The Duke Conspiracy

by Wendy May Andrews

Published by Clean Reads

www.cleanreads.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2015 WENDY MAY ANDREWS

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters,
and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to
actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are
assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used
only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these
terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of
this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically,
constitutes a copyright violation.

THE DUKE CONSPIRACY

Copyright © 2015 WENDY MAY ANDREWS

ISBN 978-1-62135-403-1

Cover Art Designed by CORA GRAPHICS

Their eyes met across the crowded ballroom.
Rose's stomach tumbled and a wave of heat swept her as she took in
his rugged handsomeness. He had changed since she saw him last,
three years ago. She had always thought Alex's beautiful sea-green
eyes were his best feature, but the sight of them had never caused
goose bumps to march up her spine as they did now. Previous to
this, it had always been her opinion that girls who sighed over
handsome men were silly widgets, but now she had an unforeseen
empathy for them. The air of maturity that emanated from him suited
him, she thought absently, as she struggled to breathe through the
uncharacteristic fluttering of her heart.

He had not yet descended the stairs so he was
clearly visible, but she was surprised that he even noticed her,
tucked away in the corner of obscurity such as she was. Her
surprise turned to shock when she recognized the look of
appreciation warming his eyes as his gaze remained on her for what
felt like eons, but was undoubtedly a couple of seconds. She was
torn with a maelstrom of conflicted feelings. A part of her preened
under the admiration of the handsome nobleman, while another part
bristled with indignation that he would even dare to look at her,
considering their history. She could feel her mother's indignation
smoldering behind her, but she was unable to tear her eyes away.
She almost wished she could go back to how she had been feeling
just a couple moments before.

Moments earlier…

Rose tapped her foot with impatience.
Glancing around the room at the crowd of glittering High Society,
she wished fervently that she could be elsewhere. Even though this
was the so-called “Little Season,” there were an uncomfortable
number of people crowded into the fashionable ballroom. Despite the
multitudes, or maybe because of them, a sense of loneliness was
stealing over her.

“Stop that tapping, Rosamund,” her mother
hissed.

Rose twitched in surprise. She had quite
forgotten that Mama was nearby.

Her silent sigh puffed past her lips with a
disconsolate gust. “We most certainly are not in Vienna anymore,”
she muttered to herself, careful that Mama didn't hear.

Mama was so rarely nearby in Vienna, for one
thing. She had other things to preoccupy her than this obsession
with getting her only daughter married off that seemed to have
taken root of late. For another, the air of excitement that was
ever present in Vienna was flat and stale here in the ballrooms of
London. Maybe that was just her own perception though, she thought
with despondency.

Another sigh escaped her as she looked around
at the other guests. It would seem that most everyone else was
excited to be there. The couples on the dance floor were swirling
in the familiar steps in a kaleidoscope of colors, most of the
younger ladies in varying shades of pastel, of course. The smoke
from the myriad candles was beginning to create a bit of a haze in
the large room, but the evening was not yet so advanced that the
ladies' perfumes were overshadowed by the less attractive scents of
that many bodies together in a warm room.

She could see another waiter passing by with
a tray laden with glasses of punch and sparkling wine. Once more
they failed to approach the corner she and her mother had found
themselves in. The wallflowers were not deemed to need the liquid
refreshment as they were clearly not exerting themselves
overmuch.

Rose finally acknowledged to herself that
part of her impatience with the evening was really envy. In Vienna
she had never been a wallflower. She would have been on the dance
floor from the first song struck by the orchestra. It was only when
she needed to overhear a particular conversation that she would sit
out a dance, claiming the need to rest her feet.

Glancing down at her lovely new shoes, she
reluctantly allowed that there was at least one good thing about
being back in London. She would never have been able to find the
exact shade of kid leather shoes to match her dress in any of the
shops in Vienna. The darling bows and the fact that they were
nearly as comfortable as a pair of slippers almost made it worth
coming to this wretched ball.

Almost, but not quite, she thought to herself
with another sigh she managed to keep silent. She looked away from
her toes and forgot about her impatience when she noticed a change
in the air. Her eyes scanned the crowd to ascertain the
difference.

It seemed as though things were about to get
interesting. A stir rippled through the gathered revelers and Rose
strained to see what was taking place. A latecomer was being
welcomed by their hosts, Viscount Chorney and his lovely wife, Lady
Catherine.

From her perspective along the wall, near a
corner, she could barely make out who had arrived. All she could
see was the back of a head. Obviously he was a tall man, she noted
with some interest, as she regularly lamented her own height. And
she found it interesting how the light of the many candles glinted
off his hair, making it difficult to determine exactly what color
it was.

The excited murmurs of the young women in the
room as well as their matchmaking mamas made it obvious to Rose
that this was clearly a single gentleman of some repute. It was
surprising to see the blatant eagerness on the part of the
debutantes.

I know this is called the Marriage Mart,
but really, have a little dignity
, Rose thought with disgust as
the young ladies fluttered and preened around her. She was reminded
of the flock of peahens on the grounds of their estate.

Rose turned to look at her mother when she
heard another hiss coming from her. Lady Smythe was gazing
transfixed in the same direction she had been looking. Intrigued,
Rose turned back to see if she too could catch a glimpse of the
gentleman causing such a commotion. She had never seen such a look
upon her mother's face. Her infernal curiosity moved her to
discover its source.

She could not see his face, but from the
erectness of his posture and the lack of gray in his hair she
assumed that he was a young nobleman. He walked with a slight
swagger that she was surprised to find appealing. Arrogance was not
a quality she would normally admire, but on him it seemed somehow
fitting. She wished he would turn around so she could see if his
face matched the rest of him. Rose held her breath as it seemed
that her will was to be rewarded.

****

Their eyes collided and locked for what was
probably the briefest moment, but for Rose it felt like a lifetime
passed. Her stomach dropped and a mysterious thrill shivered up her
spine as she recognized who owned all of that handsomeness. Her
lips parted on a whispered “Alex” as she took in the changes the
past three years had wrought on her former friend. Time had
definitely been kind to him. Gone was any youthful fleshiness. In
its place his cheekbones were much more defined than she remembered
and he had the beginnings of creases in his forehead and around his
mouth.

Rose now understood the cooing and fluttering
of the many debutantes. The Duke of Wrentham was a sight to behold.
His sea-green eyes were even more piercing than she could remember
and she now saw that his hair had darkened to a rich chestnut. He
had an air of detached authority that had certainly not existed
when they had been friends.

He has changed a great deal and clearly he
has been worrying too much,
she thought to herself with
concern, before she remembered everything else and turned her back
on her former best friend.

It had taken great effort to tear her eyes
away from him. He had been such a lovely friend to her when she was
a child. Her only friend, really, it had seemed at times. It was
clear to her that inheriting the dukedom had been a worrisome trial
for him. He had never wanted to be the duke, she remembered rather
absently, as she marveled over the changes she noticed in him.

Rose didn't have long to analyze her
multitude of reactions to seeing him so suddenly. Resolving to
think of it later, she had to attend to Mama, who was looking as
near to apoplexy as Rose had ever witnessed. Mama's mantra had
always been
don't make a scene,
so a sense of consternation
swamped Rose at seeing her so close to losing her composure.
Finding a reason to be glad they were socially insignificant, Rose
managed to take her mother's arm and escort her to a retiring room
before anyone noticed their disturbance.

“Can you believe the gall of that man,
showing up at a ball where we might be in attendance?” Lady Smythe
demanded. She kept her voice low but the tone's urgency was
piercing nonetheless.

Rose glanced around the small room set apart
for the private use of the lady guests. She was relieved to see
that they were alone except for the maidservant in the corner. That
young woman quickly averted her eyes when she realized that they
required her discretion more than her assistance. Smiling politely
at Rose, she mumbled something about needing some more pins and
scurried from the room.

The dark paneling and velvet-upholstered
furniture would have been appealing to Rose if she could have
appreciated them in that moment, but all her attention was focused
on her mother. Despite being alone in the room, she carefully kept
her voice low.

“But Mama, how could he know we would be
here? We have been out of the country for nearly two years. He
cannot be held accountable for our social calendar.” Rose tried to
be reasonable but her own feelings were too divided on the subject;
her argument came out sounding weak.

“He should never show his face amongst decent
people, regardless of our attendance,” Mama declared, her proper
tones in strange contrast with the vehemence of her words.

Rose could see that her mother was not going
to be capable of thinking coherently at the moment. Even though she
too resented the Duke, her mother's words were going a bit too far.
She couldn't rightly say the man was indecent. Instead of trying to
reason with her about Wrentham, she merely set herself to the task
of calming her.

“Mama, we are guests in the home of Lord and
Lady Chorney. We cannot embarrass them or ourselves by causing a
scene, no matter the provocation.”

Lady Smythe drew a sharp inward breath at her
daughter's words. “I never cause a scene. What are you prattling on
about?” As she looked down her narrow nose, her pride came to her
rescue.

“I know, Mama,” Rose tried to soothe, “but
you were clearly upset by the sight of Alex.”

“Do not speak his name with such familiarity!
He is dead to us.”

Despite the discomfort she was feeling, Rose
could not stop a smile at her mother's uncharacteristically
dramatic words. Not wishing to upset her further, Rose tried to
wipe it away before continuing. “All right, Mama, but do you think
you can return to the ballroom, or shall we fetch Papa and call for
our carriage?”