The Trouble With Being a Duke (12 page)

“How terribly rude of me,” Mr. Roberts said. “I’ve quite neglected to introduce you to Miss Chilcott. We were hoping to find a new pair of gloves for her—that’s why we’re here. Miss Chilcott, please join us.”

With a growing sense of uneasiness, Anthony watched as Miss Chilcott stepped toward them. She looked perfectly calm and collected, save for her hands, which were clenched in tight fists at her sides. She looked at Mr. Roberts, who immediately said, “May I present you to His Grace, the Duke of Kingsborough?”

Anthony waited while Miss Chilcott dropped into a deep curtsy. “It is an honor, Your Grace,” she said, her head bowed toward the floor.

She rose, and Anthony reached for her hand. Bowing over it, he lifted it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles, his eyes meeting hers from beneath his lashes as he did so.

The blush in her cheeks was unmistakable. “What a coincidence,” Anthony said. He’d begun to suspect that Mr. Roberts was the man she intended to marry, for it would be unusual for them to shop for gloves together otherwise—especially with Mr. Roberts’s character taken into account. Consequently, Anthony found himself quite unable to stop himself from adding a little more to Miss Chilcott’s state of discomfort. “As it happens, I was on my way to the Chilcott residency just now to meet with your father.”

“Oh, so you know them then?” Mr. Roberts asked, seemingly oblivious to the pallor of Miss Chilcott’s face.

“Not yet,” Anthony said, smiling at Miss Chilcott. She was really taking the whole thing remarkably well, all things considered. “My interest in them pertains to some information regarding a missing person—it has come to my attention that Mr. Chilcott might be able to help.”

Miss Chilcott coughed. “Beg your pardon,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I do believe I’ll take a look at the gloves.”

“Well,” Mr. Roberts said, “I do hope you find this person you’re looking for.”

“Thank you,” Anthony muttered, his eyes still on Miss Chilcott. The lady had a lot of explaining to do. Just to be sure that he’d made the right assessment, he turned to Mr. Roberts, lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “Forgive me, but I can’t help but wonder if congratulations are in order?” He nodded toward Miss Chilcott, who stood with her back toward them, her right hand inside a dark green glove.

“Not yet, but soon, I believe. Her parents are quite eager, and besides, the sooner we marry, the sooner I can tell Mrs. Jenkins that she’s free to retire.”

“Mrs. Jenkins?” Anthony asked, frowning.

“My housekeeper. She’s a lovely woman but too old for all that’s required of her. Miss Chilcott is young and spirited—she’ll do marvelously well, I’m sure.”

“As your housekeeper or as your wife?” Anthony couldn’t believe he’d just asked such a question, but what Mr. Roberts had suggested was far too outrageous to be ignored.

“I see no reason why Miss Chilcott cannot fulfill the duties of a housekeeper
and
a wife. I am not expecting her to scrub the floors after all, but I don’t desire a woman who is of the opinion that it is her sole purpose in life to sit on a chair and look pretty. Besides, having a housekeeper is an unnecessary expenditure when one’s wife is perfectly capable.”

“I see.” It did sound logical, but the way he said it . . . something about it convinced Anthony that Miss Chilcott was destined to live a grueling existence if she married Mr. Roberts. He didn’t like it one bit. There had to be a way to stop him from offering for her. As it was, he did seem a bit too much like a dangle after, though Anthony couldn’t for the life of him imagine why he was taking so long in coming up to scratch. Had
he
been in Mr. Roberts’s shoes, he and Miss Chilcott would have been well on their way to expanding their family by now.

“What do you think of this pair?” Miss Chilcott asked, turning just enough to hold up a pair of dark blue gloves for Mr. Roberts to see.

Anthony liked them and was about to say as much when Mr. Roberts said, “I don’t think that’s a very good color for your hands—the green ones were better.”

Miss Chilcott blinked, and so did Anthony. What an absurd comment. Anthony considered saying as much but stopped himself. As far as Mr. Roberts was concerned, Anthony had no reason to defend Miss Chilcott, and for the present, it was best it remained that way. So he held silent instead while Miss Chilcott frowned, sighed and nodded as she told the woman behind the counter that the green pair was better.

It was a dratted business really. When Miss Chilcott had mentioned her impending engagement on the night of the ball, it hadn’t occurred to Anthony that he might actually know the man. For some reason he’d thought it a simple enough task to steal her away from whoever he turned out to be. That the man was Mr. Roberts complicated the matter significantly, not just because Anthony knew him (however little that might be), but because he lived in Moxley and Anthony would have to face the very real possibility of happening upon him on a regular basis. Really, was there anything much worse than passing the man whose fiancée you’d stolen in the street?

Anthony sighed. He’d speak to Mr. Chilcott first and
then
decide how best to deal with Mr. Roberts. And then of course there were the Deerfords, who needed contacting. That would be yet another delicate matter. It would probably be best if he first discovered if (a) the gown Miss Chilcott had worn to the ball was in fact the same as the one belonging to Lady Margaret and (b) if it was, then how such a thing could be possible.

If he could only answer these questions, he felt certain that everything would be made a lot simpler.

“Do you plan to stop anywhere else before calling on the Chilcotts, Your Grace, or would you like to walk with us? We’re going there directly.” Mr. Roberts said as he took Miss Chilcott’s parcel for her and offered her his arm. She did not look at Anthony as she took it, but she did not have to for him to know how awkward she felt—it was radiating from her entire person.

“Thank you. I’d be happy to join you,” Anthony said, deciding that he’d have to abandon his idea of buying flowers—if anything, it would make the situation more difficult than it already was. He would have to slow down a bit instead. Especially since he didn’t wish to embarrass anyone, and he had to admit that arriving at the Chilcotts’ front door with flowers for Miss Chilcott when Mr. Roberts was in attendance would be humiliating for everyone, not to mention exceptionally badly done.

“After you,” Mr. Roberts said, gesturing for Anthony to lead the way.

They stepped back into the street and began walking. Nobody said a word for a while until Miss Chilcott, much to Anthony’s surprise, suddenly said, “I was wondering, Your Grace, do you enjoy reading?”

Anthony considered asking if it was some sort of a trick question, considering how unexpected it was.

“I don’t th—,” Mr. Roberts began, only to be silenced by Miss Chilcott, who continued with, “You see, Mr. Roberts and I were discussing the matter earlier—reading, that is. Not your reading habits, of course, since that would be absurd considering we’ve only just met, but relating to ourselves.” She drew a deep breath while Anthony struggled to hide his grin. Apparently Miss Chilcott liked to speak when she was nervous.

“And what, pray tell, did you discover?” Anthony asked. He tipped his hat to an elderly lady and stepped aside so she could pass.

“That reading is an indulgence that only serves to distract from more important things in life.” This statement came from Mr. Roberts.

“Such as?” Anthony asked.

“Such as the improvement of oneself, of one’s household and of one’s business.”

Trust Mr. Roberts to think like that
.

“Well, I do like to enjoy the occasional book,” Anthony said, deciding that this was as good a time as any to start making Miss Chilcott aware of the ways in which he would make a better match for her than Mr. Roberts. “The library at Kingsborough Hall is vast, so I often find myself passing the evening with a bit of poetry or a novel.”

There was an unmistakable sigh from Miss Chilcott, and Anthony found himself smiling. It didn’t matter—he was walking in front of them, so they couldn’t see.

“To each his own, I suppose,” Mr. Roberts said. “But I for one have always considered the arts a complete waste of time. All it really is, is a bunch of people who’ve decided not to work but to take advantage of the rest of us instead by profiting on their hobbies. Painting, writing books and playing music . . . if all these so-called artists would only make themselves useful by doing actual work, the world would have advanced much further by now, of that I have no doubt.”

That settled it. If there had been the slightest bit of uncertainty in Anthony’s mind about continuing his pursuit of Miss Chilcott now that he’d discovered that he actually knew the man she planned to marry, it had just been completely and utterly dismissed.

The man was obviously an idiot. More than that, he’d actually told Anthony that Miss Chilcott would be taking on the duties of housekeeper once they married. If that didn’t spell frugal when even Anthony was aware that Mr. Roberts made a substantial amount of money, then Anthony wasn’t sure what did.

But for Miss Chilcott—the vibrant and cheerful woman he’d met the night of the ball—to be subjected to such a dreary existence was not only unfair but would also probably be harmful to her character. Mr. Roberts would break her, whether he intended to do so or not, and Anthony realized that it was no longer only about his wish to be with her; it was also about a deep-born need to save her.

None of them said anything further until they arrived at the Chilcotts’ cottage. “Mama, Papa,” Miss Chilcott said as she opened the door to what Anthony soon discovered to be the parlor, “we have returned from our walk and have brought with us the duke, who said he wished to meet with you, Papa.”

Following Mr. Roberts into the room, Anthony spoke a greeting and bowed toward Mrs. Chilcott, who didn’t look the least bit happy to see him. He turned to Mr. Chilcott and put out his hand. The older man hesitated only a moment before accepting it in a firm handshake. Like his wife, however, he did not smile, which could only mean that whatever they imagined the reason for his visit to be, it wasn’t good. Well, he’d just have to prove them wrong, that was all.

“If this is an inconvenient hour for you, sir, I can return at another time,” Anthony said, mostly because he felt it would be the polite thing to say—not because he really wanted to leave only to come back again later. He wanted the whole affair to be over with.

“This way if you please,” Mr. Chilcott said as he directed Anthony through to another, much smaller room that was sparsely furnished with a wooden table that could seat up to six people, and a credenza that stood tall against one wall. This was clearly their dining room. Closing the door behind Anthony, Mr. Chilcott gestured to one of the chairs. “Do have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chilcott.” Anthony sat, adjusted himself so he was comfortable and then reached inside his jacket pocket to pull out the drawing of himself and Miss Chilcott. “I met a woman the other day—at the Kingsborough Ball, to be exact—but she departed very suddenly while I was attending to some business. I’d like to find her again if possible and was hoping that you might be able to help me in that regard.”

He handed the drawing to Mr. Chilcott, who studied it for a moment before he finally shook his head. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I have never seen this woman before.”

Anthony sat frozen. He could not believe that Miss Chilcott’s own father was denying that it was his daughter in the picture. “How can you say that, sir, when it is obvious even with the mask she’s wearing that this is—”

“Nobody I know,” Mr. Chilcott said firmly. “And in case you are implying otherwise, my daughter was here, asleep in her own bed that night. I know, because she and I played chess together that evening while we waited to watch the fireworks display—which was beautiful, by the way.”

Anthony was stunned. He was being deliberately shut down. Either that, or Miss Chilcott wasn’t the woman he’d danced with at the ball after all. Perhaps he’d just wanted her to be Miss Smith so badly that he’d convinced himself that they were one and the same.

They looked alike, based on the drawing, but then again there was the mask to consider. He shook his head. No, it wasn’t possible. Miss Chilcott
was
Miss Smith—she
had
to have been. He felt it deep in his bones. Whatever his reason, Mr. Chilcott was lying. Discussing the possibility of a courtship, not to mention the Deerfords, would have to wait. Anthony had to think about everything he’d learned first, and in order to do so properly, he would have to go home. His mother would be able to help perhaps, Winston and Casper too. Yes, he would have to invite Casper over, because when it came to women, he always knew what to do when faced with a problem. The fact that he was a rake was no coincidence—it was a vocation that came naturally to him.

Chapter 13

“M
r. Goodard is waiting for you in the library, sir,” Phelps announced as soon as Anthony returned home.

He handed the butler his hat and gloves with a smile. How convenient that Casper had decided to call exactly when Anthony wished to speak to him. It was probably no coincidence though—his friend would want to know about Anthony’s progress regarding Miss Smith.

“I was planning to send you a dinner invitation,” Anthony said as he walked into the library and spotted his friend, who was comfortably seated in one of the deep leather armchairs with a book in his hand, “but you’ve saved me both the paper and the need to dispatch a footman. Thank you for that.”

Casper grinned. “Truth be told, I’m desperate to discover if you’ve found Miss Smith.”

Anthony nodded and walked over to the side table. “I thought you might be. Care for a drink?” He held up a crystal carafe filled with brandy.

“Please.”

Turning his back on his friend, Anthony prepared a glass for each of them. “What are you reading?” he asked as he strode across to where Casper was sitting, placed the glass on the table in front of him and sat down opposite his friend.

“
Candide,
” Casper replied, handing it to Anthony. “Love the sarcasm.”

“Hm . . . trust you to find the one book I’ve hidden away.” Anthony put the book aside and took a sip of his brandy.

Casper followed suit. “That’s not entirely true—there’s also the
Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure
that you’ve so diligently placed behind Chaucer.”

Anthony coughed. “Yes, well . . . my mother would probably have a fit of the vapors if she discovered either one of them.” Getting up, he took the book and returned it to its rightful place—behind Defoe.

“Even with
Candide
?” Casper asked, frowning. He sounded unconvinced.

“She considers it blasphemous, which I suppose I can understand—in a way.”

Casper shrugged. “So tell me—did you find the elusive Miss Smith?”

Hesitating a moment, Anthony considered what he’d discovered. He then met Casper’s gaze and nodded with slow deliberation as he walked back to his seat. “Yes, I did.”

“And?” Casper’s eagerness for information was most apparent not only from his tone of voice but from his posture as well, for he was now leaning forward in his seat as if the act of doing so would elicit a quicker reply.

“And her name is Miss Chilcott. Her father is employed at Roberts’ Exclusive Carriages.” He reached for his brandy. God how he needed it with everything he’d learned today.

“Well, I hate to state the obvious, old chap, but she’s hardly duchess material then. Society dictate will want you to marry a lady and . . . Miss Chilcott, was it?” Anthony nodded morosely. “Why, she may be lovely to look at and more charming than most, but she’s not even the daughter of a baronet!”

“I am aware of that small detail, thank you very much. However, there’s no law preventing me from courting her or from marrying her should I choose to do so.”

“It will be social suicide if you ask me,” Casper muttered. “You’re a duke, which unfortunately for you and Miss Chilcott means that you have a standard to uphold.”

Anthony knew this of course, but that didn’t mean he liked it. “Hang Society,” he muttered, tossing back the rest of his drink. “Besides, it’s not as if this family hasn’t done the unconventional before. Winston has still not been accepted back into some circles because of his business, but at least he’s happy with the choice he made.”

“If I were you, I’d marry the daughter of an earl and make Miss Chilcott your mistress,” Casper said, ignoring Anthony’s comment. “Besides, you know what these highborn ladies are like—too prim to be stroked, much less . . .” He allowed the sentence to trail off. “So if you do marry one, you’ll require someone else on the side to satisfy your needs.” Anthony scowled, but Casper blithely continued with, “You may have abandoned your rakish ways, but men like us have appetites, and that’s not something that ever goes away.”

“You’re disgusting,” Anthony said, though he had to admit there was some truth to it. How often had he submitted to his own hand in the course of the past five years? Thousands, perhaps more. And since he’d met Miss Chilcott . . . if she only knew what he’d done as he’d thought of her luscious body these past two evenings since the ball.

Casper smiled. “Say what you will, but I can see it on your face. Make Miss Chilcott your mistress and I’m sure she’ll—”

“Stop right there!” Anthony warned. “Miss Chilcott is a decent woman, Casper. She’s not the sort with loose morals, and I won’t allow you to speak of her in such a degrading fashion.”

Casper held up his hands. “Fair enough.”

The door opened and Anthony, turning his head, found both Winston and his mother entering the room. “I hope we’re not intruding,” his mother said. She was wearing a rusty orange day dress that went well with her coloring, her black and gray completely abandoned, much to Anthony’s relief.

“Not at all,” Anthony told her, rising and waving them both over. Stepping around the table, he kissed his mother lightly on the cheek. “We were just discussing my investigation regarding Miss Smith, otherwise known as Miss Chilcott.”

“Oh, so you found her?” Winston asked as he poured himself a drink at the side table. “Would you care for some sherry, Mama?”

“Just a small one,” the duchess replied.

“And please bring the carafe with you over here, Winston,” Casper said as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Your brother and I are in need of a refill.”

“So, tell us about Miss Chilcott, Anthony. Is she the unwanted stepchild of a countess, hidden away so that none shall know of her beauty?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “You read too many fairy tales, Mama.”

“Not anymore.” There was an edge of sadness to her voice. “But I used to when Louise was little. To be honest, I always did enjoy those happily ever afters—they don’t happen often enough in real life.”

“Well, it looks as though it’s unlikely to happen for me either,” Anthony said. “Miss Chilcott is a driver’s daughter, and as Casper has correctly pointed out, it would be difficult for me to make her my duchess—socially speaking, that is.”

“That explains her belief that she cannot share a future with you, though I’m not entirely sure of how it affects
your
decision, Anthony. When did you begin caring about what Society thinks?” his mother asked as she took a careful sip of her sherry, the tiny glass balanced perfectly between her elegant fingers. “Because if you ask me, you never gave much of a damn about anyone’s opinion until recently. I’d be greatly saddened to see you do so now, when so much depends on you doing the complete opposite.”

All three men stared at the tiny figure of a woman who sat before them. Anthony could not recall her ever using profanity before—it was so unlike her. She, on the other hand, looked completely unaffected as she looked right back at them. She eventually shrugged. “There’s little joy to be had in growing older, but having the freedom to say as you please is most assuredly one of them.”

“And here I was advising him to make her his mistress,” Casper said. “I’d no idea that you were so liberal in your way of thinking, Duchess.”

“Casper, surely you have been a friend of this family long enough now to know we’re not as conservative as most. It is my very deepest wish that my children will be as happy in their choice of partners as I was with my husband. If Miss Chilcott is the woman Anthony wants, then I have no intention of standing in his way. The rest of Society will give both of them a hard enough time—I see no reason to make the situation more difficult.”

Anthony felt his heart swell with a bit of hope—the only bit of hope he’d had all day. “Thank you, Mama. I really appreciate your support in this. However, there is a complication that you ought to know about.”

“Please don’t tell me that she has a child out of wedlock,” his mother said, concern marking her drawn features.

“No, it’s nothing like that.” Taking the carafe Winston offered him, Anthony poured a measure into Casper’s glass before adding another to his own. He’d already told his family that Miss Chilcott was planning to marry someone else—that he believed she felt duty-bound to do so. “I happened upon her this afternoon in Moxley as I was on my way to meet with her father. She was buying gloves.”

His mother raised both eyebrows. “I approve.”

Anthony sighed. “She was not alone but in the company of Mr. Roberts, who was acting as her escort—
he
is the man she intends to marry.”

Both his mother and Winston frowned.

“The carriage maker?” Casper asked.

Anthony nodded. “The very one.”

“I thought the name sounded vaguely familiar,” Winston said. “Didn’t you acquisition your new curricle from him, Anthony?”

Anthony gave his brother a tight smile. “You see my dilemma?”

“Not particularly,” Casper said, looking annoyingly calm.

Trust Casper to change his view on the matter just so he could argue the point. “A moment ago, your opinion was quite pessimistic,” Anthony told him.

“That was before I discovered how open your mother is to the idea of having Miss Chilcott for a daughter-in-law,” Casper said, directing a sweet smile at the duchess.

“I’m not particularly fond of toadies, Casper, though I do appreciate the consideration,” the duchess remarked, sipping delicately at her sherry.

“Whatever your opinion,” Anthony said, deciding he’d had enough of their backscratching, “the fact remains that I know Mr. Roberts, perhaps not personally, but enough to feel some remorse at the thought of stealing Miss Chilcott away from him.”

“Then you’re a better man than I,” Casper said.

Anthony grinned. “I believe that goes without saying.” They saluted each other with their glasses before proceeding to take a healthy gulp.

“There is also the question regarding the gown,” the duchess said, breaking the silence. “However would the daughter of a mere driver have come to possess such an expensive item?”

“I cannot give you an answer to that yet,” Anthony told her. “But I don’t believe Miss Chilcott to be a thief. Whatever the case, I think there’s an honest explanation. Until I discover it though, I’ve no intention of alerting the Deerfords. I trust you’ll make no mention of it to them either.”

“You have our word on it,” Winston told him seriously. “And if there’s anything at all that we can do to help . . .”

Anthony nodded. “Thank you, but I can’t think of anything right now. It’s good to know that I have your support though. Now, if I can only convince the lady herself.” He frowned, realizing he’d neglected to tell them how his visit to the Chilcotts had actually gone. “When I spoke to her father and showed him the drawing of his daughter, he denied recognizing her. For whatever reason, they’re insistent upon marrying her off to Mr. Roberts, though I cannot for the life of me understand why.”

“Could they be indebted to him somehow?” Winston asked.

“I’ve wondered that myself,” Anthony said as he leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and placed his chin in his hands. “I suppose it’s possible. Her father is in Mr. Roberts’s employ.”

“The father of the woman you wish to marry is her fiancé’s driver?” Casper asked, looking undecided about whether to laugh or frown. He picked the latter.

Anthony nodded. “He test-drives the carriages that Mr. Roberts manufactures.”

“Well, then perhaps Mr. Roberts is blackmailing the poor man in some way?” the duchess suggested.

“That would certainly explain a lot,” Anthony agreed, “but Mr. Roberts, as peculiar as he may be, doesn’t seem like the sort of man who’d resort to such baseness of character.”

“I agree,” Casper muttered. “It takes an evil-minded person to bend someone’s fate to their will. If Mr. Roberts had it in him, you’d know.”

“But if all the Chilcotts are looking to accomplish is to marry off their daughter to an affluent man—which Mr. Roberts is, by the way—then I see no reason for them to deny you, Anthony,” the duchess said, her tone taking on a defensiveness unique to a proud mother. “You’re a duke, for heaven’s sake! She should be thanking her lucky stars that you’ve paid her any attention at all.”

“Unless of course she’s in love with Mr. Roberts,” Winston pointed out.

“She’s not.” Anthony’s voice was clipped as he spoke. “She believes she has to marry him—that she has no choice in the matter. I mean to prove her wrong. I will speak to her father again, and when I do, I will be very clear about my intentions.”

“And if they still refuse you?” Casper drawled, his gaze meeting Anthony’s.

“Then I may have to whisk Miss Chilcott off to Gretna Green.” He was joking of course. He would never force a woman to marry him against her will, but he did feel as though he was being brushed aside too easily. Perhaps it would be good to assert himself a bit more—remind Miss Chilcott of what they’d shared the night of the ball. Seeing his mother’s horrified expression, he couldn’t help but add, “Let’s not forget that I used to excel at seduction. Perhaps a rake is precisely what Miss Chilcott needs.”