Lord Love a Duke (3 page)

Hell's teeth, but I would not wish this
on anyone
, thought Jonas later that day as he again claimed the
seat behind his desk, blowing out a heavy sigh. For a man who
despised parties, attending only the bare minimum each Season to
satisfy his mother, hosting his own fête was giving him a pounding
headache. He needed to get Miranda married before the end of this
Season, before any more wildness took root and spoiled her future.
She had no lack of suitors these past two years since her come out;
however, this third Season was literally off to an explosive start
as she had somehow procured fireworks to 'enliven' the party of
none other than Lady Courtland, possibly the stodgiest harpy of the
beau monde. While he could appreciate the motive to find some
amusement at a stuffy and stilted ball, he could not condone the
deviltry his sister had undertaken at gleefully orchestrating such
mayhem.

To say Lady Courtland was displeased would
be an understatement, but thankfully she failed to ascertain the
culprit for the resultant fire in her garden that completely razed
her cherished collection of lawn cherubs and topiary fairies. The
look on Miranda's face as the fire raged told Jonas all he needed
to know: she was involved. After forcefully, albeit sneakily,
removing her from the ball and into their carriage, he could tell
by the smell of sulfur permeating her person that she had been
actively involved in the barrage. She withstood his verbal harangue
the entire ride back to their house in Berkeley Square, apologized
for upsetting him, then raced to her room. He'd had to remove to
his study before losing his composure, laughing so much and so
loudly he was afraid he'd wake the staff. The sight of fat and
flaming cupids lurching and swaying in fiery death almost made him
feel proud of Miranda's orchestration. Almost.

Jonas looked down at the two columns he and
his mother had scratched out on some foolscap a week prior and gave
a growl of frustration. He ran his hands through his hair and bent
his head over the desk. He felt too young for this responsibility,
not to mention ill equipped. His father, the previous Duke, had
prepared and trained him for the running of the properties of their
family, and he had taken the instruction seriously, committing it
to head and heart. He had enjoyed keeping company with his father
as they toured the family holdings, meeting all the staff and
tenants. He even enjoyed overseeing the accounts and ledgers,
taking pride that his family was not content to be members of the
idle rich as so many of their set were wont to do, wasting funds in
shallow pursuits. The Dorset holdings were wealthy and prestigious,
the tenants happy and hard working, the crops and livestock
plentiful.

It was the leadership over his family that
was giving him pause. He needed to make sure Miranda avoided the
rakes, fortune-hunters, gamblers, and all-around blackguards that
populated the
ton
while he strove to
facilitate a good match for her. He had observed her behavior at
several functions and noticed her general lack of interest in all
the males who flocked to her company. While it was easy to see she
enjoyed the attention, it was just as easy to ascertain she took
none of it seriously, which had both its merits and drawbacks. It
was good that she was indifferent to those with shady and
pernicious motives, but her apathetic air could soon lead the
serious suitors to doubt their compatibility.

Jonas leaned back in his chair and propped
his legs on the corner of his desk, crossing his booted ankles,
when his butler Bixby entered the study. "The Earl of Aylesford and
Marquis of Hertford to see you, Your Grace."

The cavalry has arrived
, he thought. No doubt they had come as soon as they received
their party invitations, but he was still surprised to see them out
this early. While most invitations had been dispatched last week,
Jonas had purposefully waited for the last possible minute to
invite his closest friends. "You gents are just in time. Sink into
a seat and get comfortable."

Miles Fairchild, Marquis of Hertford,
plopped lazily into a soft leather chair facing the Duke's desk,
indolently throwing a leg over one arm of the seat. His cousin,
Tobias Kitteridge, The Earl of Aylesford, remained standing,
staring at Jonas with a jaundiced eye. The cousins were rarely seen
apart, having grown up together in Warwickshire, their family
estates separated by just twenty miles of good road. They were of
an age and even favored each other in looks, their dark brown hair
given to wavy curls when allowed to grow slightly longer than was
fashionable. Their different eye colors gave them away, with
Hertford having expressive hazel eyes, the color of which changed
with his moods and passions, and Aylesford having eyes so brown as
to be almost black.

"Where are Stafford and Bristol?" asked
Jonas. "I expected to see them with you as well."

"I last saw them arguing over a wager at
White's around three of the clock this morning. I rather suspect
they are abed – somewhere – as I need be." The Marquis' lids were
heavy yet his bloodshot eyes were still discernible, a testament to
a night of frivolity that had not yet ended with much-needed sleep.
“You look disgustingly well-rested, Jonas,” Hertford accused.

The Duke leaned back again in his chair and
clasped his hands behind his head, observing his friends carefully.
He could not remember the last time he had indulged in a night of
drunken revelry as it was now several years in the past. He was
somewhat surprised to find that he was satisfied with that notion,
and did not miss the headache, thick tongue, and fuzzy memory that
usually accompanied those adventures. "I did sleep well; being in
ones own bed tends to allow that. But no matter the others, they
can catch up. I assume you saw your party invitations and came
immediately?" At their nods he continued. "Invitations to the other
guests went out last week while I sent yours this morning. I wanted
to give you no time to prevaricate and waffle at your attendance,
nor flee the city. My lords, I have a problem by the name of Lady
Miranda. She needs a husband."

"Well don't look at me," chorused the two
gentlemen with looks combining shock and horror.

"Nor I," volunteered Roman de Courtenay,
Marquis of Stafford, as he strolled into the room. Closest in
temperament to the Duke, the two had formed a fast and lasting
friendship that began as young boys at Eton, continued through
their studies at Oxford, and was refined by fire when both lost
their fathers without warning in the same carriage accident a few
years past. His rich brown hair and green eyes made a nice foil for
the raven hair and icy blue gaze of the Duke.

The Duke barked out a laugh, holding up his
hand. "This is my sister, after all. Believe me, the last place I
would look for her husband would be the famed 'Lords of Oxford,'
especially as she gave us that ignoble title herself. As you read
on the invitation, I am unfortunately hosting a house party down in
Sussex, the main purpose of which is to put my sister in the path
of some suitable gentlemen and pray she makes a match. I find
myself, as host, requiring the presence of you three esteemed lords
to keep me from losing what precious little hold I have left on my
sanity. Bristol will of course be there as well, as his whole
family has been invited."

"You have got to be kidding! Why would I
leave the distractions of the city for the boring confines of a
manor party? I don't even attend the ones my mother throws,"
grumbled Aylesford.

"I promise to provide you with copious food
and drink, and plenty of outdoor diversions to occupy your
time."

"Do these diversions have beautiful
endowments and long legs, by any chance?" leered Stafford.

"Some do, actually," returned the Duke
evasively, not revealing they were of the four-legged variety and
would be the object of their guns. There would be no willing widows
nor available matrons for the gentlemen to wade through at this
party. "I will mark this as a personal favor you each pay me with
your attendance. I am asking you, nay, begging you to please keep
company with me at this wretched event."

The Duke looked out over three pairs of
sleepy, bloodshot eyes, silently praying for their commitment,
dreading the bargains he might need to make to secure their
cooperation. The party would be tedious enough without the
companionship and entertainment of his closest friends. The group
had been together since attending up at Oxford and had remained
loyal companions ever since. They had caroused and drunk their way
through their youth, earning the apt “Lords of Oxford,” or LOO,
from Miranda one Christmas when all five had decided a bibulous
sleigh ride in the nude around Kent was of the utmost necessity.
The friends had also studied hard and obtained good marks at
university, supporting each other in all matters inebriated and
sober. Jonas and Roman, Marquis of Stafford, had both come under
the weight of responsibility that accompanied their fathers
untimely deaths too young, and the rest of the lords had rallied
and carried their hurting friends. Jonas stood up and walked around
from behind his desk.

Hertford rose to his feet and clapped Jonas
on the back a few times. "You were there for me when my mother
tried twice to trap me with that odious Lady Crumpton and her
insipid daughters, so I will travel and partake of the ennui you
offer. Truthfully, 'tis no hardship to rusticate at your palatial
manor on the sea, eat your food, and drink your spirits." He looked
at the other men in the room. "What say you boys? Do we assemble
the LOO south for a spell?"

A chorus of half-hearted but sincere ayes
went up in the room and the Duke sighed in relief. He would suffer.
They would all suffer. But at least they would suffer together.

Two days later Jonas rubbed his eyes with
the forefinger and thumb of one hand as his footmen struggled to
load trunks his mother and Miranda insisted they needed for the
house party. While his valet had managed to pack everything the
Duke needed into one trunk, the Duchess needed three and Miranda
four. Based on the ribbons trailing out of two of his sister's
cases he assumed she planned to transport every piece of frippery
she possessed.

He opened his eyes after his vigorous
massage in time to see the Lansdowne curricle pull to a stop behind
the third Dorset carriage. Lady Juliet and her maid quickly
disembarked while their groom began to remove their luggage.

“Oh, good Lord,” murmured Jonas, having
forgotten that Lady Juliet was to travel with his family to Sussex.
He was thankful for his decision to ride outside the carriage as he
could not imagine having to travel unaffected in a confined space
with her the next two days. He braced himself for the addition of
innumerable bags and cases but was surprised to see but one trunk
and a small valise deposited at the carriage reserved for
transporting the baggage.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” greeted Juliet
with a smile and curtsey. Though the sun had barely risen she was
obviously wide awake and alert for their journey. “It seems we are
to be blessed with a beautiful day for our travels.” She turned
back to her maid. “Lily, you will likely be in this carriage,” she
offered, indicating the second of three equipages in the line. She
looked to the Duke for confirmation.

“You are correct, Lady Juliet. The staff
will ride second. If Miranda will quicken her sloth pace we may
actually leave some time before nuncheon.” After looking hopefully
once more at the house, he again faced Juliet. “And you, my lady,
will ride in the first with Miranda and Mama. Provided they ever
show,” he added under his breath.

Juliet laughed at his quietly spoken remark.
“I have found it most useful to tell Miranda we are leaving at
least one-half hour before our actual desired departure. This seems
to make her more timely.” She leaned closer to the Duke in a
conspiratorial manner. “Pray do not tell her this or I shall lose
what little advantage I hold in this area,” she finished with
another laugh.

Jonas felt himself smiling despite his
irritation at their delay. At least she was on time, and looking
beautiful in her simple travel dress. He suddenly remembered Lady
Juliet's much smaller amount of luggage and felt compelled to
remark on it. “Are the remainder of your things to be transported
by your family? I see only one trunk and that small bag,” he added
with a questioning glance toward her lone cases.

“I have no other bags, Your Grace, although
my mother will be bringing several gowns of mine that are to be
delivered to Quinn House soon. Everything else I need is here.”

Jonas could not stop his mouth from dropping
open in a gape. “One trunk? How is it that you use only one while
Miranda needs four?” he asked incredulously.

“
Oh, Randa is much more
fashion-conscious and thus more
à la mode
than I,” she explained. “I have no patience for
decorating bonnets and adding flounces and flourishes to my gowns,
and have no talent for improving my wardrobe with excessive
embellishments. Your poor sister often laments being seen with me,
although I accuse her of secretly preferring to be seen setting
herself off against my plain state.”

Jonas looked over her traveling costume
thoughtfully before replying. She wore a jonquil silk and taffeta
dress that featured intricate embroidery at the bodice, sleeves,
and hem. The cut hugged her figure, emphasizing her curves. A straw
bonnet with matching yellow ribbon and three sunflowers completed
her outfit. “Lady Juliet, no one could ever accuse you of looking
plain. You definitely accent yourself in a more subdued manner than
my sister, but you are unquestionably attractively attired.” He
barely stopped himself from leering at her and cleared his throat
before continuing. “Please excuse me while I speak to the drivers,”
he requested with a polite nod as he moved away.