The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series (19 page)

“The look on his face—I sensed a familiarity.”

He turned sharply. “Are you sure it wasn’t the man from your past?”

“Certainly not.”

“What man?” Miss Peppertree asked. “Do you mean to say there’s another?”

“I would never have screamed if it were Phillip,” Charlotte insisted.

“No?” Gideon said. “What would you have done?”

“I would have waited until the morning to notify my brothers.”

“And?”

“And you.”

He appeared to be unsatisfied with her answer. She decided it was fortunate that Sir Daniel returned to the drawing room before Gideon could work himself into a state.

“Miss Boscastle, other than a few trampled roses, I can find nothing out there of help in identifying the man.”

“There was something else,” she said, “but it sounds silly.”

“Perhaps you’ll think more clearly after a good night’s sleep,” Gideon said.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” she said, hugging the cushion in her arms. “But he was looking at me as if he knew me.”

“We’ll find him, Charlotte. Until then I do not want you alone in this room again.”

T
he formal courtship between the Duke of Wynfield and Miss Charlotte Boscastle successfully captivated society. They became the couple to invite to one’s party, to read about in the papers, to gawk at and gossip about when they were spotted by the observant eye.

A wedding between two houses of the nobility did not take place every day. The aristocracy commanded attention. Somewhere around the globe a kingdom toppled. An investment scheme collapsed. A war raged in a remote land.

One could forget these distressing events for a few hours at an elegant wedding.

Jane had volunteered to plot out an itinerary that would have worn out the Prussian army. As their appearances grew more demanding, Charlotte and Gideon actually began to think their engagement might be the death of them.

Between her duties at the academy, the strain of hiring
another lead schoolmistress, the wedding preparations and appointments with the dressmaker, and the picking out of linens and monogrammed sheets, there were moments when Charlotte wished Gideon would cancel an event or two so that she could drop into a chair and sleep.

And one night when his carriage arrived to pick her up for a supper party, she found him slumped against the seat in such a deep slumber that she not only was tempted to let him sleep but to join him for a nap herself. Jane’s presence deterred her.

“Bear up, both of you,” Jane said. “You cannot enact a courtship looking half-dead.”

Gideon stirred, his heavy-lidded gaze meeting Charlotte’s across the carriage. All of a sudden she felt wide-awake. “Where are we going again?” he asked, stretching his arms.

“To the Earl of Stanwood’s supper party,” Jane replied, shaking her head.

“I hope it doesn’t go on for hours,” he said. “I’ll sleep until noon tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t,” Jane said. “We are attending an auction for charity bright and early in the morning. And afterward there is an open-air concert and dinner at the Pulteney.”

In her spare moments Charlotte gave her attention to the academy and to interviewing and reviewing character references for another schoolmistress to take her place.

The image of the stranger’s face in the window began to fade. She felt embarrassed by the fuss she’d made. It became easier to believe he had been only a happenstance passerby, a pedestrian who had indulged his curiosity,
rather than to accept that a stranger meant her harm—a stranger whose eyes had hinted of…well, the only word she could think of was
intimacy
.

But that was impossible.

There was no reason to think they had ever met. Charlotte had been sheltered all of her life. What on earth had given her the impression of a prior association? Unless—no. A man like that could not possibly have found and read her diary. Gideon had been bad enough. The thought of a stranger invading her secret world was too upsetting to consider.

Charlotte could almost pity the man. If he should disturb the house again, a veritable army of servants would go on the attack. Miss Peppertree had taken to checking the windows herself every night.

As Gideon so tactfully said to Charlotte the day he escorted her, Miss Peppertree, and two young ladies of the academy to the emporium, “He’s the one who’ll start shrieking if he’s expecting you and sees her face instead.”

“That is rude.”

“She doesn’t like me,” he said, examining a silver filigree chest set on display.

“Nonsense. She doesn’t like men in general.”

“What about you?”

“I have to like men, don’t I? I have three brothers and innumerable male cousins.”

She feigned an interest in an ivory hunting horn displayed in a glass case. “Isn’t this an interesting piece?”

“Interesting, yes. Necessary, no.” He propped his elbow on the counter. “It seems to me that you, my huntress, have already cornered your quarry.”

“People are staring, Gideon.”

“I don’t care.”

“What about the girls?”

“They are pretending not to notice the youngbloods who are flirting with them.”

“Where?” She craned her neck to see around him.

“The girls are fine. Miss Peppertree is aware of the situation.”

“She’s aware of you.”

“Do you like me as much as you did when you wrote about me in your diary?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I like you more. Is that what you wanted me to say?”

“Yes. Now pick out anything your heart desires.”

The emporium’s owner, Sir Godfrey Maitland, suddenly recognized the duke and approached him with a solicitous smile. “Miss Boscastle. Your Grace. How good to see you without a sword pointing in my direction.”

Charlotte blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t your betrothed tell you? He and I used to practice at the same school. Business is so brisk that I no longer have time for the sport.”

“What a shame,” Gideon said, knowing full well that Kit had stripped the pompous merchant of his subscription to the salon over a personal matter.

“Yes, well, I hear you have been active yourself,” Sir Godfrey said with glee. “Congratulations to both of you on your engagement. I hope you will keep the emporium in mind as you plan your nuptials. We carry a silver bridal service, linens, and clocks. Wedgwood china and camphor-wood chests equipped with brass locks.”

“My fiancée is interested in that hunting horn,” Gideon said.

Charlotte shot him a look. “No, I am not.”

“It’s a nice piece,” Sir Godfrey said. “But it is rather heavy for such a delicate hand. Perhaps the lady would be interested in our collection of Welsh love spoons.”

Gideon smiled. “Darling?”

“Not today, thank you. I was looking for a fan.”

“Why?” Gideon asked. “You have more fans than I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“A lady needs more than one fan if she is to have a complete wardrobe,” Charlotte said.

“Aren’t they all the same?” Gideon asked blankly.

Sir Godfrey hastened to enlighten him. “Goodness, Your Grace, they are not.”

“I am teaching a class at the end of the week on the language of fans,” Charlotte said. “Perhaps you would like to observe, Gideon.”

He made a face. “I don’t think so.”

“It is an art,” Sir Godfrey said. “It never hurts to understand what a lady is saying with her fan, if you take my meaning.”

Gideon looked unconvinced. “An art?”

“Nothing turns a gentleman’s head like a lady versed in the language of the fan,” Sir Godfrey said.

“I don’t know about turning a man’s head with her fan,” Gideon said. “But she can certainly hit one on the head with it and make herself understood.”

Charlotte gave him a strained smile. “That evening was the occasion of an unprecedented emergency.”

“Plying the fan is a learned skill much like fencing,” Sir Gideon said. “The fan speaks volumes when wielded by the educated female.”

Gideon subjected Charlotte to a long, considering stare.

Sir Godfrey moved to another counter and brought out two different fans. “This,” he said, snapping open a black fan, one hand on his hip like a toreador’s, “is for mourning.” He drew it up to his eyes. “I can hide my tears and still express my grief.”

“And this one,” Charlotte said as she took the fan made of lace with mother-of-pearl sticks, “is a wedding fan.”

Sir Godfrey waved his fan in agreement. “Do you see the Cupid painted beside the bride and groom, Your Grace?”

“Hmm. It isn’t a before-the-wedding baby?”

“I have to have this one,” Charlotte said.

“It’s indispensable,” Sir Godfrey agreed.

“It looks exactly like your other fan,” Gideon remarked.

“I use a different fan every day and every night. Haven’t you noticed?”

“It isn’t the first thing about a woman that catches my eye.”

Charlotte and Sir Godfrey glanced at each other, neither of them daring enough to ask Gideon to elaborate.

“A lady could hardly teach etiquette without an assortment at her disposal,” Sir Godfrey said at length. “There is a secret code that must be learned to move in society.”

“A code?” Gideon grinned. “Do you expect me to believe that ladies tap their fans at one another to send signals like drumbeats?”

“A lady would not
tap
unless it was absolutely necessary,” Charlotte said. “Considering Your Grace’s vast experience, I surmise that you have been the subject of many clandestine conversations.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I have. How would I know?”

Sir Godfrey glanced at Charlotte. “Shall we give him a demonstration?”

“Oh, by all means.”

Sir Godfrey swished open the black fan with a flick of his wrist. “Let us spell the word ‘love,’” he said, and proceeded to lay the fan upon his chest, smiling coyly. “That is L.”

“O,” Charlotte said, placing her fan in a similar movement to her breast.

Sir Godfrey lifted the fan to his forehead. “V.”

“And for E one moves the fan in the left hand to the opposite arm,” Charlotte said. “Then, to indicate that the conversation has ended, the fan is fully opened.”

Gideon stood between the two suspended fans, not uttering a word until Charlotte broke the silence. “Your Grace,” she whispered. “It’s rude not to make a comment.”

He shook his head. “Forgive me. I was stunned speechless. To think these secret parleys have been conducted all my adult life, and I hadn’t a clue. I might have been mocked while dancing a minuet and been none the wiser.”

Charlotte pursed her lips and carefully placed the fan on the counter. “I would like the bridal fan, Sir Godfrey. And I shall need at least six church fans. His Grace and I will be attending services together every Sunday.”

“We will?” Gideon asked.

“And a dozen brisé fans decorated with pastoral scenes.”

Gideon smiled at her. “A dozen? Darling, you have only two hands and I have a hundred ideas on how better to use them.”

Charlotte smiled at Sir Godfrey. “The other fans are for the academy.”

“Oh, silly me,” Gideon said.

Charlotte pretended not to hear him. “Now that I think about it, a dozen isn’t enough. The sticks are often broken during practice. I should have twenty, just in case. Oh, and Lady Sarah—I want an assortment of appropriate fans for a little girl.”

Sir Godfrey flushed in pleasure. “A wise investment, Miss Boscastle. His Grace is fortunate to have found a lady of your discernment. By the way, I’ve received a new shipment of vellum journals.”

“For what?” Gideon demanded.

“A person of Your Grace’s lineage must appreciate the importance of recording the daily minutiae of the elegant life in a collection of well-kept diaries.”

“A collection?”

Sir Godfrey’s voice rose. “History should be recorded for posterity. Imagine the thrill of your descendants when a hundred years hence they read the musings of ancestors who might otherwise be nothing more than portraits collecting dust on the wall.”

Gideon stared at Charlotte. If posterity read her musings, a hundred years would not give them enough time to recover from the shock. “What a fascinating thought,” Gideon said. “Kindly put the fans on my account. The diaries can wait for another day.”

Sir Godfrey beamed. “One trembles in anticipation at the prospect of a ducal wedding.”

“Doesn’t one?” Gideon said, clasping Charlotte by the hand to drag her away from the counter. From the corner of his eye he noticed Miss Peppertree and two
young ladies listening avidly to this exchange. “Good day, Sir Godfrey—”

“I don’t suppose I could interest you in a tric-trac table for your honeymoon?”

“I have other games in mind for my bride, but thank you for the thought.”

Sir Godfrey bowed. “The very best to you both. It will be an honor to serve you in the future.”

When Charlotte came downstairs the next morning, she discovered that a package had been delivered to her by a private courier. For a wonderful moment her hopes soared that some goodhearted stranger had found and discreetly returned her lost diary.

Indeed, when she sat alone at her desk to unwrap it, the contents proved to be far more scandalous than those she had so unwisely “confessed” in the pages of her diary. For secured in a red silk ribbon was a portfolio of detailed sketches that depicted a variety of erotic acts.

And tucked under the ribbon was a brief note that read:

A GUIDE FOR THE WELL-INFORMED WIFE
by
Audrey Watson
Fondly,
Jane

“Oh.” She put her hand to her mouth as she came upon a picture that resembled…a rocket? Going where?
“Oh.”
This was worse than anything she had written. Or was it? Odd, but there was comfort in the knowledge
that she was not the only woman on earth who fought forbidden desires.

Still, she would not leave these drawings about for anyone to find them. Daphne would go off like a whippet if she realized what they revealed.

She intended to return them to Jane that same evening. Grayson was giving a soirée at his house to officially celebrate Gideon and Charlotte’s engagement.

That gave Charlotte several hours to study the prints alone upstairs. Until then she dared not let them out of her sight.