The Duke's Undoing (Three Rogues and Their Ladies) (13 page)

“But, Your Grace . . . Peter. I cannot accept this!”

Ignoring her protest, he said, “Whatever have you done to your finger, my dear?” he asked, laughing. “Is that an ink stain? Have you been writing a novel?”

“Why ever would you think that?” she asked, looking up at him quickly.

“Nonsense,” said her aunt. “The very idea!”

“Sunshine,” he said, obviously suppressing a smile. “Confess. I know all about the tree house, you see.”

Astounded, she could only stare.

“You knew Joshua?” Aunt Clarice asked.

“Intimately. He was my adjutant. The finest man I have ever known.”

This pronouncement was an arrow to Elise’s heart. She became confused, unable at once to sort out all the many ways that this knowledge affected her and her relationship with the duke. Apparently realizing this, now, he would not meet her eyes. Bates entered, bearing the partridges which comprised the next course. He put them on the sideboard and commenced clearing away the remains of jellied consommé.

As soon as he had served them and departed, Peter continued, serious now. “You have my sincerest condolences, Elise.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “If you were his commanding officer, then it must have been you who wrote that most beautiful letter to me when he was killed. I keep it under my pillow,” she said, her voice breaking. This one thing altered her opinion of the duke in a tiny second, almost taking her breath away. The letter had conveyed deep caring for her and for Joshua. She never would have supposed it could have been written by someone as reputedly heartless as the duke. “Indeed, when you came upon me in the park, I was reading it once again.”

“Well!” Ruisdell said, after clearing his throat, “I can certainly see why Beynon has called me in on this case! Between Waterford and Chessingden, I dare say an army of guardian angels wasn’t sufficient. I confess I cannot understand how you could even look at those men after someone like Beynon.”

He spoke as though Joshua were still alive. “What do you mean, ‘called you in’?”

“A figure of speech,” the duke said, slicing his partridge. “It is because of my respect for my adjutant that I wish to see you out of the messes you have made and settled happily with someone worthy.”

Elise stiffened and grew defensive. “Messes I have made? After losing Joshua, I knew I would never love again. My engagements have been dictated by prudence only. I assure you, the Earl of Waterford was considered a prize catch when we became engaged. His illness, or whatever it is, had not yet come upon him. He is very handsome, was exceedingly kind, and has an adequate estate. As for the viscount . . .”

“I apologize. But you should see in my concern a compliment. I think you can do much better for yourself, Elise. The more one gets to know you, the more one sees that yours quite exceeds ordinary beauty.”

“I am not interested in being chosen for my physical points like a horse from Tattersall’s.”

“I did not mean an insult. And you should know that horses are chosen for their strength and their spiritedness as well as their beauty.”

“You had better stop, Your Grace,” Aunt Clarice said, laughing. “You are only digging yourself in deeper. I do not imagine my niece fancies having herself compared to a horse.”

“Not
just
a horse,” he said with a chuckle. “A thoroughbred.”

“But you must not tell anyone about the novels,” her aunt said. “Lady . . . er, Williams would pillory me if word of that ever came out. She is convinced that men do not like clever women.”

“Rubbish!” the duke pronounced. “I find that Elise’s many pursuits considerably relieve my almost overwhelming
ennui
, not to mention your opera about cats and your companion’s scientific pursuits. Where is Lady Susannah, by the way?”

“Taking dinner with the Devonshires,” Aunt Clarice said. “She does so regularly. The duke continues to subscribe to the vain hope that exposure to Sukey’s various undertakings will give the duchess an interest other than gambling.”

The duke laughed, but in the meantime, Elise had become flushed as she fully realized the close connection he had had with her fiancé. “Oh, I really cannot take it in! You knew my Joshua, and he told you about our tree house and my novels?”

“I think every memory of you that was contained in his heart was passed on to me for safekeeping. And, in his honor, and now in yours, I will keep them close. No one shall know your secret from my lips, Sunshine.”

“You are making fun,” she said.

“I was never more serious.”

This knowledge seriously discomfited Elise. Why she could not have said.

When the party left for Drury Lane, the duke insisted that Elise wear her new ring over her gloves for all the world to see. As they settled in his box, she was very relieved to see that Somerset was already there, awaiting them. Standing, he greeted both the ladies and patted Ruisdell heartily on the back.

Elise enjoyed the play but was aware that while she watched the stage, the duke watched her. Sheridan had a genius for this kind of side-splitting comedy. And she had to admit that from his point of view, her revolving fiancés were rather humorous. If only Robert were not so dangerous.

At the interval, the duke left the box to fetch her a lemonade. The air was stuffy in the theater, and all of them were very warm. As she fanned herself with her right hand, Elise studied the beautiful ring the duke had given her. She had never owned anything so lovely. Her engagement token from Joshua had been a pearl—suited to her age and innocence at that time.

She felt a slight draft as someone pushed aside the curtain to the duke’s box. To her surprise, the redheaded beauty, who had thrown her wine in the duke’s face the night before, sat down in the duke’s vacated chair. On Elise’s other side, her aunt whispered, “Lady Marianne Hemingford.”

The woman’s nostrils flared, and her lips were tightly set. “It won’t last, you know,” the beauty said.

“Probably not,” Elise answered.

As she suspected it might, this remark truly threw the woman off her stride. Elise continued, “But in the meantime, it is such fun. Just look at the beautiful ring he gave me.”

Lady Marianne rolled her eyes. “Jewels! Yes, he is very free with his money, but not, I can testify, with his heart. And he will not marry you, no matter that you are engaged.” She rearranged the orchid pinned to her dress. “I cannot pretend to understand what a man of the world like the duke can possibly see in a chit like you. Why, I don’t suppose you have even penetrated the first level of his personality! There are depths to that man it took me years to mine.”

Elise knew that in all probability this was true. But she would surely never admit it to such a rude person. Instead, she smiled her sunny smile. “I expect you are right. But he is very kind to me. And our engagement is odd, for I must confess, he does not strike me as the marrying kind.”

This further disconcerted the beauty. “Kind is the last word I would have used! And if you know how opposed he is to marriage, why ever did you become betrothed?”

“I make rather a career of engagements.” Elise said, smiling apologetically. “Have you not heard? This is my fourth.”

“You are making a game of me,” the woman said stiffly. “I am not amused!”

Aunt Clarice had been talking to the marquis on her other side, but now she intervened in Elise’s conversation. “If you came to warn my niece, you need not have bothered, Lady Marianne. She is fully aware of Ruisdell’s reputation.”

“But this is such a puzzle! I declare I do not know what to make of it. Are you preparing to best him at his own game?”

Elise opened her fan and raised it to cover her mouth, pleased she had discomposed the ill-mannered woman. “I beg of you, do not give away my intentions.”

Now Lady Marianne was affronted. “You are playing with fire. Just who do you think you are? Ruisdell will not be taken in by you!”

At this point, Somerset intervened. “Best take yourself off, Lady Marianne. Ruisdell won’t like to find you here.”

Clamping her beautiful lips together, the woman rose and departed. A moment later, the duke returned and handed Elise and her aunt their lemonade. “What was that creature doing in here? Poisoning you against me?”

Elise giggled shamelessly. “Trying to. I laid the groundwork for future events most cleverly, I think.”

“What devilry have you been up to? Confess!”

“I only agreed with her, Your Grace. She came to warn me, you see. But now she believes me to have the effrontery to be the puppetmaster and not the puppet. I imagine the idea will spread among the
ton
like wildfire! No one will be surprised when I cry off in a few days.”

Ruisdell laughed. “What a little rogue you are, to be sure! You will ruin my reputation for heartlessness.”

The next visitor to the box was Lady Sumner, inquiring solicitously after the duke’s health. “Someone has put it about that you had food poisoning, Peter!”

“Rest easy, my lady, I ate nothing at your ball. I believe these cases to take at least twenty-four hours to manifest. No doubt it was something I ate the day before yesterday. But, why are we talking of such matters as these? Surely, I have transgressed the boundaries of what is proper!”

“When have you not?” Lady Sumner asked.

Elise put up her fan and laughed again.

“Well, I was relieved to hear it was an indisposition of that order,” Lady Sumner said. “I could not imagine what would have driven you from the side of your lovely fiancée in such a desperate hurry.”

“He was very apologetic, my lady,” Elise assured her.

“Show her your ring, child,” Ruisdell said.

“I wouldn’t want her to think me vulgar,” teased Elise, hiding her left hand.

“Oh, come along, Miss Edwards! Do you know how long I’ve waited to see this rascal suitably wed?”

Elise extended her hand with its lovely ring and received fulsome compliments. Already she knew she would miss this token of what was becoming an enchanting charade. It would make such a lovely story. Maybe she would write it . . . someday. For now she was having too much fun living it, as long as Robert kept away.

During the final act of the play, however, her mind grew distracted. The consciousness that she did not at all believe the duke’s story of food poisoning bubbled to the surface. Had he not left her in just the same way the night at the opera? She had not a doubt that Lady Marianne was correct about the depth of Ruisdell’s personality. What chord had been struck on both occasions that might account for the duke’s suffering acute discomfort of what she suspected was an emotional sort?

She fell to taxing herself to remember what they had been speaking of at the opera, and thus failed to laugh in all the right places at the farce on the stage.

“Sunshine?” The duke took her gloved hand in his. “Are you not diverted? Are you quite well?”

“Just thinking, Your Grace,” she said.

“About what?”

“I’m trying to make out your character.”

“Ah . . . That’s all right then. Proceed.” He smiled and squeezed her hand but did not relinquish it.

It was close on midnight when they arrived home, but after her aunt had ascended to find her bed, Elise asked Ruisdell if he would like a night cap. He admitted he would, and they adjourned to the navy sitting room.

“Bates,” she said, “Bring the whiskey decanter from the library, if you would, please.”

“Surely you don’t drink whiskey!” the duke said.

“Of course not! I will have him bring me a cup of tea.”

They seated themselves opposite each other on the facing sofas. Bates brought the whiskey and poured two fingers for the duke. “Soda, Your Grace?”

“Please.”

Elise ordered her tea and then, as the door shut behind the butler, said, “Now, Your Grace . . . uh, Peter, . . . about this indisposition of yours. I am afraid I do not at all believe that it was physical.”

“Oh? And why is that?” His voice was at its most haughty.

“I have thought back to our night at the opera. You left in a similar manner that night. We were discussing Joshua. And now I know he was your adjutant on the Peninsula. I assume my sudden introduction of him into the conversation struck an unpleasant chord in your memory.”

The pleasant, relaxed look on his face was replaced by a black glower. Swirling his whiskey in his glass, he looked into its depths. Finally, he said, “You are right. The death of Sir Joshua made for the worst day of my life, as a matter of fact. We were intimates in a way that men seldom are. I credit him with that. His manner was confiding. He missed you, and it gave him great comfort to talk of you. In that way, he drew me out.”

“It was a blow, then, to be reminded of his death amid all that gaiety, then?”

“Yes, I must confess it was. I was no longer good company, so I left.”

Elise saw that his brow had become furrowed and the teasing air that had surrounded him all evening had fallen away. His normally bland expression had been replaced with one of hard-eyed anger.

Bates brought the tea. She was silent while she poured herself a cup and stirred in two sugars.