At The Duke's Pleasure Read online

  As Claire turned to go inside, she found Edward at her side. His handsome features were steady and reassuring.

  “She’ll be fine,” he told her. “Broken limbs can be very serious if not attended to properly, but you are not to worry. I have asked our family physician to see to Nan.”

  She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “‘See to her’? What do you mean?”

  “Dr. Cole is one of the finest doctors in the country. At my request, he is traveling to Nottinghamshire to examine your sister and make sure she is receiving the very best of care. With his aid, she’ll be well again in no time at all, you shall see.”

  Her lips parted with surprise. “Your Grace, I do not know what to say. How extraordinarily thoughtful. Thank you.”

  He waved off her expression of gratitude as the two of them ascended the front steps and re-entered the town house. “No thanks are needed. It is no more than I would do for any other member of my family and since Nan is to be my sister, then it seems only right she receive the same care I would give one of my own siblings.”

  Crossing the wide entrance hall, she walked beside him toward the main staircase. “Still, it is most generous of you,” she said. “I find I am in your debt.”

  In his debt… which was the very last thing she wished to be. Why did he have to be so kind? And why did she have to like him, despite her best intentions not to? Hating him would make everything so much easier, would let her draw the battle lines in crisp hues of black and white, instead of muddied shades of indeterminate grey.

  But wasn’t that the heart of the problem? If she were indifferent, perhaps the thought of this marriage would not trouble her so. If it were merely a matter of convenience and duty, as it was for him, maybe she could make do, even be content. Was she wrong to feel this way when everyone else wanted them to wed? Was she being a fool for wanting to toss aside a life of comfort and luxury, with an admittedly good and honourable man, just because he didn’t—couldn’t—love her?

  She turned toward him, unsure of her next words, when a reedy, bespectacled young man in a precisely tailored coat and trousers hurried up to the duke.

  “Your Grace,” his secretary said, “If I might intrude, perhaps you could spare a few minutes. There are several matters of a rather urgent nature still requiring resolution. I had hoped we would be able to finish them this afternoon in time to catch the last post.”

  Edward’s brows drew together. “Yes, of course, I shall be along in a moment, Hughes.” Pausing, he gazed back at Claire. “Is there anything else you require at present? I have sent word ’round to my cousin Wilhelmina, asking her to attend you while your mother is away. She has agreed and should arrive no later than dinnertime. In the meanwhile, will you be all right?”

  Claire’s shoulders straightened, chilled by Edward’s abrupt formality. “I shall be quite well. Pray do not trouble yourself further on my behalf.”

  With another frown, he gave an absent nod. Turning, he fell into conversation with his secretary and strode away, the younger man walking quickly at his side, business matters pouring from his lips.

  Forgotten already, she thought. I suppose I am no more important than any other item in his very long list of things to which he must attend.

  For a moment, she watched Edward move away down the hall, then she swung around and took the stairs with a determined stride.

  Chapter 7

  Inside his study three days later, Edward finished reading a letter from Jack, smiling as he folded the missive and set it aside.

  It would seem he was an uncle twice over now, his sister-in-law Grace having given birth a week ago to a baby girl. They’d decided to name her Nicola, and Jack declared she was the most beautiful child he’d ever beheld—and not just because she was his daughter. Grace and the baby were doing splendidly, especially with Jack and Edward’s mother, Ava, there to offer advice and support. Jack wrote that he and Grace hoped to come to Town this summer once Grace was recovered and the baby old enough to travel. From what Edward understood, Cade and Meg planned to journey to London this summer as well to show off their new son. Undoubtedly, it would be quite a reunion.

  Edward suspected, however, that the two couples might have postponed their visits a while longer were it not for their rather poorly concealed curiosity about Claire. He had to admit that he’d taken everyone unawares with his sudden decision to go through with the betrothal, particularly since the entire family had long ago assumed he’d decided not to honour the old arrangement made by their father and Claire’s. But circumstances changed and so had his view of the betrothal.

  To his relief, it seemed as though Claire had acclimated herself to the idea of their engagement as well, her initial resistance having apparently faded once she’d arrived in Town. Claire seemed content enough, she and Mallory getting on like bosom friends from the very first. He would give her the next several weeks to enjoy the Season and then they would proceed with the wedding.

  Meanwhile, he was still working on solving the puzzle of who had killed Everett, as well as identifying the man Everett had named a few days before his death.

  Wolf.

  The name could be real or an alias. He and his contacts at the War Office still didn’t know which, despite extensive attempts to locate someone answering to that surname. The man could be nearly anyone, if it was indeed an assumed name. Although if he was the same shadowy figure Meg had glimpsed meeting with Everett that night two Seasons ago, then it narrowed the field somewhat. They had her description of the man, even if it was vague.

  Then as now, Edward had been secretly working to uncover the identity of a spy buried deep in the system—a mole who had access to information at the highest levels of the government. After Everett’s initial capture, the mole had disappeared. At first, they’d wondered if Everett himself was the man, and if by catching him, they’d ended the leak. But last fall, with Everett firmly in custody, information had begun going astray once more. The mole, they quickly realized, was still free and clear and operating with impunity.

  Was the mole this Wolf, or someone else entirely?

  And was Wolf Everett’s killer or not? Edward’s only lead was a pair of corroborating reports from a couple of the soldiers who remembered seeing a new man in the vicinity of Everett’s cell block around noontime on the day of his murder. The man had been dressed in a lieutenant’s uniform and none of the soldiers had thought to question his presence, assuming he’d come over from another regiment. He’d left no name, nor had he been seen since.

  Taking out a sheath of notes and reports, Edward began to read them again, hoping for some clue he might have missed. He was deep into the stack when he became aware of a frenzy of activity going on in the front of the house. From the sound of it, the house was being invaded, there were so many footsteps going to and fro. Curious, he tucked the papers back inside the leather folio in which they were kept, then locked them inside a drawer in his desk.

  Standing, he walked out of his study and down the hall. Near the front entrance he stopped, struck by the sight of a virtual army of deliverymen making their way up and down the main staircase. Even his own footmen had been enlisted in the effort.

  “Croft,” Edward called, signalling his butler. “What in the world is all this?”

  The usually unflappable older man glanced over, his expression faintly dismayed. “A delivery, Your Grace. From the mantua maker, I am given to understand.”

  As Edward watched, another three servants came through the open front door, their arms stacked high with boxes. Angling their heads to see around their burdens, each man carefully negotiated the stairs in a small but impressive procession. As they did, more servants returned downstairs and back out the door, apparently intending to retrieve more from the wagon parked outside.

  Edward raised a single eyebrow at the spectacle. The second brow joined its mate when he heard high-pitched feminine squeals echoing from one of the bedchambers upstairs. Obviously boxes were being opened
and garments revealed, much to the ladies’ great delight.

  He was trying to decide how to react to all the commotion when Croft appeared at his elbow, a silver salver containing a letter held in the servant’s hand. “This arrived with the delivery, Your Grace. Shall I give it to Mr Hughes for his attention?”

  Edward turned an eye toward the missive, which was clearly a bill of sale from Madame Morelle. He’d seen enough of them over the years to recognize her business stationery. “No, I’ll take it,” he said, curious to see exactly how many gowns were being delivered and at what cost.

  Reaching out, he picked up the correspondence and broke the wax seal, revealing a full dozen pages. On each were rows of notations with descriptions of individual items and the accompanying price, all penned in fine black ink. As he scanned one page after the other, his brows shot high on his forehead. Flipping to the final page, he searched for the grand total and felt his eyes strain wide, his jaw dropping as he read the figure written at the bottom.

  That can’t be right! he thought. Not even a royal princess would spend this much on her wardrobe. Doing another quick review, he began to count gowns, wishing Drake were here to confirm his hasty math. If he was right—and he had the sinking suspicion that he was—there were over one hundred and fifty gowns on the invoice.

  One hundred and fifty!

  Surely there had to be a mistake, since all these clothes couldn’t possibly be for Claire alone.

  Mallory! he thought, his head coming up again. Mallory must have defied me and gone shopping too.

  Well, he’d see about this and see about it now.

  Paying no attention to the last of the deliverymen as they made their way out the door, Edward took the stairs two at a time. The thick paper invoice crinkled inside his grasp, his emerald signet ring tapping against the polished handrail with each of his steps. Turning at the landing, he made his way down the long corridor.

  Feminine talk and murmurs of admiration floated from one of the guest bedchambers, growing louder and more distinct the closer he got. He hadn’t been to this room since Claire had taken up residence, knowing it was hers. The lilting cadence of her voice floated like sunbeams on the air. Stopping in front of the partially open door, he rapped on the panel.

  A maidservant soon appeared at the door, her eyes growing large when she saw him standing there.

  “Is my sister within?” he asked.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the girl told him, dipping a curtsey.

  “Who is it, Penny?” he heard Mallory call. The girl withdrew, a quick hush of conversation following. “Edward’s here? You mean right outside the door?” Mallory said.

  “That’s right,” he retorted in a voice loud enough to carry. “And I want to speak with you. Now, if you would be so good.”

  Mallory arrived at the door moments later. “Oh, hallo, Ned. What do you want? I’m helping Claire try on her new gowns. We’re having a bit of a fashion exhibition at the moment.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you are,” he said in a wry tone. “That’s what I’m here to discuss.”

  Mallory gave him a look of surprise, the one she used when she had been caught at something she knew she oughtn’t to have done.

  He scowled. “So how many of these gowns have you been trying on?”

  She scowled back. “None. Well, one. All right, two,” she corrected, “but those two are quite within bounds, since my new allowance just became available.”

  “Come now, how many of those gowns are really yours? And don’t try to cozen me. We’ve been through this more times than I can count and I thought I had your pledge.”

  She crossed her arms, her lips firming. “You do have my pledge and I have honoured it.”

  “So you’re telling me that all of these gowns”—he lifted the stack of bills in his grasp—“were ordered for Lady Claire?”

  Mallory opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the door opened wider and there stood Claire.

  She looked flushed and lovely, a few wayward tendrils of golden hair curled against her cheeks in a most becoming fashion. Blue as a summer sky, her eyes shone with vivid brightness against her creamy skin, her cheeks stained the same lush pink as her lips.

  Claire met his gaze with a direct look of her own. “That’s exactly what she is saying, Your Grace. The gowns are all mine. Lady Mallory was very circumspect in her purchases, so pray do not be cross with her for something in which she took no part.”

  “Actually, I did take part,” Mallory amended in a conspiratorial aside to Claire. “In the shopping, that is, and the selection of the garments.”

  “Yes, well, I fear your brother is displeased with the wrong person whatever the circumstances,” Claire said.

  “I fail to see why he should be,” Mallory interjected, turning her attention back to her brother. “Claire may have shopped with an admittedly liberal hand, but she bought nothing she did not need for her entrance into Society. Do you not want her looking her best?”

  His jaw tightened this time. “Of course I do. But—”

  “She couldn’t very well buy second-rate goods and patronize an inferior seamstress, who might charge pennies rather than pounds but provide slipshod work.”

  “I never expected her to do so, and that isn’t the point.”

  “Madame Morelle does not come cheap, you know, nor should she for the quality she provides.”

  “I have never complained about Madame Morelle or your patronage of her shop.”

  “Well then, why are you all beetle-browed?”

  “Beetle-browed!” he shot back. “I am nothing of the kind.”

  Mallory gave a delicate snort. “Tell that to your eyebrows.”

  He paused, then blew out a breath. “Sometimes, Mallory, you try my patience beyond measure. If you weren’t my sister I would—”

  “What?” she dared, undaunted by his words. “What would you do?”

  Briefly, Edward closed his eyes, clearly striving for that patience he’d mentioned. When he opened them again, his expression was calm, despite the faintly militant gleam that lingered in his gaze.

  Concerned that her scheme was having unintended consequences, Claire decided it was time to intercede. “Please, do not quarrel,” she implored. “Certainly not over me. I appreciate your defence, Mallory, but I believe this is an issue that needs to be resolved between your brother and myself. Is that not right, Your Grace?”

  He met her gaze for a long moment. “If you prefer.”

  “I know you mentioned your eagerness to try on the pair of gowns you purchased,” Claire said to Mallory. “Why do you not take them now and go to your room? Penny can accompany you to help. And I’m sure Cousin Wilhelmina would be happy to proffer an opinion, assuming she has awakened from her nap by now.”

  Mallory hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t mind staying in the least.”

  “I shall be fine.”

  Mallory looked between them, clearly weighing the situation. “Well, if you are certain. But remember that I am only just down the hall.”

  “I’m not likely to murder her,” Edward remarked in a half-exasperated tone. “If that were the case, you’d have been dead years ago. Now take your dresses—the two that are most definitely coming out of your pin money, I might add—and go to your room. I shall see you tonight at dinner.”

  After another considering glance between her and Edward, Mallory departed, the maid trailing behind with a large bandbox in hand.

  Standing back, Claire silently invited Edward into her room despite the impropriety of the act. “Surely the servants have heard more than enough already,” she explained.

  “My staff is extremely discreet,” he told her, then strode inside.

  Drawing another breath, Claire pushed the door inward, leaving it open by a scant inch. She wanted privacy, but she wasn’t lost to all sense of discretion. With her pulse beating at a rapid gallop, she took a moment to compose herself, then turned.

  She found Edward standing with a
fist on one hip as he surveyed the ocean of clothing spread over every piece of furniture in the room, along with another small mountain of boxes that had yet to be unpacked.

  “Merciful heavens, did you buy every yard of fabric in the city?” he remarked.

  She ignored his sarcasm, well aware of her extravagance. After all, that had been the point. Determined to proceed with her plan, she’d ended up having Madame Morelle recreate nearly all the fashion plates she’d admired that day at the mantua maker’s shop. Additionally she and Mallory had included several designs from La Belle Assemblée and had a few more made up from the fashion babies on display. They’d taken Madame’s shop by storm, as the seamstress herself had declared, even her jaded eyes growing a bit round at the enormity of the order.

  Now the moment of truth had arrived.

  Just how angry is he? she wondered. Enough to blister me with a tirade that would do my father proud? Sufficiently furious to toss me out of the house and end our engagement? She waited, nearly rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

  However, unlike her father when his ire was roused, the duke seemed composed, almost cool, despite his earlier heated remarks. He said nothing as he continued gazing at the array of garments, pausing every so often to peruse the bill in his hand.

  “Is there something in particular you are looking for, Your Grace?”

  “No, simply curious. For instance, there is a notation about several gowns with…let me see what it was called again…” Pausing, he thumbed through the pages he held. “Ah yes, the rose-point lace that costs a mere forty pounds a yard.”

  Well now, she thought, that’s more like it. As a rule, men were notorious for disdaining feminine trimmings and fripperies, particularly expensive ones. Perhaps a detailed description of her purchase would really set him on edge.

  “That lace is handmade by Belgian nuns and takes hundreds of hours to create,” she informed him in an enthusiastic voice. “Madame assured me it is the finest lace in existence and well worth the extra expense of importing it from abroad. Wartime tariffs, you see, make the price extremely dear.”