An Unexpected Proposal (St Daine Family 1) (5 page)

He could fair understand their temerity, but privately, he believed the fuss was more about how much they would miss Phoebe once she married than any real desire to mingle with friends or to dance away an evening.

Looking from one girl's bright, expressive face to the other, he sighed, a momentary sense of overwhelm filling him. How was
he
expected to know how to raise a family when he had never had one of his own, he thought, his own question in direct counter to Emily's. But he dared not voice his fears aloud, and especially not to the girls. Alaina and Emily would do their best to take utmost advantage of his feared shortcomings, he knew, twisting them to their own benefit, which they often did anyway now that Grandmother Amelia had come to assist him with the twins and Phoebe.

He wondered, not for the first time, if his grandmother had schooled the girls in the art of cajolery since her arrival. Still, whether the twins had done so on their own or with Grandmother Amelia's assistance, they had learned all too well how to rearrange a matter to the benefit of their own gain.

The notion struck him that perhaps it was time he started to look for a wife, for the girls' sake, but he hurriedly pushed it away to answer Emily's question. “You are expected to behave as any proper young lady might, Emily Anne, whether in
Town
or here, where you are protected by home and family,” Lucien reminded for what must have been the hundredth time since their father's death.

The inquiry into their expected proper behavior settled once more, Lucien's gaze sought and found his grandmother and her current companions, pausing to linger appreciatively on Lady Claire. She had worn her hair up again, he noted, and wondered if it would fall to just below her shoulders or further if he dared to pull the jade tortoise shell combs free.

“I told you he likes her, Emily,” Alaina said, her eyes twinkling merrily for having caught her eldest brother staring. “He
has
to be the reason Grandmere and Phoebe invited her, and look. She brought her red-haired friend, too.”

Lucien's eyes flared and he promptly focused his stern gaze on the younger twin, which also conveniently served to pull his attention away from the rather attractive Lady Claire. “Who likes whom? What, exactly, are you suggesting, Alaina Georgette?”

“Everyone likes Lady Claire,” Emily replied to her sister with a shrug while choosing to ignore her brother's question altogether. “But clearly
she
is impressed by precious few. Phoebe says she rarely dances. Perhaps that is the true reason Phoebe invited her? Grandmere says Lady Claire often appears rather dreary, too, and yet, her private conversations are lively and filled with surprisingly clever wit. I wonder if she has a secret?”

The girls' chatter hopped from subject to subject without pause, as usual, and Lucien did his best to keep up. What had Emily said about Grandmother engaging in private conversations with Lady Claire? Lucien wondered. His gaze moved from his sisters to join them in their perusal of the lady in question. Why would his sisters think she had something to hide?

Studying her carefully from the hem of her subtly muted green gown to the mass of shiny dark curls caught up in a set of elegantly matched combs, Lucien found himself pondering the last bit of Emily's contribution. Casual observation lent no clue and having realized he had slipped from engaging in polite conversation with his sisters to speculate about the possible secret life of Lady Claire Leighton, he cleared his throat to bring the girls' attention back to him—and his away from Claire.

“Girls, one does not pry into the private affairs of another. Behave yourselves,” he admonished with a hint of warning. Still, his gaze wandered back to the lady in green while his thoughts became ever more tangled. Was Lady Claire harboring a dark secret? Perhaps she had confided in his grandmother, or was doing so even now, he thought, noting the way the three women seemed to huddle together, talking quietly despite the distracting buzz of conversation humming throughout the crowded room.

“I find her quite lovely, Lucien,” Emily told him. She reached up to straighten his cravat and then patted his chest. “Perhaps you should dance with her?”

“Despite the horrid green she is wearing, I find I must agree, Em. Lady Claire is already a shade more than passing pretty. Perhaps we will offer a bit of fashion advice later. Discreetly, of course,” Alaina added thoughtfully.

“If you are genial with her, she may even agree to partner with you for some of the activities Grandmere has planned this week,” Emily suggested to Lucien, this time ignoring her sister—for the moment.

“If she were to allow you and I to consult with her on the choices in her wardrobe, I feel certain we could shortly elevate her to an
Original
, a beauty far beyond compare,” Alaina said, continuing with her original thread of conversation despite Emily's distraction.

Emily's noncommittal “
Hmm
” of agreement had barely registered in Lucien's thoughts before Emily opened her mouth and confused him yet again. “In this instance I believe we should refrain, Alaina. Grandmere says Lady Claire only wears the drab, pale colors to help hide herself among the crowd. She prefers to remain unnoticed. Do you think it has anything to do with her promise to help Lady Melisande? They are the best of friends, after all.”

“Drab clothes? Promise? Hiding within the crowd?” Lucien resisted the urge to shake his head in order to clear the sudden, muddled confusion in his brain and then the girls, for continuing to speak around him when he was certain both understood their doing so was rude.

But then, the twins often left him in a turmoil of mental disarray when they started chattering on about this matter or that, and so he opted for his usual manner of coping – he stopped trying to follow their conversation. Waiting instead for them to realize he was still with them, he glanced toward the small gathering near his grandmother once again.

Amelia was staring at him rather pointedly, he realized, and he did not mistake the subtle gesture she made when their eyes met for anything other than the command it was.

He had been summoned.

“I think it has more to do with her fear of being caught in a loveless marriage like her mother,” he heard Alaina reply as he started to walk away. Having paid no heed to Lucien's momentary distraction, she said, “Anyone with eyes can see how the poor countess pines while the earl turns his attention elsewhere.”

She nodded toward where the earl and countess stood, backs to each other, each wearing bland expressions while they looked out over the ballroom and Lucien's mouth dropped open in shock at her blunt, yet astute conclusion. How could she possibly have known of the estrangement between the Countess and Earl of Sterne?

Hastily snapping it shut, he chose to heed his grandmother's call rather than address Alaina's comment—both as a nod to his own self preservation and because he had a legitimate reason to free himself from the twins' jumbled chatter. “Excuse me, girls, but I believe Grandmother is beckoning to me. Go and fetch Phoebe and do try to stay out of trouble, will you?”

The girls once again nodded in unison and turned away to do his bidding. Lucien watched them go and then, finally allowing himself the quick, confusion-clearing shake of head earlier denied, he started forward to answer his grandmother's silent but unmistakable call.

B
y the time
Claire had located Melisande and then the dowager duchess to try and get close to the duke so that she could distract him from his constant watch over Phoebe while maintaining her own distance for her own self-preservation, she noticed his younger sisters had effectively cornered him near the dais where the musicians played.

Apparently she had not been the only one Lady Phoebe had rallied to her cause. Hiding a smile of amusement at the rapid turns of expression on His Grace's features as he spoke with his sisters, she could only guess at what mischief the girls had dreamed up to detain their brother. But when he glanced at her parents, his jaw dropping, Claire felt her brows tug downward. Was it possible Lucien and his sisters were discussing
her
?

Casting a quick glance at Melisande, who was absolutely stunning tonight in the cream silk gown she had chosen to wear, she pasted a bright smile on her lips and asked the Rothwyn matriarch, “Do you think your grandson will be too busy keeping a brotherly eye on the younger St. Daines this evening to dance, Your Grace?”

Only half listening to the dowager duchesses reply, she glanced furtively around the Rothwyn ballroom, searching for Lady Phoebe. Had she found and had her moment with Lord Nicholas?

“Absolutely not,” she heard Amelia say. “While I would expect nothing less than a healthy dose of careful concern from Lucien for his sisters, I also fully expect him to do his part as host this week. In fact, I've asked him to lead a few of the games. Will you be participating, Lady Claire?”

Claire refused to acknowledge the race of her pulse at the mere thought of spending time with the duke—in any capacity. “Perhaps, Your Grace, though I much prefer the library to the lawns. Melisande, however, is looking forward to spending several hours upon the green. Mayhap your grandson will choose to pair with her for the games,” she suggested instead.

“Hmph. Here comes the lovable scoundrel now,” the dowager pointed out, one silvery brow arched high. “We shall ask him.”

“Ask me what, Grandmother?” Lucien inquired, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the elder lady's cheek. “Whether or not the St. Daine women will finally be the end of me?”

Straightening, he said, “I do believe they will, yes.”

Lady Amelia chuckled. “We were discussing the activities we've planned for the week, my dear boy, and with whom you intend to partner when the time comes.”

“I see,” Claire heard him say and her attention snapped into focus—on him.

While the duke and his grandmother spoke, she studied Lucien from the corner of her eye. His mere presence was unsettling enough, she thought, but his nearness was already making her feel as if drawing a breath were suddenly a thing she must consciously remember to do. Fighting to keep her hands from rising up to soothe her burning cheeks, Claire realized she had yet to really
look
at him.

“I've no preference for any specific partner at this point, Grandmother, but for a dance,” he turned in her direction and Claire felt her breath catch. His gaze burned into hers and her mouth went dry an instant before he finished, “I would be delighted if you would join me, Lady Melisande.”

Melisande accepted his invitation to dance.

Lucien led her onto the floor and Claire's breath left her in a whispered whoosh of relief and something far too close to disappointment, and she pressed her palm against her middle, as if it would somehow soothe the discomfort she felt there. Unfortunately for her, the dowager duchess noticed the action.

“Are you feeling a bit under the pale, child?”

Dear heaven, Claire worried. Was her reaction to the duke so obvious anyone could see how dreadfully his presence seemed to overset her? “I-I do apologize, Your Grace, but it does feel a bit warm this evening.”

“Come,” the duchess said, taking Claire's free hand into her own before she swept them both into the crowd, as her grandson had done with Melisande, but in the opposite direction. “I shall give you a tour of the Rothwyn library. We've several lovely settees there, each tucked away into its own private little nook. I daresay you will recover nicely from whatever has unsettled you after a few quiet moments spent away from this heated crush.”

The duchess did not rush, nor did she tarry. Instead, she made her way through the crowd with a slow, measured deliberation. At the edge of the ballroom floor, she stopped and patted Claire's hand consolingly while her gaze warmed with something Claire might have likened to friendship under less intimidating circumstances, but it was her words that put Claire immediately on her guard.

“There is no need to pretend with me, Claire Leighton. Having attained the grand age of seventy four years, I have attended hundreds of balls,” she said, one aged brow arched high, “and I am well aware the flush gracing your cheeks at the moment has nothing to do with the rather moderate temperature in our ballroom.”

Claire could feel her cheeks burn ever hotter, only this time with chagrin. How had the duchess known the uneasy reaction she was experiencing at the moment was really due to her grandson's nearness?

Was it possible that was she also aware the tumult of emotions making her palms perspire and her stomach twist had been furthered still more when he had asked Melisande to dance instead of her?

No, she could not possibly, Claire decided, and opened her mouth to deny it. But the duchess merely shook her head and continued, a knowing twinkle lighting her eyes. “Not to worry, my dear. I shan’t give away your attraction to my grandson this evening any more than you will dare to hasten our journey to the library.”

Patting the hand she held lightly within her own, the dowager continued, “Each of us have our own agendas, I can assure you. Mine, for example, is to give Lucien a moment to dance with the lovely Lady Melisande without drawing his attention to precisely where and with whom his unruly sister has escaped just as yours was to give my darling Phoebe a moment of privacy during which to seek out that impish Locke fellow.”

Claire's eyes widened and she could only guess at what her expression must have revealed in that moment but the duchess merely chuckled. “Come, my dear, we had better move along now lest that chatty bird, Lady Wingate, arrive in the library before us. It would not do to have Phoebe's private conversation with Lord Nicholas interrupted by that one, no, not a'tall.”

“
U
gh
. Had I but known finding a moment alone with one's friends would become a clandestine effort of monumental proportions once I came of age, I vow I would have remained in the schoolroom for at least a decade more,” Phoebe grumbled inside the library. She dropped down onto the plush settee, a pout curling her lips and furrowing her brow. “I shall warn Emily and Alaina at my earliest opportunity that they should never, ever grow up.”

The deep, masculine chuckle following her words was soothing and while Nicholas Locke, a long time friend of the family, moved to stand near the door where he could easily be seen by any who passed the library, Phoebe kicked off the tight slippers she had been wearing to allow herself a moment of relief, which she expressed in a long, pleasurable sigh.

“Bored with adulthood already?” Nick teased while she rubbed at her offended toes. “Best you find yourself a husband quickly, then, lest you end up shelved and furious about it, like our poor Julia.”

Phoebe chuckled at that. Julia Locke was the first person she had looked for this evening because she had known Julia would get a message to Nick that she wished to speak to him in private. Her brow furrowed. “Jules
is
different tonight, though I find I cannot decide quite how.”

Nick's brow arched high and his bark of rueful laughter brought another smile to her own lips. “No? Perhaps it is the scandalous cherry red dress she is wearing? Or mayhap 'tis the disdain she now wears in the haughty lines of her shoulders as she sweeps past each clique of drooling males in the ballroom—the same males who patently ignored her for the past two Seasons?”

His brow furrowed and he shook his head. “No, I do not believe either of those explanations truly do justice to precisely how my sister Julia is somehow
changed this evening.”

Regretfully slipping her evening footwear back onto her feet, Phoebe straightened herself and stood to consider both the dress and Julia's seemingly much more confident attitude. Nay, it was not confidence, Phoebe decided, but rather an attitude of absolute nonchalance. “Does Sebastian know?”

Nicholas's lips, which had before merely quirked upward the slightest bit, now spread wide in a gleeful grin. “He does not, though I have very little doubt he will be made aware of it 'ere dawn has fully lit the eastern sky.”

Pulling Phoebe close so that she could peer along the corridor toward the ballroom with him, he lifted his hand toward his sister. “See you Lord Wyndham there? Is that not an impressive storm cloud brewing upon his brow?”

Phoebe saw it, realized immediately what it meant, and laughed. “Oh my! You mean Adrien is jealous...?”

Nicholas shook his head. “Aye, but the sotted fool hasn't a clue.”

After sharing another chuckle or two at Marquess of Wyndham's privately held blustering and confusion, Phoebe brought the conversation around to the topic she really wished to discuss with him. “Nicholas, have you heard aught on the waterfront that might give a hint toward Tristan's whereabouts? I am beginning to fear he has fallen into a dreadful bit of trouble....”

T
hough the mantel
clock had long since struck three, Lucien remained seated in the library behind his mother's hand-carved, teak and rosewood escritoire. Given the tiring events of the past several days, he should have been upstairs hours ago, but his mind was simply too full. During the past week since Phoebe's guests had arrived for a grand house party, all conducted beneath his grandmother's watchful eye, Lucien had been quite run ragged by the proclivities of the women in his family.

The few minor skirmishes with fellows taking a premature shine to either Alaina or Emily notwithstanding, he had had his hands full with avoiding his grandmother's quiet attempts to pair him with her guests while continuing to maintain a safe distance from those who played out schemes of their own, but so far, the beauties seeking to make a conquest of the Duke of Rothwyn had been far more easy to handle than his own sister.

Phoebe, however, had led him through quite a merry dance for weeks now. In her pursuit of information which might somehow magically disclose their missing brother's whereabouts, she had continued to exercise a blatant and socially dangerous disregard for the rules, and thrice Lucien had been called upon to extricate her from possibly scandalous situations.

The very night of her debut, she had gone, alone, onto the Kelsing's back terrace with Captain Parker Usburne—because she had learned from Christina that he was to captain one of the Wyndham-Locke ships and, knowing the captain was likely a frequent visitor to the docks, Phoebe hoped he might have seen or had word of Tristan. If Lucien hadn't circled around and slipped out a side door to be there at her side when she came back in, he could only imagine the gossip that would have arisen from her thoughtlessness.

Lucien had patiently explained the risks to her reputation, but it hadn't stopped her from trying to wheedle information from Lord Wyndham several nights later in similar circumstances—and Adrien, damn it all, knew better! At Lady Andibald's affair when she had smiled at yet another gentleman across the dinner table, Lucien had known instantly the fellow was her target for the evening, yet he had
still
barely managed to avert what would have been certain disaster, had he not been paying ridiculously close attention to his wayward sister.

Despite his own fervent wishes to the contrary, Lucien knew he could not forbid Phoebe's going about with friends and other young ladies of her acquaintance, nor could he demand she refrain from talking about their brother altogether. But he could, and
had
, warned warned her of the possible consequences. Her mutinous responses each time, however, were one of the most pressing reasons behind tonight's sleeplessness and why he was seated still at his mother's writing desk, his thoughts running completely amok though it was well past three in the morning.

Each time he tried to talk to her, Phoebe always delicately skirted using the actual words, but the haunting pain in her eyes still somehow berated him for his part in Tristan's disappearance. But it was her continued insistence that he was doing nothing to locate their brother himself which had Lucien sighing and pushing agitated fingers through his hair while sitting in the library in the dark at three in the morning—long after the rest of the family lay sleeping in their beds.

Phoebe accused him of doing nothing, and yet, her accusations couldn't be further from the truth. He had done quite a lot; more than anyone knew and even a few things he knew his father would have frowned upon, in his efforts to locate Tristan. But even he knew better than do something to truly bring shame and scandal upon the St. Daine name.

Not so, Phoebe.

She wheedled and cajoled, simpered and smiled while she fished – often somewhat less than discreetly – for the information she sought.

During the past few weeks, Lucien had had to fend off more inquiries about Tristan from friend and acquaintance alike than he had the entire two years since their wayward brother had disappeared.

Of course, no one truly believed Lucien had lost all trace of his brother and most found Phoebe's inquiries amusing, but Lucien, however, did not.

Nor did their grandmother. Amelia had no wish to see Phoebe labeled as a meddling female, especially so soon after her debut, but her ceaseless inquiries were being noted.

“Keep her on the ballroom floor and out of mischief!” his grandmother had demanded, but Lucien was now certain his grandmother had no idea of the breadth and depth of precisely what constituted mischief when it came to Phoebe St. Daine. The girl defined persistence, and while he knew he must keep her from causing any real trouble, Lucien also admitted to feeling more than a little prideful admiration for her determination to persevere.