At the Duke’s Pleasure (30 page)

But Edward stayed him with a look. “Zeus, heel.”

The dog froze, body quivering as he struggled to contain his exuberance and do as he was commanded. Padding to Edward’s side, he turned and sat.

Edward waited only a moment before bending down to stroke the dog’s head and give his sleek back a hearty, two-handed rub.

The dog was clearly in heaven.

“Good boy,” Edward praised. “Good Zeus. I’ve missed you. Have you missed me?”

The Dalmatian gave a loud bark, his tail wagging at top speed again.

Everyone laughed, Claire gazing on the tableau with melting affection. She loved animals. It would be good to have a dog in the house again. And from what Edward had told her, Braebourne was overrun with a variety of furry creatures. She looked forward to meeting them.

Footsteps pounded to a halt on the threshold, all eyes moving toward the footman standing in the doorway. “I’m ever so sorry, Your Grace,” the man said, his chest straining for air, hands frantically trying to tug his livery into place. “He got away just after I came in from walkin’ him. Must have heard you, since he lit out like a rocket. Never seen the like.”

“Well, there’s no harm done,” Edward told the footman. “Zeus is behaving himself quite nicely now.”

Realizing he wasn’t in trouble after all, the footman bowed and withdrew.

Esme, having abandoned her drawing paper, ran across the room and dropped onto her knees next to the dog. Her blue muslin skirts fanned around her like a flower. Zeus gave her a welcoming lick as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Giggling, Esme pressed her face to his side, then gazed up at Edward. “Thank you again for letting Zeus stay with Mama and me while we were at Jack and Grace’s house. Even Ranunculus likes him and he’s a cat! Zeus is the very best of dogs and you’re the very best of brothers.”

Edward smiled and briefly laid a hand on her head. “You’re quite welcome, sweetheart. I’m glad he was such good company.”

“What’s this now,” declared Jack, fists on his hips in mock indignation as he regarded his little sister. “I thought
I
was your favorite brother?”

“Oh, you are!” Esme declared with complete sincerity. “And Drake and Cade and Leo and Lawrence. You’re all my favorite.”

“That’s one way not to hurt any of our feelings,” Drake shot back with a laugh. “What a diplomat!”

“Indeed,” Cade agreed. “Mayhap we should loan her out to the foreign service in a couple years. Or else find a worthy ambassador she can marry.”

“I’m not marrying anyone!” Esme declared.

A fresh ripple of laughter went through the room at her impassioned statement.

Seeing the mutinous tilt to the girl’s lower lip, and remembering her own recent opinion on the subject of marriage, Claire sent Esme a smile. “Of course you are not. Although you may come to change your mind in time, should you be fortunate enough to meet the right gentleman.”

Esme sent her an inquiring look. “Is that what happened with you and Ned? He was the right gentleman?”

Claire paused, her gaze colliding with Edward’s before moving away again. “Yes. Exactly so.”

The girl smiled and stroked a palm over the dog. “I’m glad Ned married you. I’m going to enjoy having you for my sister.”

Warmth blossomed in Claire’s chest. “As shall I, Esme. As shall I.”

After that, the conversation turned to more general subjects, family members breaking into smaller groups with Esme pulling Edward after her to show him several of her recent sketches. Zeus followed the pair, his tail starting up a new round of wagging.

Moments later, the dowager appeared at Claire’s side. “I must tell you, child, how utterly adorable your hair is, even if it is a tad risqué.”

“Oh. Thank you, Your Gr—Mama.”

The dowager sent her a gentle smile. “I hear you cut it in order to take part in a prank. Do tell me all about this sojourn you and the twins made to Brooks’s Club. The one that got them banished to Braebourne.”

Claire’s jaw dropped.

“Oh yes, I’ve heard the tale,” Ava said. “News travels, even to the countryside, so I know perfectly well why my youngest sons aren’t here with us all today. Not to worry though, they’re scamps and the temporary set-down will do them nothing but good.”

Claire closed her mouth, realizing the dowager was even shrewder than she had assumed.
What else
, Claire wondered,
does Ava Byron know? Good heavens, what do my parents know?
She would have to write again as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

“So, do tell?” the dowager said. “I understand you quite set everyone on their ears. Sounds like me as a girl, when I was still up to my old wild ways.”

Old wild ways? How astonishing.

Suddenly Claire knew she was going to love her mother-in-law. With a relieved laugh, she began her story.

The next week floated past as though it was borne aloft on wings. The Byrons were a merry crew and kept Claire busy and entertained from morning until night.

On that first evening after her and Edward’s return from Oxfordshire, everyone gathered for a rousing dinner party at home. Cook outdid herself, preparing a selection of viands fit for the King himself. And for dessert there was another gorgeous wedding cake, served amid a wealth of champagne toasts that celebrated her and Edward’s happiness and health.

The meal concluded, they adjourned to the drawing room, where Mallory and Esme played and sang, and Cade enthralled them all with a masterful reading from
The Arabian Nights
. In honor of the occasion, Esme had been allowed to join the adults for dinner and stay up far later than usual. By the time Cade finished, she was dozing off, despite her best attempts to stay awake. Seeing her weariness, everyone agreed they ought to retire for the night.

With that in mind, Ava announced that she was removing from the duchess’s quarters immediately. “Those rooms belong to you now, Claire,” the dowager said. “I shall be quite comfortable elsewhere.” Ava went on, informing everyone that she and Esme would reside with Jack, Grace and baby Nicola in their town house on Upper Brook Street—for the time being at least.

It was decided that Mallory would remain with them at Clybourne House, since it was far too much bother for her to move so late in the Season. As for Cade and Meg, they too had their own town house but would be within easy reach, since their residence was only four blocks away.

“Don’t worry,” Ava laughingly told Claire and Edward, when they urged her and Esme to stay. “We’ll all be dropping in on you so often that you’ll think we’re still living here.”

As the days slid past, Claire found that Ava was right. Meg and Grace, with whom Claire immediately became friends, often stopped by in the afternoon. They usually brought the babies along to coddle and admire, which Claire did with the eager affection of a devoted aunt.

Claire developed a strong fondness for Edward’s brothers as well, the men as dangerously charming as their eldest sibling, and not at all abashed about turning that charm to good purpose when it suited them.

But it was Edward she loved. Edward who held her completely in thrall, particularly at night when he came to her bed.

To her great joy and relief, they never slept apart. Despite her original fears, Edward was every bit as passionate as he’d been in Oxfordshire. Often during the day, he would find some excuse to steal several kisses or lead her off where they could do quite a bit more. And in the privacy of their bedchamber, he was nearly insatiable, taking her every night and usually again in the morning just as she was awakening.

Seated now in the Clybourne House breakfast room across from Mallory, she couldn’t help but smile as she bit into a square of buttered toast. Her body was still limber and glowing after a delicious bout of love play early this morning. Forcing down a blush at the memory, she reached for her tea.

“So what do you say to ices at Gunter’s this afternoon?” Mallory suggested. “I thought we could do a bit of shopping first, then stop there for a treat. I’m sure Meg and Grace would be happy to join us, and Mama if she hasn’t already made plans with some of her friends.”

“That sounds delightful and will give us plenty of time to relax and have dinner before the theater tonight.”

Edward was escorting them to Drury Lane this evening, and Claire was looking forward to the excursion. Despite the dozens of invitations that had been pouring in, she’d accepted very few of them. The Ton was in a near foment over her and Edward’s hasty marriage, but rather than satisfy their curiosity, she’d been content to exercise her right as a new bride and stay home.

She’d just finished eating a spoonful of fresh blueberries when Croft gave a quiet tap on the door and strode inside bearing a silver salver.

“These just arrived for you, Your Grace. And there is a letter for Lady Mallory as well.”

Accepting the small stack of correspondence with a nod of thanks, Claire handed Mallory’s letter across to her. “More invitations, I suspect,” Claire said.

Resigned to the task, she opened the first missive and began to read the enclosed correspondence. A laugh escaped her, as she reached inside to withdraw a pair of engraved note cards. “Look, Mallory, my Almack’s vouchers have been restored. Apparently the patronesses have had a change of heart now that I am a duchess. Edward predicted as much, but I never imagined they would rescind their edict quite so quickly.”

Glancing up, she expected to find Mallory grinning in shared amusement.

Instead, Mallory’s face was set like a mask, fixed as stone and drained of every hint of color. Unblinking, she stared at the letter in her hand, a dull, glassy expression in her aquamarine eyes that made Claire’s chest squeeze tight with fear.

“What is it?” she asked. “What has happened? Mallory, are you ill? What’s wrong?”

But Mallory didn’t answer or move, her body stiff and lifeless.

Standing, Claire circled the table. She laid a hand on Mallory’s shoulder and realized that her friend had turned frigid with cold. “What is it, dear? Tell me, please. Mallory, do you hear me?”

Suddenly, as if only then becoming aware of her surroundings, Mallory gave a raw, keening cry. Crumpling in on herself, she let the letter fall to the floor.

Trembling and more worried than she could express, Claire retrieved the missive. She gasped softly as she read the words, a tear sliding over her cheek.

Major Hargreaves had fallen in battle.

Mallory’s fiancé was dead.

“W
rite as soon as you reach Braebourne,” Claire told Ava three days later as they stood in front of the coach parked outside Clybourne House. “I want to know you’re safe and had no difficulties on your journey.”

Breaking off, she frowned over at Mallory, who stood in solitary grief not far away, her skin white as alabaster against the stark black of her mourning gown and bonnet. She’d barely spoken a word since receiving the news of Hargreaves’s death, taking to her bed to weep in jagged, agonizing bouts before lapsing again into long spans of silence.

Wiping moisture from her own eyes, Claire turned back to Ava.

“We’ll be fine, I’m sure,” the dowager said in a low, sorrowful tone. “I think home will do Mallory a world of good. She thinks of him too much here. The country air will help, that and time.”

“I would come with you,” Claire told her, “but Edward says he can’t afford to leave Town right now. Business concerns, I am given to understand.”

What business concerns specifically, he hadn’t shared with her, only the fact that he needed to remain in London for the time being. They would join Mallory, Ava, and Esme at Braebourne in a few weeks, once his obligations were satisfied.

Newly married, and still unsure at times of the strength of their relationship, Claire didn’t feel right about leaving without Edward. Not when they hadn’t even been married a month. Not when her place was here at his side.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Ava said on a murmur quiet enough not to carry to Mallory. “She has to grieve in her own way and get over the shock of losing him. We’re to stop at his family home for the service on our way to Braebourne. Mallory will bear up somehow, but it’s going to be hard.”

Claire nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

“I thank God every day that my Cade came back, despite his injuries,” Ava continued. “And that Edward knows his duty too well to go off and get himself shot. I’ve told the other boys I won’t have them buying commissions and chasing after glory. Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but I want them close and safe, not bleeding and dying in some benighted foreign land.”

Claire nodded, fiercely glad for once that Edward took his responsibilities so seriously and that she wouldn’t need to fear losing him, at least not the way Mallory had lost her major. Her chest ached at the thought. “I wish there was something I could do for her. I don’t know how to help.”

“Just love her and be her friend. That’s all any of us can do. Now, I want you to stay and enjoy the rest of the Season.” When Claire opened her mouth to protest, Ava hushed her. “No, I insist. We shall all need your most cheerful letters telling us of the best doings here in Town, and all the latest scandals and gossip. The distraction will do all of us good, particularly Mallory.”

Nodding, Claire agreed. “Then I shall strive to make my correspondence as exciting as Scheherazade’s tales to the sultan.”

Amid tearful hugs from the whole family, who’d gathered there to say their farewells, the three Byron ladies and Zeus climbed into the coach. Mallory seemed almost like a sleepwalker, the gentle sunshine gone from her eyes.

Claire was grateful for Edward’s arm around her shoulder as they drove away, crumpling against him the minute the coach was gone.

With Mallory absent, an unfamiliar quiet settled through Clybourne House over the following two weeks. A mourning wreath was hung in honor of the major and notes of sympathy sent to his nearest relations. As promised, Claire kept up a faithful correspondence, writing daily letters to Mallory and Ava, as she informed them of the latest news about Town.

Ava replied.

Mallory did not.

Claire also exchanged letters with her mother and sisters, who were uniformly disappointed that she hadn’t had a wedding. Ella, however, said she thought the whole thing was frightfully romantic and hoped someday soon to meet a dashing lord and be swept off her feet. In another missive, her mother gave her a rather harsh rebuke, expressing concern over some reports she’d received of Claire behaving in a most shocking manner. Mama said, however, that if the duke didn’t mind, then she supposed she couldn’t either. Still, she found it mortifying to be the subject of local talk and hoped this would be the last.

Claire’s father wrote a single note. It said:

With promises to visit as soon as convenient, Claire smoothed over any remaining difficulties with her family.

As for herself, she joined in what remained of the Season with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Despite the mid-July heat, there were plenty of entertainments from which to choose, garden parties, routs and balls. Soon, it would be time to depart for the country, and the Ton was making one last push to wring every last bit of merriment out of the days that remained.

Cade, Meg, and little Maximillian had already departed for Braebourne with promises to see everyone soon. To Claire’s delight, Jack and Grace remained. Often they accompanied Edward and her to whatever evening function they had all decided to attend.

Tonight was the Throcklys’ ball, Claire attired in a gown of amethyst silk with tasseled, Vandyke half sleeves. In her cropped curls, she wore jeweled hair clips fashioned in the shape of wood violets.

Although the windows had been thrown open to let in the stale air that passed for a breeze, the ballroom remained warm, a crush of perfumed bodies and hundreds of burning candles making it nearly oppressive.

In need of a respite, Claire withdrew to a safe corner and opened her silk fan. Waving it in front of her face, she let the tiny draught ease her flushed cheeks. For the briefest moment, she closed her eyes.

“You looked in need of refreshment,” said a gentle, feminine voice. “So I brought you this.”

Claire’s eyelids opened to find Grace standing at her side. Glancing up, she smiled, not at all minding her sister-in-law’s impressive height. It put some people off, but Claire thought the additional inches gave Grace a refined, almost goddesslike air. Jack certainly seemed to agree, an expression of adoration on his face whenever he gazed at his wife.

“Lemonade!” Claire said. “Oh, you are too good.” Taking the glass, she drank enthusiastically. “And it’s so wonderfully cool. Are those ice chips?”

Grace nodded and took a sip from her own glass. “The servants just brought out a new pitcher and I was happy to spirit away the first two glasses. Come, why don’t we have a seat.”

“You aren’t dancing?”

“No,” Grace said. “I never really enjoy standing up with anyone except Jack and he’s in the card room. No doubt he’s winning every hand too, even if they are only playing for penny stakes.”

Claire had learned that Jack had quite the affinity for cards. She would have to play him one of these times to see just how good her brother-in-law really was, and if she could hold her own against him.

Finding chairs, they sat down.

“I shouldn’t ask, since it’s really none of my business,” Grace began. “But are you feeling all right?”

“Of course. I’m a little tired, but that’s because of so many parties, I’m sure.”

“Quite likely. Then again, it could be something else.”

“Something else? What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Grace sipped her lemonade. “But if you start feeling queasy in the mornings, we should talk again. Before I had Nicola, I was lamentably ignorant about such matters. It took me weeks to figure out I was enceinte.”

Stars above, does Grace think I’m with child? But no, it’s impossible. Well, not impossible
, she amended, thinking how often she and Edward made love.
But far, far too soon.

“I’m not,” Claire told her.

Grace gave her a look, then smiled. “Probably just this stuffy room. Still, if you have questions, remember my offer.”

“I shall. Thank you.”

A baby
, Claire thought. The very idea made her giddy and nervous. Did she want Edward’s baby?

Yes
, came the resounding answer. She would like to have his child, his heir. If she was expecting, she hoped it was a boy in spite of Edward’s earlier assurances that the baby’s gender wouldn’t matter. Even so, she was certain Grace’s concerns were premature and that she wasn’t with child.

Without realizing, her gaze went in search of Edward, scanning the thick crowd for his familiar dark head and powerful shoulders.

A smile curved her lips as she found him. Then fell away seconds later when she noticed him deep in conversation with a beautiful brunette. But not Lady Bettis, who she knew had left for the country some days ago.

Since her marriage to Edward, she’d come to realize that she had no reason for jealousy on that score. Felicia Bettis might still want Edward, but he’d made it plain he didn’t return her feelings. In fact, when Lady Bettis had approached one evening to offer congratulations on their nuptials, he’d seemed bored at first, then annoyed when she lingered longer than ordinary manners demanded. To Claire’s delight and relief, he’d given the other woman the cut direct, abruptly turning his back to lead Claire away.

But now there was another brunette, a woman she did not know. An unpleasant tightness lodged in her chest as she watched him smile at the other woman.
But I am only being ridiculous
, Claire told herself. They were at a ball. It was only natural he would talk with any number of women, no matter how attractive they might be.

Still, that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Grace,” she asked, striving for a casual tone. “Who is that woman chatting with Edward?”

Claire watched as Grace sought him out. Suddenly Grace’s back grew stiff, an expression of intense dislike crossing her face. “
That
is Philipa Stockton, and I can say without reservation that you do not want to make her acquaintance.”

“Oh, I see.”

Grace met her gaze. “I am sure you do not, but since you’re bound to hear the news at some point, I might as well tell you that she used to be Jack’s mistress. It was before he and I were married and makes no difference now. Jack loves me and I trust him implicitly, but still, I can’t help but detest her.”

“Of course you do.” Reaching out, she patted Grace’s hand. “If I were you, I’d scratch her eyes out.”

Grace stared for a moment, then laughed. “I like the sound of that.”

Their conversation moved on to other subjects, and outwardly Claire relaxed. All the while, though, she couldn’t help but be aware of Edward and Lady Stockton. What were they talking about? For that matter, why was he talking to her at all? Unless there was something between them. It wasn’t unknown for a pair of brothers to be attracted to the same woman. Once Philipa Stockton had broken up with Jack, had she gone into Edward’s arms instead? Claire had always suspected he had a mistress, but she’d assumed the liaison was over.

But what if it wasn’t? What if they’d only been taking a break while he got married and attended to his duty?

Abruptly, nausea churned sickeningly in her stomach, the lemonade she’d drunk burning beneath her breastbone.

Grace gave her a probing look. “Are you all right? You seem awfully pale of a sudden.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” Grace didn’t look convinced.

Claire nodded.

But suddenly, she realized, she wasn’t sure of anything. Not anymore.

A few hours later, Edward sat on the pale almond green velvet divan in Claire’s dressing room and watched her brush her hair.

She wore a pink, summer-weight dressing gown with a matching diaphanous silk nightgown underneath. He was also dressed for bed, attired in a dark blue silk robe that Claire had once said she liked because it complemented his eyes.

After he’d strolled through the door that connected their rooms, she’d sent her maid away, saying she would finish her toilette on her own. Her cropped locks had grown about an inch this past month, but were still short enough that a few brushstrokes were all that was required to tame them. Even so, she kept brushing, as though she was using the rhythmic movement to calm herself.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Edward observed, as he lounged against a pair of the decorative feather pillows that matched the divan. “Is anything wrong?”

The brush hesitated for a fraction of an instant before she resumed the stroke. “Only tired. It’s late,” she said.

“So it is. Although no later than it often is after we’ve returned from a ball.”

She didn’t reply.

Taking five more strokes, she stopped and laid the brush on her satinwood dressing table. Her hair settled in short, luxurious waves, shiny and gleaming with the warm, rich color of the sun.

Getting to his feet, he moved behind her, then ran his fingers over her hair, savoring its full, silky texture. Bending down, he placed his lips against her neck to nuzzle a spot just under her jawline where he knew she loved to be touched. An answering shiver rippled over her skin before she leaned slightly away.

“I saw you talking to a woman tonight,” she said.

He paused, gliding his thumb over the delicate curve of her ear. “Did you? And who is it you mean, since I believe I spoke with any number of ladies this evening?”

“Don’t be flippant, Your Grace. I was told her name is Stockton. Philipa Stockton.”

His fingers paused ever so briefly. “I may have spoken with her for a few minutes.”

“About what?”

He paused again. “Nothing of any particular interest. Small talk, as I recall.”

Actually, he’d been probing for information, using a variety of conversational gambits in an effort to persuade Philipa to reveal something about her association with Dumont. But she’d proven irritatingly closemouthed, leaving him unable to garner anything useful—at least not without having to completely tip his hand. All in all, their conversation had been an utter waste of time.