What the Duke Wants (27 page)

They walked into a side room where a large buffet table held every sort of delicacy imaginable, including fresh fruit imported especially for the ball. Judging from the few guests inside, it appeared that much of the food would remain untouched and probably thrown away at the end of the night. She thought of the orphans and the poor back home, and it made her somewhat ashamed to enjoy the lavishness even for a moment.

They toured the gallery before returning to the ballroom.

The extravagances on display that evening were extreme—and it was both fascinating and nauseating to witness. It disgusted her, but neither could she look away. One particular woman wore diamond rings on every finger, in her hair, around her neck, and dangling from her ears. She even had diamonds on her fan and sewn into her dress. Grace thought she likely had them sewn into her drawers as well and chuckled to herself as she thought about how uncomfortable it must be for the woman to sit.

She had barely finished that thought when two women walked by with elaborate head pieces. One appeared to have peacock feathers in her hair, enough to rival a full-grown male, while the other appeared to have an entire garden of rare orchids draping her head. She hoped the lady was not allergic to bees.

Despite her earlier eagerness to attend this ball, Grace suspected this life wasn’t for her. She didn’t belong. She didn’t suit this life.

An hour later, she was alone watching dance after dance from a little alcove created by judiciously placed potted plants. She was content to simply watch from afar rather than participate. She had met numerous people through Lady Harriett before she managed to sneak away to her little private haven amidst the masses. Growing up in Oxford, she had never had trouble talking with customers in her father’s shop or at artist guilds and teas, but here she found it difficult to think of what to say. Her brain seemed to freeze. Probably because she had little in common with these people. It might be her own insecurities, but she just couldn’t relax and converse easily, which left her feeling awkward and lonely.

It wasn’t a surprise she didn’t ‘take’, and she was fine with that. She didn’t want it, and besides, the ball was so much more enjoyable while observing it from her own private niche. She watched people cut each other and smile out both sides of their mouths. Without being in the midst, she could laugh at the irony and cruelty of it all without her own feelings engaged. Yet with her prospective business in designing custom clothes for women, she couldn’t afford to mar her reputation either, so she did her best to steer clear of the gossip, even if she did look on with envy at the numerous couples performing the waltz, which she had not gained permission to dance.

Her musings were interrupted by a familiar voice:

“Grace, my love, what a pleasant surprise.”

Lord Middlebury. Ugh. Grace cringed as she recalled their last conversation at Beckett House. How could such an innocuous statement make her feel so dirty? Unfortunately, she couldn’t go so far as to publically embarrass Lady Harriett by being rude to him, so she turned with a forced smile to greet his lordship.

“Lord Middlebury, how nice to see you again.” What a lie.

“The pleasure is all mine. What a waste. Hiding amongst the plants? You simply must join me for a turn about the dance floor. I’ve been holding this waltz open in hopes that you will favor me with your company.”

Do people actually fall for that drivel?

“Excuse me?”

Zounds! Did I say that out loud?

“I said, absolutely…without…er…quibble…It means I'd be delighted, I’m sure; however, as you must know, I’ve not been granted permission to dance the waltz by the Almack’s patronesses; therefore, I must respectfully decline.” God, now she was relieved to be denied that pleasure.

Middlebury grabbed her hand and hooked it through his arm. He would not be deterred.

“Well, then, Miss Radclyffe, I am in desperate need of a breath of fresh air; it’s ridiculously stuffy in here with the crush. Allow me to escort you outside as I’m sure you could do with a bit of fresh air as well. For sure, you cannot visit Russell House without viewing their extraordinary gardens.”

Before she could even contemplate the wisdom of going outside with this man, he swept her out the balcony doors and onto the darkened terrace.

“Lord Middlebury, I don’t think we should.”

“Oh, stuff,” he interrupted. “It’s perfectly respectable out here. Do you see the lights scattered along the paths? Lord and Lady Russell wouldn’t have bothered if they didn’t want their guests to take the opportunity to explore their beautiful gardens.”

He moved swiftly as he spoke, gripping her hand. She became alarmed. Despite the presence of numerous torches dotted along the garden paths, no one else appeared to be outside taking the air. She couldn’t pull away without causing a scene, but what else was she supposed to do? She was unprepared for this situation. No one had told her what to do.

Lord Middlebury turned a corner and pulled her down to sit beside him on a low garden bench. He clearly knew what he was about in this garden.

“Grace, my dear, it has been my fondest desire to find a moment alone with you so we could speak privately. I can’t help but remember our connection at Beckett House, and I find myself thinking of you constantly.”

What in the world was he talking about? His statement seemed suggestive, as if their previous encounters had been more than what they were. She grew alarmed; she needed to put a stop to this. Now.

“Lord Middlebury.”

“Oh, darling, I knew you felt the same, oh let me show you…”

His ridiculous speech was cut short as he pawed at her and kissed her. Dear Lord, this man was known as a disreputable rake, yet to her, he seemed to be acting out the scene from a bad play. Were women in London actually flattered by this nonsense? Did they actually like his advances? Ugh.

She fought him in earnest now, creating a scene be damned. And despite her alarm, she was aware enough to realize that perhaps there was a reason he seemed to be acting for an audience. She could not afford this sort of scandal.

She fought harder, with no more success. The man had eight arms and ten legs. But then suddenly, he was gone. There was nothing but air where previously there had been an over-amorous Lord Middlebury.

She blinked as she made sense of the scene before her.

Lord Middlebury was sprawled across the ground, moaning. His hand squeezed his bleeding nose. And over him stood one thoroughly enraged duke.

“I will, this once, assume you were too overcome by the lady’s beauty to realize your attentions were unwelcome. I am letting you go only because I wish to keep her name from being attached to any scandal should I call you out. However, if you ever attempt any such attack on her person again, I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand.”

And without waiting for a response, Stonebridge turned on his heel, lifted Grace by her elbow, and pulled her off along another path with a gruff, “Come on.”

He was furious, though she didn’t think it was directed at her, so she followed along, confident he wouldn’t actually harm her. She was relieved and knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He walked swiftly and silently, and she kept pace without attempting to converse.

They approached the rear terrace at a different direction from which she left previously. He stopped and turned to look at her.

“Grace—I…” He paused and regarded her intently. For a moment, she thought he meant to kiss her, and she would willingly accept his kiss. But instead, he shook his head and didn’t kiss her.

“I went this way in case there were others along the path. I suspect…Well, never mind. You might want to make your way to the ladies’ retiring room. If you make your way through these doors, you’ll see a set of stairs. At the next floor, you should come out in the hall near where you want to be without having to pass through the ballroom. I’ll head back up to the balcony and reenter that way. Grace…I…It will be all right.”

He touched her cheek briefly before turning to head up the balcony stairs. She thanked him, but she knew he hadn’t heard. Silently, she turned and made her way to the retiring room without mishap as he suggested.

* * * *

Stonebridge took a moment to straighten himself and cool his ire before reentering the ballroom. The sight of Grace in Middlebury’s arms had pushed his temper to the breaking point. He was furious and needed to regain his composure. He couldn’t believe he had threatened Middlebury with his life. After a few minutes, he went inside and found his friend.

“Cliff.”

“Ambrose, where have you been? I’ve just been regaled with the most ridiculous rumors about Grace and Middlebury. It was laughable really, and I set what gossip mongers straight that I could, but well, we know how fast these things spread and we both know who is at the source of these rumors. Don’t we?”

“Beatryce,” he grumbled.

“Frankly, I am appalled she would do as such to her own cousin. And you’re going to marry this girl? Ambrose, you and I both know these rumors aren’t the least bit true. What are you going to do about it? Lady Beatryce is your fiancée.”

Suddenly, he was angry. At everyone. At everything. At life. And he spoke with anger, words he really didn’t believe, but he said them anyway.

“Don’t I? I could easily think otherwise based on what I just witnessed in the garden, and Beatryce is not my fiancée, yet.”

“If you weren’t my best friend, I'd call you out right now. How can you even suggest such a thing? I really thought…never mind.”

“Are you thinking? You escorted her here; therefore, it is your responsibility to keep an eye out for her welfare. She’s lucky I spotted her leaving the ballroom with Middlebury.”

Cliff shook his head. “Ambrose, are you doing the right thing and do you even know what that is anymore?”

He chuckled sarcastically. There were so many shades of right in this world. “What I truly believe is irrelevant. Grace is common, and I highly doubt she’s the innocent she pretends. Thus, I would never marry her. I'd take her as my mistress before I'd grace her with my name. It’s the way of our life and you had better get used to it. You’re titled as well, or have you forgotten?”

Cliff turned at the gasp both men couldn’t help but hear. Stonebridge didn’t look. He couldn’t. He was ashamed. As he should be. He knew Grace had heard what he said, and it galled him to realize how pathetic and cruel he had sounded. Deep down, he knew she was innocent.

And he had done it after all, shamed the Stonebridge name. And through his own actions no less. Wouldn’t a true gentlemen always defend a lady? Regardless of whether or not she deserved it? His father would say yes. His father would be disappointed, but damn, these were the decisions a man had to make in his life. He couldn’t marry Grace and that was that. It was a fact of life, whether it was right or not. Whether he agreed with it or not. Whether he liked it or not.

Of course, that didn’t mean he had to be a jackass about it. Hell. Any man would be lucky to have her for a wife, and he knew it. But he was not any man, and the deed was done. He had said the words, and there was nothing he could do about it. He just couldn’t do right by her, and it was all his own stupidity that kept fucking it up. Bloody hell.

Cliff looked at him as if he saw a stranger. “You’re despicable, and right now, I’m ashamed to call you my friend.” And with a look of contempt, he turned on his heel and stormed off after Grace, leaving Stonebridge with only his guilt for company.

* * * *

The Earl of Swindon entered his study long after the end of the Russell Ball, seething in frustration. His daughter was a complete failure, and he was disgusted with her. Her inability to bring Stonebridge up to scratch infuriated him. That bitch! Shite. He was going to have to force the issue.

Now that the duke was obviously suspicious, he had no qualms about using less savory tactics to push the betrothal through. The next ball would do.

He glanced down at his desk and realized with alarm that a note was attached to the desktop with a knife through the middle—driven right through his papers and into the inlaid leather top. It read:

Swindon,

Your attempt to see to the issue of Lord Dansbury was an appalling failure.

You have three days.

Tick. Tock.

His fury at Beatryce was forgotten as he wet himself in fear.

Chapter 21

Arnold Polyweather’s Apothecary…

Portland Place…

The next morning…

Grace stood on the pavement outside Arnold Polyweather’s Apothecary on Portland Place. It was at the north end of the road and slightly out of the way from the main shopping district. This was definitely the place recommended to her by Lady Harriett’s maid, as it was the right address and the correct name was written in gilt letters above the shop window. She looked at the shop’s large bay, bemused by the signs plastered to the glass:

HEALING TONICS AND EXOTIC ELIXIRS—FOR ALL MANNER OF MALIGNANT HUMOURS.

And:

WE SELL DR. HYDE’S VITAL ELIXIR—CURES BILIOUS HEADACHES, IMPURE BLOOD, GIDDINESS, MENTAL DEPRESSION, SKIN ERUPTIONS, PIMPLES ON THE FACE, AND TUMOURS IN THE LEGS.

Grace laughed and walked on to the door located to the right of the window. The door was primarily glass and posted the following sign:

ARNOLD POLYWEATHER, DEALER IN TONICS, HERBS, AND PERFUMERY. PARTICULAR ATTENTION GIVEN TO THE DISPENSING OF FAMILY MEDICINES AND REPLENISHING OF MEDICINE CHESTS.

Perfect. Bessie, who was under the weather, had sent her out with explicit instructions for Mr. Polyweather on how to mix her special healing tonic.

A bell above the door jingled cheerfully as Grace entered the shop. From the counter at the back, a jolly, middle-aged fellow with brown greying hair and a thick mustache looked up from a journal and called out a good morning, presumably Mr. Polyweather.

“Good morning,” she answered in reply.

The aisle from the door led directly to the back counter, and she walked down it, taking time to look about at all the miscellaneous items for sale. To her left and dividing the middle of the room were open shelves with various jars and tools for mixing compounds. Along the outer walls were shelves lined with premixed concoctions. Below the wall shelves were cabinets with hundreds of small drawers, each labeled with the various names of plants, berries, herbs and oils contained within. But the most interesting aspect of the shop were the plants and herbs hanging from the ceiling to dry, which lent the shop a strong, herbal smell. Grace breathed in deeply and detected the scents of rosemary, peppermint and lemon.