Mad About the Duke (17 page)

“Yes, Winston? What is it?”

“The Duke of Avenbury, Your Grace?” the man nudged ever so gently.

James glanced at the clock. “Good heavens, I am going to be late with all this dillydallying. Miranda, can you talk some sense into her?”

Miranda's wry glance suggested Arabella wasn't the only one who needed a talking to.

Richards arrived just then to announce, “Your Grace, your clothes have been laid out, and Fawley has gone round for your carriage.”

“Excellent,” the duke said, bounding from the room and giving Richards a sound
thump
on the back to show his appreciation.

The poor valet staggered forward. Thankfully, Winston was there to catch him.

“As for the picnic, Winston, I'll need a carriage, baskets…good heavens, what does one take on a picnic?” James bounded up the stairs, already composing the list of things for his staff to see to while he was off meeting with Avenbury.

If James hadn't been so preoccupied, he might have seen the look pass between his valet and secretary, one that would have had him worried.

Picnics? Unscheduled outings? Borrowing gowns from the scullery maids?

The duke had fallen into dangerous waters, and it was up to his staff to save him. Because that light of
rebellion in Winston's eyes had just spread to Richards's as well.

 

“Why ever does Father have an appointment with the Duke of Avenbury?” Arabella asked, having returned to the salon after her father had left.

“The duke is on Lady Standon's list of prospective husbands,” Jack informed his niece, just as she took a sip of her tea.

Which she proceeded to spray forth in an unladylike fashion. “That was very poorly done, Uncle Jack. You shouldn't tease so,” she scolded, wiping her lips with her napkin. “The Duke of Avenbury, indeed!”

But when her uncle and his wife just sat there, Arabella realized they were serious. “But isn't the duke—”

“Yes, he is,” Miranda finished.

“And doesn't Lady Standon know that he's—”

“Apparently not,” Jack said.

Arabella laughed, until she realized that her father, her staid and proper father, was all tangled up in this matchmaking debacle. She glanced at both her relations. “You don't think Father's gone…”

They all knew what she meant.

Around the bend. Short a sheet. Dicked in the nob.

Or, in the family parlance, gone true to the blood. That wild, madcap, Tremont blood.

Which usually happened when the Tremont in question fell in love.

Miranda smiled. “About time he found his heart, don't you think?”

 

“I thought you were supposed to be shopping,” Minerva said. “For a gown. Not a lover.”

Elinor felt the heat of her blush rise again. “It wasn't like that.”

“How was it?” Lucy asked, innocently nibbling on a scone from the tray.

“It happened so suddenly,” Elinor began. “I was helping him into his jacket—”

“He was out of his jacket?” Minerva sputtered. “What was he doing out of his jacket?”

“And why were you helping him back into it?” Lucy asked. “I've never heard of being seduced while putting one's clothes on.”

Minerva groaned. “You're not helping, Lucy.”

“I don't think Elinor needs any help,” the lady shot back. “She is doing quite well all on her own.”

“I'd like to remind you both that this sort of bickering,” Elinor said, sitting up and trying her best to compose herself despite the fact that Mr. St. Maur's kiss had left her a trembling mess, “is what got us banished here to begin with.”

“It isn't like our old bickering,” Lucy said. “Minerva has your best interests at heart, as do I.”

“
Harrumph
.” Minerva poured her tea. “Did you manage to find a new gown?”

“I did,” Elinor replied, nodding to her bundle.

“Oh, let's see!” Lucy said, reaching for the package.

“No!” Elinor said, snatching it out of her friend's grasp. Good heavens, it was bad enough that they'd caught her kissing Mr. St. Maur, but this gown would only serve to announce the rest of her intentions.

Well, not intentions so much as desires…dreams…

“I don't see why you couldn't just order a gown from Madame Verbeck and be done with the matter,” Minerva said.

“You know I must keep my accounts at a minimum in case I need to take Tia and run.”

“It won't come to that,” Lucy reassured her. “Clifton and I won't let it. And neither would Hollindrake if you would but speak to him.”

Elinor shook her head. “Lord Lewis will press his hold on Tia's guardianship until I am married. That is the only way I can be assured she is free from his wicked grasp. I must have a husband, and a powerful one.”

Minerva and Lucy shared a glance. Certainly they understood her need to marry, but it wasn't like they were happy with the notion, any more than Elinor was.

She didn't want to marry just to have a husband…and damn St. Maur, he'd made matters worse. For now she wanted so much more…desired so much more.

Still, what if one of the dukes on her list kissed like Mr. St. Maur?

Good heavens, that would make a marriage quite palatable.

Quite desirable, really.

While she found herself lost in that notion, Lucy—with all her thievish ways—managed to slip the package from her grasp and was even now opening it.

And Elinor found herself jolted out of her reverie by a loud gasp from Minerva.

“Ruinous!”

Lucy let out a low whistle. “Even I have to admit this gown is scandalous!”

Having shaken out the velvet, Lucy was holding it up for a full examination.

Jumping up, Elinor pulled it out of her hands.

Minerva's eyes narrowed. “You'll garner a Season's
worth of gossip in that gown. Then again, you did that last night. If anyone discovers that you and that man—”

Lucy waved off Minerva's censure, her gaze fixed squarely on the gown. “Whatever did Mr. St. Maur say of your purchase? For I know what Clifton would say if I bought such a gown.”

“I really didn't give his opinion much regard,” Elinor said, glancing down at her purchase.

“So he disapproved.” Lucy smiled at the notion.

Elinor grinned back. “Most vehemently.”

They both laughed, while Minerva crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the pair of them.

“He threw a perfect fit over my purchase,” Elinor told them. “Which, I hate to admit, only spurred me on to buy it, for if this gown put him in such a state, imagine how one of my dukes will find me when I wear it.”

Minerva shook her head. “You aren't serious. You cannot wear that gown in public!”

Elinor glanced down at her purchase and realized that in the plain and fading poverty of their salon, her gown appeared far more gaudy than it had surrounded by the bright fabrics and plethora of laces and froufrou in Petticoat Lane. Back there, it had seemed rather staid, at least by her reckoning.

“If I put that gown on, I would never make it out of the house,” Lucy declared.

Minerva nodded. “You see, Elinor, even Lucy agrees. You cannot wear it.”

Lucy shook her head. “No, you misunderstand.” She smiled wickedly. “I wouldn't make it out of the house because Clifton would have me out of it before I set a foot out of our bedchamber.” She looked at the
gown again. “Once you've used it to seduce Mr. St. Maur, may I borrow it?”

“It isn't your color,” Minerva told her, stepping between the newly married countess and Elinor. “And no more talk of seduction. Why, if any of this were to get out—this gown, last night—why, it is all ruinous. The duchess will see us utterly cut off, banished to the house in Cumberland!”

The very mention of that dreary property had all three ladies shuddering in unison—even Lucy, who was no longer under the duchess's control.

Minvera wasn't done. “What sort of woman would ever think to don such a…a…” Her hands fluttered around the dress as if she didn't know what to make of it.

But Lucy did. “A courtesan,” she answered.

Elinor and Minerva didn't question her. For Lucy's mother was a notorious lady of the demimonde, and on this subject, they bowed to her superior knowledge. “One with a very well-to-do protector, for this is not the gown a man buys for some dolly-mop or a passing opera dancer.”

Minerva took another critical look at the gown. “Well, if I have to say it, the velvet is excellent. It is rare to find such quality of late. I daresay it is French.”

“And therefore doubly scandalous,” Lucy added with a smile.

“I know it is a bit much now, but I intend to make it over,” Elinor told them.

“Not too much,” Lucy chastened. “Especially if you intend to wear it around Mr. St. Maur.”

Minerva groaned. “Lucy! You are much too intent on Elinor making a cake of herself with this fellow. She will find herself in the suds. However will she
marry a duke if she's spending her time dallying with a solicitor, or, worse, her name is being bandied about in some unsavory way?”

Lucy shrugged, utterly unmoved by Minerva's scolding. She sat back down on the settee and folded her hands in her lap, appearing deceptively ladylike.

Minerva turned her back to their scandalous friend and looked at the gown again, this time with a more critical eye. “The color does suit you. There is no denying that. And if you could manage to redo it,” she said, “it would look perfect with the Sterling diamonds.”

Elinor's mouth dropped open. “Good heavens, Minerva! Don't tell me you still have the Sterling diamonds?”

Minerva nodded.

“You should have given them to Felicity last year when she married Hollindrake,” Elinor told her.

“Yes, I suppose I ought to have.” Minerva looked anything but contrite. “I daresay, if Felicity Langley knew of them, she would have demanded them before the ink was dry on that Special License of theirs.”

Elinor covered her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. She failed miserably. When she finally gathered her composure, she said to Minerva, “I gave them to you to take to Geneva for safekeeping. How is it they are still in your possession?”

Now it was the first Lady Standon's turn to appear unrepentant. “Apparently the matter slipped my mind.”

“Slipped your mind? I gave those to you five years ago when Edward died.”

Lucy looked from one marchioness to the other.
“The Sterling diamonds? Whatever are you talking about?”

Elinor shot Minerva a quelling glance. “Now you've done it. You tell her, for I've kept my word on the matter.”

Minerva sighed and turned to Lucy. “In the Sterling family, there is a diamond necklace that goes to the bride of the heir. They are rumored to make the wearer especially fertile. It really doesn't warrant much fuss.”

“Not much fuss?” Elinor sputtered. “The main stone could finance an entire regiment.”

Lucy glanced again from one to the other. “There is more than one stone?”

“Only three,” Minerva said, trying to sound as if they were but paltry gems, not the blindingly gorgeous stones that were the envy of all.

Her nonchalance failed. Lucy's eyes widened. “Three?”

Caught, Minerva divulged everything. “Yes, three diamonds, and two rubies.”

“And a handful or two of smaller diamonds and rubies to set them off,” Elinor added.

“Only a handful?” Lucy glanced at both of them, her lips pressed together. “How un-Sterling.”

“Most people only notice the diamonds,” Minerva demurred.

“Oh, truly, just the diamonds,” Lucy said, her hands going to her hips.

Elinor rushed in. “According to family legend, the three diamonds represent an heir, a spare and an extra spare.”

“Given the Sterling propensity to run through heirs like water,” Minerva said, “it isn't a bad notion.”

“Superstitions aside,” Lucy said, “let's return to the more relevant issue. Why didn't I get them?”

Elinor shot another glance at Minerva, who groaned and continued her confession. “It was decided—”

“Lady Geneva decided,” Elinor rushed to add.

“Yes, it was Lady Geneva,” Minerva said, nodding in agreement, “who thought it prudent to wait and see—”

Lucy gaped at the pair of them. “What? If Archie lived? If we had children? If he actually managed to inherit?”

They both shrugged like a pair of purse snatchers caught in the act.

“It was really Geneva's idea,” Elinor told her. “I fear she wasn't too keen on the idea of Archie inheriting the dukedom. She thought him a bit of an—”

“Idiot?” Lucy supplied. “I can't argue with her reasoning there. He was disgraceful. And I have to imagine the idea of me, the daughter of a thief and an infamous Incognita, wearing some priceless Sterling relic was just too much for her to bear.”

“Something like that,” Minerva admitted.

“Yes, something like that,” Elinor rushed to agree.

Then Lucy surprised them both and laughed. “I probably would have lost them anyway. I've never been one for jewels. But if you are going to wear them out in company, Elinor, I would suggest checking to make sure Felicity is not on the guest list.”

They all laughed and settled back into their seats, Elinor still holding her gown.

Lucy glanced over at it. “Minerva is right—diamonds would make that gown if you decide to seduce your Mr. St. Maur.”

“Really, Lucy! You shouldn't press Elinor so to take a lover,” Minerva admonished. “But there is
no denying, the diamonds would be stunning with that velvet.” She paused and then shocked them both. “And I will confess, I can see why you are tempted. St. Maur is a handsome devil.”

“Minerva Sterling!” Lucy said, turning to face her friend. “Who would have guessed you could be so wicked.”