose my aunt might know.” Hmm. Frederick had not got along with Viola at all. He must have told her he was marrying, but likely did not give her his new direction. “Or maybe not.”

The duchess gave her a long look. “Pardon me for saying so, Frances, but I’m a little suspicious of your aunt’s motives. It seems clear she never shared any of Rothmarsh’s communications with you.”

Yes, it was very odd, and after Viola’s treachery with Littleton, Frances had to conclude that her aunt could only be trusted to do what benefited her aunt.

“Is there anyone else we can ask?”

That was an excellent question. Who would . . . of course! “If Frederick told someone, it was probably our man of business, Mr. Puddington.”

“Excellent! At least that gives us a place to start. Jack can escort you to see this Mr. Puddington as soon as possible. In the meantime, you can write to your aunt to let her know you are safe with us.” She smiled. “I think it would perhaps be best if we didn’t invite her to join you, however; don’t you agree?”

“Yes.” She definitely did not want Viola here, and wouldn’t even if her aunt hadn’t betrayed her. Now that she was away from her, Frances saw even more clearly how very critical and, well, gloomy her aunt was—like a depressing, dark rain cloud; especially compared to the duchess’s sunny disposition.

And this plan would serve her purposes very well, too. She could finally confront Mr. Puddington about her dowry.

Her Grace stood. “Splendid. Now we should go back to Madam Celeste and let her finish your fittings.”

“Ah.” Frances didn’t get up. There was still the main problem—she didn’t know how to dance.

Well, she could always take her place with the other wallflowers. She might even invent a physical impairment to explain her situation.

“Is there something else, dear?”

She should tell the duchess so she wouldn’t try to get her to do something she couldn’t. “Well, yes. I, er . . .”

Her Grace waited patiently, her expression pleasant and politely inquisitive. “Yes? You . . . ?”

There was no way to say this except baldly. “I don’t dance.”

Of course Her Grace wouldn’t let it go at that. “You don’t? Why not?”

Frances flushed. She must be the only twenty-four-year-old woman in England who had never learned to dance. “Because I don’t know how.”

The duchess’s brows did shoot up briefly, but instead of laughing at Frances, she smiled.

“Then Jack can teach you. He’s a very accomplished dancer.”

“So what do you think of Miss Hadley, Drew?” Venus asked, climbing into bed beside him.

He looked up from the
History of the Peloponnesian War
, peering at her over his spectacles. “She seems very nice.” He went back to reading.

“Yes, but what do you
think
of her?” She wormed her way under his arm to lay her head on his shoulder.

“As I say, she seems nice enough.” He sighed and closed the book, putting it on his nightstand with his spectacles. “More to the point, what do
you
think of her?”

Drew was very perceptive—he knew she wished to talk. She ignored his somewhat longing glance at Thucydides. “She is not at all what I expected. I was afraid she’d be impudent and, well, common. Out to sink her talons into poor Jack. But she’s not like that at all.” She snuggled closer to him. “She needs our help.”

He pulled her up so she was half lying on his chest and cupped her face. “Do you think she would make Jack a good wife?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps. I certainly won’t rule out the possibility.” She turned to kiss his palm. “But she
is
quite prickly.”

He chuckled. “I noticed.” He stroked his fingers through her hair. Ah. It felt so good.

But there would be time for that later. Now she must consider Miss Hadley. “It sounds as if she’s lived a terrible existence, Drew. Can you believe she’s never learned to dance?”

How did a young woman of the gentry reach Frances’s age and not know such a basic social skill? Even in the vicarage in Little Huffington, even with parents whose noses were perpetually stuck in Greek or Latin tomes, she and her sister had learned to dance.

Drew brushed a stray hair out of her face. “I’m not surprised. I asked Whildon about her background when I saw him at White’s. From what he told me, as far as his family can ascertain, Miss Hadley has never mixed with society.”

“Never? How sad. So she and her aunt just sit home all the time?” Drew was massaging her neck now. She felt like purring.

“Apparently. Miss Hadley manages the estate, and the aunt complains—at least according to Whildon, who had it from the Earl of Addington. Addington has an estate in Landsford’s vicinity and has never liked the elder Miss Hadley. Calls her supercilious and argumentative.”

“Oh dear.” This just got worse and worse. It was hard to see how a flower could spring from such a dung heap.

Well, no, flowers did grow out of dung, if the proper seed was planted. But was Miss Hadley the proper seed? It wouldn’t do for Jack to marry a virulent weed.

“And what of her paternal grandparents?” Perhaps there was hope in that quarter. Grandparents could have a very positive effect on children, as she was eager to demonstrate if her sons would only gift her with some grandchildren. “Did they visit Miss Hadley at all when she was growing up?”

“I’m afraid not. The grandfather was a botanist like Miss Hadley’s father. He sailed off on some plant expedition when Hadley was only a year or two old and never came back. The grandmother died about a year before Hadley married Lady Diana.”

“Oh.” Her heart sank. So Frances’s father had followed in his father’s footsteps. And she wouldn’t be surprised if the unpleasant man, marrying just a year after his mother’s death, had been looking primarily for a housekeeper to replace his equally unpleasant sister. “And the brother? What do you know of him?”

“Not much. He’s in London, and Whildon did make an effort to reach out to him when he first heard he was in Town, but got soundly rebuffed for his pains.” Drew shrugged. “Rothmarsh finally decided to stop beating his head against that particular wall. With three married sons, he has plenty of grandsons to keep him and his wife busy.”

Venus could not repress a sigh. “It would be very nice to have even one grandchild.”

Drew chuckled. “Unless I much miss my guess, Ned is working on that for you right now.”

“Yes.” She should be scandalized at what she was just as certain was going on in Ned’s—or Ellie’s—room, but she could only feel happy and excited. She’d even put the two in adjoining bedchambers so they didn’t need to creep up and down the corridor. “It’s so good to see Ned happy again, but we do need to get those two married very soon.”

“Ned’s getting a special license.” Drew twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “Dare I say he’s not the only one interested in conjugal—or, in his case, pre-conjugal—relations?” He raised his brows. His face had that familiar, intent, rather hungry look.

They had things to discuss first. “Getting back to Miss Hadley—”

He looked resigned. “Must we?”

“Yes.” She kissed the base of his throat, the bit of his skin that was closest to her lips. “Just for a little longer. Do be patient.”

“I’ve been patient.” He looked over at Thucydides. “Can I read a bit more while we discuss Miss Hadley?”

“Don’t be silly.” She sat up. This was serious. “Do you think there’s any chance Jack will be compelled to marry her?”

“No, not with the Duke and Duchess of Greycliffe and the Marquis and Marchioness of Rothmarsh supporting her as well as the Earl and Countess of Whildon and her other uncles and cousins. It would be social suicide to cut her.” He managed to look rather haughty and a little bit dangerous. “Being a duke
does
have some rewards, you know.”

“That’s what I thought.” A match was always better if it wasn’t forced, and besides, she was far from convinced Miss Hadley was a suitable match for Jack. In fact, at the moment, she was almost persuaded a marriage between them would be a disaster. The girl needed far too much work.

“There may be some high sticklers who won’t accept her,” she said, “but we can ignore a few spiteful old cats.” She shrugged—and noticed Drew’s eyes had fastened on her breasts. Anticipation started to simmer in her belly.

Soon, but not
quite
yet.

“I shall also find Miss Hadley some other marital choices in case a wedding does become the only way to salvage her reputation.”

Drew’s eyes widened. “I hesitate to question the Duchess of Love, but have you looked at her? A man would have to be blind or desperate to court her.”

She slapped him gently on the shoulder. “Drew! Don’t be unkind.”

“I’m not. I’m being truthful.”

Men were sometimes so shortsighted. “Just wait until you see her in her new clothes. You won’t recognize her.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. I will admit you transformed Ellie with that red dress, but there is another problem here.”

“Another problem? What can that be?”

“Miss Hadley must
wish
to be courted. You can make her look like Helen of Troy, my dear duchess, but if she snarls at every man who approaches her, she’ll send them away as quickly as if she were Medusa. I don’t believe the girl likes men.”

Drew had a point. “Well, she doesn’t have much reason to, does she? Her father and brother certainly haven’t endeared her to the breed.”

“True, though at least with regard to Hadley senior, she’s probably fortunate the fellow’s absent. People can only speculate what he’s doing in foreign lands; if he were in Town, we’d all know.”

“He’s that dreadful?”

“Yes.” Drew’s lips curled in distaste. “Don’t you remember? A day didn’t go by that his name wasn’t mentioned in the scandal sheets. He’s a thoroughly dirty dish.”

“I see.” Drew was not one to exaggerate. If he said the man was dreadful, he was. “It does sound as if Frances’s father is best left abroad. Why did he pursue Frances’s poor mother, do you suppose? I have to confess I missed all that. I must have been too busy with the boys.” Jack would have been only one when Frances’s mother and father wed, which meant Ned was three and Ash, five.

She’d put aside her matchmaking efforts when she’d been a young mother—her boys had taken all her energies. They’d had a nurse, of course, but Venus hadn’t grown up with a nurse herself and so didn’t wish to delegate the care of her precious sons to anyone else. Though she’d definitely needed the nurse’s help. Little boys could be very exhausting.

She smiled. But she was ready now for grandsons—or granddaughters. That was the beauty of grandchildren. One could hand them back to their parents when they—either the grandparents or the grandchildren—became fussy.

“Conceit, vanity, pride, sheer competitiveness,” Drew said. “All the men were trying to win Lady Diana’s hand that Season. She was a marquis’s daughter, but also very beautiful. The toast of the Town.”

Yes, she could understand that. She’d seen her boys fight over something none of them really wanted just to be able to say they’d won. “But why did Lady Diana not see his true colors?”

“Ah, well, Hadley
was
very handsome and charming. But Whildon thinks what really pushed his sister to elope was the family’s vocal dislike of the man. If they’d just held their tongues and let time take its course, he thinks Lady Diana might have broken with the blackguard. But she had never been told no before and did not like the experience. It got her back up and likely made her stubbornly insist on having Hadley.”

“How sad.” It just showed what she’d always believed, that there was no more important decision than that of choosing one’s spouse. And she must be careful, too, not to warn Jack against Miss Hadley. He was quite capable of jumping to the girl’s defense and perhaps acting as rashly as Lady Diana. “Did you notice how protective Jack was of Miss Hadley when we met her?”

“He was?” Drew stared at her blankly.

“Yes.” It was amazing how unperceptive men could be about some things, even her dear duke.

“If you say so.” Drew sighed, and then raised his brows in a hopeful fashion. “Are we done talking now?”

She laughed and leaned forward to kiss him. “I suppose we are.”

“Splendid!”

In a twinkling, her nightgown parted company with her body, and Drew’s nightshirt ended up on the floor. Miss Hadley’s situation was completely forgotten.

Drew had been very patient, after all.

 

 

Jack checked his pocket watch surreptitiously while he waited in the drawing room with Father and Ned for the ladies to come down.

He did not have time for Rothmarsh’s blasted dinner party. He needed to be out talking to people—to Nan and the other madams or to the men at the clubs.
Someone
must have seen or heard something that could help him identify the Silent Slasher.

“I don’t see why Ellie and I need to go to this party,” Ned said, glaring at Father.

“Your mother wishes it. And what would you do instead?”

Ned flushed. “Have a quiet dinner here.”

Right.

They probably
would
have a quiet dinner. It was what they’d have for dessert that was the problem—not that they weren’t doing that every night anyway. Jack half wished Ash was here so he wouldn’t be the only one sleeping alone.

Well, Miss Hadley was sleeping alone, of course, but that was different.

To think he’d spent an entire night at the Crowing Cock with her without guessing she was a woman. She’d been a pleasant enough bed partner—no thrashing or sharp elbows or even much snoring. But if he’d known she was female—

It would have made no difference.

She did have very long legs and a very attractive—

No. He should not be thinking of Miss Hadley in bed.

“Remember, Ellie is making her bows, too,” Father said. “Up until now, our annual Valentine’s party has been her only contact with the
ton
. It will be good for her to get her feet wet at this small gathering.”

Ned still looked unconvinced. “I would much prefer to go home to Linden Hall, especially with that murdering maniac on the loose.”

“And I’d much rather be at the castle, even without the consideration of a murderer at large,” Father said. “But your mother will have no part of that. And in this case I have to admit she is right. I do believe the risk to the ladies is minimal, and much as I hate to admit it, it does pay to be acquainted with some of the
ton
, especially Rothmarsh and his family. They will help Ellie’s debut immensely.”

“And, as I told you before,” Jack said, “people talk, especially in the days after Mama’s house party. It’s a very good thing you and Ellie are appearing as a betrothed couple—you will spike the gabble-grinders’ guns.”

Ned grunted. “I don’t see why they’re interested in me at all.”

Ned was being purposefully obtuse. “You’re a duke’s son and, for the last four years, unattached. Of course the
ton
is interested in you.”

“Then they must be
very
interested in you.”

“Oh, they are, but I’m here most of the time. They can see me; they don’t have to speculate.”

Though they did anyway. They were gossiping wildly now about his supposed relationship with Frances. Some hint of his charity houses must have surfaced as well, for the most recent tales had him with ten children by Miss Hadley as well as a sizable harem murderously jealous of his new interest. All of which made no sense at all, of course. Miss Hadley could hardly be a new interest if she was the mother of his numerous supposed progeny, not to mention she was far too young to have so many offspring. But reason was not engaged when tongues wagged so furiously.

And no matter how ridiculous, the talk was damaging to poor Miss Hadley.

He stole a glance at his watch again. Perhaps if the dinner didn’t last too long, he could go looking for information about the Slasher afterward.

“Jack is right,” Father said. “The unknown is far more interesting than the known. Stay for a few weeks, go to a variety of events, and then once the old cats have had their fill, go home.”

Ned blew out a long, annoyed breath. “Very well, I shall try that, but if there’s the slightest indication Ellie is in danger, we are leaving.” He looked at the door. “Where
are
the women? It’s taking them forever. I can’t—ah.”