I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (12 page)

Gisele stepped away from Jamie with acute regret. The valet was waiting behind them, gloves in hand.

Jamie raised Gisele’s fingers to his lips and kissed them softly. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Whitby,” he said formally. “It was an honor.”

“Good luck,” Gisele said, fighting an irrational urge to burst into tears. Dear God, what was wrong with her? “Keep in mind what I said about your waltzing.” She tried to make her voice light but was fairly certain she had failed miserably.

“Of course.” Jamie squeezed her hand and then let it go, following Sebastien out into the hall.

Gisele heard the murmur of voices, and then the door opened, a draft of chilled air curling itself through the apartment before the door shut behind them. She wrapped her arms around herself, turning slowly. Without Jamie she felt a little adrift, and she wondered when that had happened. She squared her shoulders, ignoring the sharp feeling of loss. It was late, she was tired, and there was no longer any reason for her to stay. Morning would arrive soon enough.

She went in search of her own room in the attic.

Chapter 11

T
he Duchess of Worth escorted Jamie into the ballroom, and as he heard his name announced with hers, the conversation stuttered before resuming. They were certainly getting their fair share of stares, which showed a peculiar mix of mild curiosity and undisguised assessment. He wondered idly if it was he or the duchess generating such looks. She was, after all, carrying a chicken.

Eleanor took Jamie’s arm and plowed ahead into the crowd, smiling and murmuring vague greetings as she went, but not stopping to talk to anyone. Eventually she reached the far side of the room and paused, slightly out of breath.

“Well,” she puffed, “I would think everyone has had a glimpse of you, without getting a good look. They’ll be circling soon.”

“Your Grace?” Jamie looked around with forced casualness, noting the soaring ceilings, the countless candles mounted in antique chandeliers, and the hundreds of people reflected in the surfaces of the tall windows surrounding the ballroom.

“We’ll allow them to come to us. War heroes, and
spectacularly irresistible ones at that, do not chase company. They
allow
others into their presence.”

Jamie scoffed. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I’m not the bloody Prince of Wales.”

“Ah, but perception is everything, is it not?” She hefted the chicken under her arm with a small smirk. “Trust me.”

Jamie nodded.

“Now listen carefully, Mr. Montcrief, for this may be the last time I will have a chance to speak with you for quite a while. The marquess will be somewhere in this crush, and you will, at some point, be introduced. Take his measure, befriend him if you can. And as for Lady Julia, while I do not expect you to sweep her off her feet, there is no reason you shouldn’t give her pause. Can you do all that?”

Jamie glanced around, girding himself. “Yes.”

“Good. My son will join us shortly,” the duchess predicted. “One glimpse of our feathered friend here, and he’ll be in full damage control mode, so just play along. He may not be the most ambitious man in the room, but he has a good heart. And he is a
duke
. And that, Mr. Montcrief, will serve you very admirably in the short term indeed. Do you understand?”

Jamie nodded again.

“Mother.” A voice carried over the din as if on cue. “There you are.”

Eleanor plastered a beatific smile on her powdered face and turned to face the man approaching them. “Worth, darling,” she beamed.

Jamie would have guessed him to be a duke, if only for the mass of moon-eyed daughters and covetous mothers he left gasping in his wake. Even without the title,
however, the man cut a dashing figure. Tall and lithe with dark eyes and dark hair, he moved with the innate confidence of a man at ease in his station. He had a devil-may-care look about him, dimmed slightly by trepidation that mounted as he got closer to the duchess.

The duke obediently stopped and kissed his mother’s hand, and Jamie watched his eyes bulge as he considered the hen.

“Mother, is the chicken necessary?” he asked in a long-suffering voice. “I thought we had discussed this.”

“Did we?” Eleanor asked absently. “I don’t remember.”

Her son ran his hand through his thick hair, and Jamie was torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to feel sorry for him.

The duke straightened, and his eyes alighted on Jamie. “You must be Mr. Montcrief.” He took in Jamie’s clothes with a sudden grin. “By God, but you look better in that coat than I ever did.”

“I doubt it, Your Grace,” Jamie said sincerely. “My thanks for the loan. I’m afraid I was ill prepared for an event of this nature so soon after arriving in London. I will rectify the deficiencies of my wardrobe as soon as possible.”

The duke waved his hand. “No, no. Please keep the clothes. I have plenty. And they really do look better on you.”

“Very generous of you, Your Grace.”

“Mr. Montcrief, this is, of course, my son, His Grace, the Duke of Worth. I thought the two of you might get on,” Eleanor said happily. “Mr. Montcrief likes horses too, dear, though I do declare, if you spent as much time with our stewards as you do in the stables, we’d all be richer than sin.”

The duke rolled his eyes. “That is why I have stewards, Mother. So I don’t have to do”—he waved his hand, quite obviously ignorant of the work performed by the dukedom’s estate managers—“whatever stultifying things stewards are meant to do,” he finished. “And we already are richer than sin.” He frowned and lowered his voice. “Speaking of which, Mother, I was at your home the other day looking at your ledgers.”

The duchess put a hand to her bosom. “I didn’t know such tasks interested you, dear.”

“They don’t.”

“Then why on earth were you looking?”

“I heard that you sold another diamond last week.”

A look of genuine annoyance crossed Eleanor’s face. “Did you indeed? It would appear I should be taking my business and my diamonds somewhere more discreet in the future,” she muttered under her breath.

“Mother, you don’t need to sell your jewels. If you are worried about money, I can lend you my own man to put things in order. I do not know why you insist on keeping that relic of a secretary on staff. And while we’re on the subject, may I also state your cook scares the bejesus out of me? Wherever did you find her?”

“I never worry about money, dear,” Eleanor assured her son with a negligent laugh. “Any more than I worry about my staff. The truth of the matter is, I’ve decided I no longer care for diamonds. Too garish. At my age, something more subtle is more appropriate.”

The chicken under her arm squawked loudly, drawing the attention of a number of people standing around them.

The Duke of Worth cringed. “I worry about you, Mother. On your own like this.”

“Oh,
psht
. That is very sweet of you, Worth, darling, but your concern is unfounded. I am quite fine. And I am hardly on my own. Why, I’ve even hired a companion.”

The duke made a show of peering around the duchess. “Is she invisible?”

“Oh, she’s here somewhere.”

Jamie frowned slightly. He and Eleanor had been the only occupants of her carriage. If the duchess had brought a hired companion to the ball, the woman certainly hadn’t arrived with them.

“Is she at least more refined than your cook?” Worth asked in frustration.

“What’s wrong with my cook?” The duchess patted her hair.

“Oh, dear God.” The duke looked at the ceiling before turning back toward Jamie. “My mother mentioned you served, Mr. Montcrief,” he said, changing the subject with what sounded like desperation. “I believe she said infantry.”

“Cavalry, Your Grace,” Jamie corrected.

“I can never remember the difference,” the duchess grumped.

Jamie was overcome by a coughing fit. The duke just looked pained.

“Mr. Montcrief has just retired. He was an admiral or some such thing. Weren’t you?” Eleanor smiled brightly at the two men.

“A captain, Your Grace,” Jamie supplied with a straight face. “In the King’s Dragoon Guards.”

“Household under Somerset and Fuller?” the duke asked.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“A shame about Fuller.”

“Indeed. I was on the field with him. He was a great leader.” Jamie’s voice carried so much conviction he nearly convinced himself.

“Yes, yes.” Worth was making a pointed effort to ignore the hen that was now struggling and scattering feathers on the floor. “If you might accommodate me, Mr. Montcrief, I should like the privilege of introducing you to a number of men who will find your experiences of interest.”

“Of course. I would be obliged.”

“Yes, Worth, dear,” the duchess encouraged. “Mr. Montcrief has yet to get out and about town. Do introduce him, will you? I know how you boys like your political war talk.”

Worth gave Eleanor an aggrieved, if fondly tolerant, smile. “Nothing that would interest you, Mother. Can I fetch you a refreshment before I take my leave?”

“No, no. I see Hettie over there. She’s been staring this way since we arrived, so I’d best pay my respects.”

The duke hesitated, seemingly torn between concern for his mother and a desire to escape.

“Go along now, dear.” She made a shooing motion with her hand.

Her son sighed. “Very well then. Mr. Montcrief? If you care to join me? I believe I might find you a decent vintage and an even better card game.”

Jamie inclined his head, shooting a quick glance at the duchess. Just like that, he was now under the personal escort of one of the highest-ranking men in the room. Eleanor winked at him before bustling off toward a group
of gray-haired women who had indeed been staring for quite some time.

“Please excuse my mother,” the duke muttered to Jamie as he moved away. “She does have her eccentricities.”

Jamie grinned at the duke in an effort to put him at ease. “Her Grace has been exceedingly good to me since I arrived in London. Both my parents spoke highly of her generosity and decency. A fondness for avian accessories is easily overlooked.”

Worth adjusted his own cravat in the stifling room, his posture visibly relaxing. “If I may be so bold as to ask about your form of address?”

“My—ah, of course.” He chose his words carefully. “My father was forced to defy his own sire to marry the girl he loved, and while it makes for a very romantic tale, his tardiness in doing so cost me the title. I, however, chose not to dwell on what cannot be undone and instead used the circumstance of fate to serve my country. I enlisted.”

The duke was nodding. “Very admirable.”

“I never intended it to be admirable, Your Grace, only practical. I would have made a ghastly cleric.”

“God forbid.” The duke snickered, then slanted a glance at Jamie. “I applaud a man comfortable with who he is. One cannot always judge a man by the actions of his parents.” Worth winced.

“Truer words cannot be spoken,” Jamie agreed gravely.

“Now come, let me make some introductions.”

Over the next hours, Jamie’s head was spinning with names and titles. In almost all cases, the expected pretentiousness of the other guests dissolved at the mere utterance of the word
cavalry
or
captaincy
, or the name
Uxbridge
or
Somerset
. Occasionally Jamie was shocked that it was his own name being recognized. It had been almost a year since Napoleon had been defeated, and Jamie never would have imagined the events of Quatre Bras and Waterloo were still being dissected over and over in parlors, cardrooms, and ballrooms. He had no desire to relive any of it, yet kept Eleanor’s advice in the back of his mind. His own contributions to the discussions were modest and obliging, but always prompt.

He also followed Eleanor’s directive when he was pressed to dance with a multitude of women who were bejeweled, beribboned, and wholly forgettable. Jamie kept his conversation polite and proper to a degree bordering on the absurd, yet the reactions he received from his partners ranged from shy giddiness to blatant sexual invitation. He ignored it all and returned each female to her appropriate chaperone with a bland smile of thanks.

His current partner was one of the shyly giddy ones, and though he did his best to put the young woman at ease, she was unable to respond to anything without blushing violently and mumbling. The dance ended, and with relief, Jamie excused himself from the clearly disappointed girl, only to be hailed by a young man he had briefly met earlier. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, affable.
A viscount perhaps?
Jamie thought, frantically searching his memory.

“Lord Huston,” he said, the name coming to him at the last second.

“Mr. Montcrief.” Huston looked faintly amused and embarrassed all at once.

Jamie realized there were two women hovering just behind the lord and that both were watching him keenly.

“May I present to you my sisters, Lady Julia Hextall and Lady Viola Hextall. They began pestering me for an introduction as soon as they discovered we were newly acquainted. My apologies for their persistence.” The viscount shot them an exasperated, brotherly look.

Both sisters swept Jamie a graceful curtsy, and his heart skipped a beat. So this was Lady Julia. The girl Gisele was risking everything to protect. And in an instant, dowry notwithstanding, Jamie understood why the marquess had picked Lady Julia as his bride.

While her sister was buxom and brunette, Lady Julia bore a striking resemblance to Gisele, albeit a paler, more delicate version. She was exactly as Gisele had described—a pretty porcelain doll with flaxen hair, alabaster skin, and appealing features.

“Not at all, my lord,” Jamie replied. “The pleasure is mine.” He was pleased at how casual his voice sounded. “Had I realized you were related to such exquisite creatures, it would have been I begging for an introduction.”

Both sisters smiled prettily.

“Huston is my courtesy title,” the viscount explained. “My father is the Earl of Boden.”

“Ah, yes, of course. I am afraid I am still becoming familiar with London society.” Jamie pretended to be struck by a revelation. “Then I must offer my felicitations, Lady Julia, on your upcoming nuptials to the Marquess of Valence.”