Good Dukes Wear Black (16 page)

There was an eerie silence in the hallway for a moment as Trent realized his mistake.

Damn. Double damn.

“That was some speech, old fellow,” Mainwaring said, diffidently picking a bit of lint from his sleeve. “I believe you've made our point.”

“You are both asses,” Trent said, turning his back on his oldest friends and stalking down the stairs toward the entry hall.

“You don't suppose I was too hard on him?” he heard Freddy say from above. “I sometimes can go a bit too far.”

“Not a bit of it,” Mainwaring replied. “How else were we to learn the truth of things? It's not as if he'll tell us he's head over ears on his own.”

Grateful that Ophelia and her married friends were already outside, Trent collected his hat and coat and stomped out the door.

 

Eleven

“Remember, you promised to dance at least two sets with Lord Goring,” Mrs. Dauntry reminded Ophelia as they rode, along with Mr. Dauntry and Mariah, to the Kinston ball that evening. Though in many households it would be unusual for the elder daughter to remain unmatched while the younger was betrothed, in this case, Mrs. Dauntry had tolerated the situation because she considered Ophelia and Lord Goring all but betrothed already.

Mr. Dauntry, however, had other ideas. “Why are you encouraging her to dance with that milksop?” he demanded of his wife. Though they'd doubtless discussed the matter any number of times, Ophelia suspected he pretended to forget about her mother's plans for Lord Goring out of sheer dislike for the man and a wish to needle his wife. “She's got more spirit in her little finger than that fellow has in his entire body.”

“You know very well, Mr. Dauntry,” her mother said stiffly, “that Ophelia has been promised to Lord Goring for some time now. It's just a matter of his asking the question. And I will not have you speak of him in that way. He is the son of my dearest friend, as you well know.”

“How is that being promised?” he demanded, his dark brows contrasting with his white hair. “Sounds to me like something you and Lady Goring cooked up between you two without consulting Ophelia or her supposed suitor.”

Though she knew it was wrong to take pleasure in her mother's discomfort, Ophelia could not help but appreciate her father's championship. Especially since she was no more eager to marry Lord Goring than her father was to call the man son-in-law.

“It would be better for Ophelia to simply accept the match with good grace,” Mariah interjected with the insufferably smug air she'd adopted since she'd accepted Kinston's proposal. “It's not as if she has any other prospects. And this way, she will avoid being the butt of jokes as the unmarried elder sister.”

“There's no possibility of a match if the fellow doesn't ask me,” Mr. Dauntry reminded Mariah archly. “And even if he did I wouldn't give my consent. Bad enough we're allowing a bacon brain like Kinston into the family. I don't think we can stand to add someone like Goring.”

Fortunately for Mr. Dauntry's continued health, his wife and Mariah were diverted from their ire at his statement by the halt of the carriage before the Kinstons' town house.

Ophelia allowed her mother and sister to disembark first, and was rewarded with a grin from her father as he handed her down. “Find yourself some other man with a bit of sense tonight, my girl,” he said, chucking her under the cheek. “I should hate to see your spirit broken by a match with that milksop. Son or no son of your mama's dearest friend, he's not good enough for you.”

Though he was, at times, gruff and distant, Ophelia loved her father for these times when he stood up for her. Her mother loved her, she knew, but it always seemed as if she'd love her more if she'd only do this or that. Her papa loved her as she was.

“I shall try, Papa,” she replied as he handed her down. “Though it will make Mama quite cross.”

“You let me handle your mama,” he said with a wink. “I should hate to be saddled with two addlepated sons-in-law. One will be bad enough.”

The line of guests snaking its way up to the receiving line was longer than Ophelia had anticipated, but the parties before and behind theirs were merry enough, and when they finally reached where Lord Kinston and his mother were waiting, she was in a better mood than she had been on the drive over.

“I am delighted to welcome you to Weatherford House, Mr. and Mrs. Dauntry, Miss Mariah, and Miss Dauntry,” said the marquess as they reached where he stood in the glittering candlelight of his entry hall. “I do hope you will enjoy yourselves.”

He really was a pleasant man, Ophelia thought with relief for her sister. She might be a nuisance at times, but Ophelia loved her and was pleased to know she'd have an amiable husband at the very least.

Once she'd made it through the receiving line, Ophelia excused herself to her parents and Mariah—but not without an admonishment from her mother to save dances for Lord Goring—and stepped a little bit away, scanning the ballroom for her friends. Finally she spied Leonora and Freddie on the opposite side of the room in conversation with one of Freddy's multiple brothers.

Before she could step away, however, a familiar voice sent a frisson of awareness through her.

“Miss Dauntry,” said the Duke of Trent, his eyes intense as he stepped before her and bowed over her hand. “You're looking well. I trust you are recovered from your accident yesterday.”

Though she'd known him for almost a year, Ophelia was struck with a sudden breathlessness on hearing his voice. What a difference one little kiss could make.

Even so, she might be forgiven for her response if one were to actually take a good look at the Duke of Trent this evening. If he'd been impressive in his shirtsleeves with a sheen of sweat, Trent in evening finery was truly a sight to behold. Following the fashion set by Brummel years ago, he wore a perfectly tailored black coat over a silver-threaded waistcoat of deep blue that matched his eyes. The blue was also echoed by a sapphire pin winking amid the folds of his simply knotted cravat.

“Your grace,” she said as she curtsied deeply, well aware of the blush creeping into her cheeks. “Thank you, I am quite well. I hope you are enjoying your evening.”

Feeling his eyes upon her, Ophelia was quite glad she'd chosen to wear her new deep green gown. Once upon a time she'd allowed her mother to choose the design of her gowns, and the result had been a disaster. As a taller-than-average lady, Ophelia ran the risk of looking rather like an overly festooned Christmas mantel when her gowns were covered in ribbons and tucks and decorations. But after one too many balls spent watching everyone else dance from the isolation of the chaperones' seats, she had put her foot down. She would choose her own gowns and the result was nothing short of miraculous. Whereas before she'd drawn attention for all the wrong reasons, now she was, if not a diamond of the first water, at least pretty and presentable in her simple evening silk with its puffed sleeves and deep neckline.

“I am now,” he said with an appreciative scan of her figure and a wide grin that made his usually austere countenance almost boyish. Then, offering her his arm, he added, “I believe I see Lord Frederick and Mrs. Lisle over near the refreshment table. Shall I escort you there?”

Taking his arm, Ophelia was pleased that he'd singled her out. Because it would mean avoiding Lord Goring, she told herself firmly. And as they walked, she saw more than one young lady glance at her in envy as they passed through the throng of guests along the perimeter of the dance floor.

“I hope you will save a waltz for me,” Trent said as they neared their friends. “And perhaps the supper dance?”

Her heart skipped a little at the invitation. At any other evening entertainment his request for saved dances would have been unremarkable. But in the context of their time spent together yesterday and today, coupled with the kiss, it was evident that the Duke of Trent was feeling a level of interest in her that went beyond mere friendship.

But her excitement was dampened when he continued. “We can use the time to discuss all we've learned today about the Hayes Clinic. And perhaps talk about what we should do next.”

Ah. How foolish of her to think he might be asking her for personal reasons. Of course it was because he wished to discuss Dr. Hayes. He was after all trying to clear the name of the Lords of Anarchy. And prove his friend had had no hand in Maggie's disappearance. He likely kissed any number of ladies over the course of a week. He was a highly sought-after duke, after all.

“Of course,” she said, careful not to let her disappointment show. “We have much to discuss.”

They had reached Freddy and Leonora by then, and she was grateful for the distraction.

“You should always wear that shade of green,” Leonora said with a bright smile as she gave Ophelia a hard hug. “It goes so nicely with your black hair. Just lovely.”

“I have to agree,” Freddy said, kissing her on the cheek. “If I didn't know better I'd never have guessed you're the same lady who fought against a pair of brutes yesterday.”

“That's me,” Ophelia said with a dry grin, “the ladies' counterpart to Gentleman Jackson.”

“Just the same,” Trent said with a frown, “it would be much better if you tried not to do so in the future, Miss Dauntry. You were lucky yesterday, but that might not be the case next time.”

“Tut-tut, Trent,” Freddy scolded his friend. “I sincerely doubt Miss Dauntry goes out of her way to court danger. I've always found her to be a sensible lady.”

“I said nothing about her sense or lack thereof,” Trent said defensively, “only that it is not always going to end as well as it did yesterday.”

“I believe you have made your point, your grace,” said Ophelia, disappointed in his lack of faith in her.

Changing the subject, she turned to Leonora and asked, “Have you seen your cousin Daisy?”

Blinking as she looked from Ophelia to Trent then back again, Leonora said, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. She is dancing the current set with Lord Kimball.” Gesturing to a red-haired lady who was dancing the steps of the Sir Roger de Coverley with a handsome young man on the other side of the dance floor.

“She's quite lovely, isn't she?” Ophelia asked in a low voice as she watched the other lady dance.

“Indeed,” said Leonora gravely. “I suspect that might have been as much a source of her trouble as anything else. I somehow think being that beautiful is a double-edged sword in that way. You are both assumed to be better than you are, and infinitely worse than you are.”

“True enough,” Ophelia agreed. Though she herself hadn't dealt with such an affliction, she did suppose the attention such beauty would bring with it could make life difficult.

“As soon as this set is over I will take you over to her,” Leonora said with a nod.

But before Ophelia could respond, the sound of her mother's voice intruded. Turning, she saw Mrs. Dauntry approaching with Lord Goring by her side.

It was really too bad for Goring that she happened to be standing with two of the most handsome men in the room when he approached. Whereas Freddy bore the sleek and fine-boned good looks of all the Lisle family, and Trent was darkly handsome with a military bearing, Goring seemed callow by comparison. Thin, almost bony, with unremarkable features and light brown hair, he was sadly overshadowed by the other two men.

Still, Mrs. Dauntry pulled him along into the circle of Ophelia and her friends.

“Here she is, Lord Goring,” Mrs. Dauntry trilled, in a tone that made Ophelia cringe in embarrassment. Even with the noise of the ballroom she was sure everyone was able to hear her. “My dear daughter, did you forget that we were to meet Lord Goring and his dear mama when we arrived? I'm sure I reminded you on the drive here. Did I not?”

There was no mistaking the steel in her mother's eyes, and Ophelia wished fleetingly that she had managed to find that convent.

“Of course not, Mama,” she said with politeness, but no real enthusiasm. “I simply thought to seek out my friends when I arrived. As one does.”

“Miss Dauntry,” said Lord Goring, with no sign that he'd heard what she said. “It is a delight to see you again. And I vow you are lovelier each time we meet.”

It was obvious that Goring's compliment was as empty as his vacant smile, but that didn't stop Mrs. Dauntry from beaming at him as if he'd paid her daughter the highest possible compliment. “Oh, Lord Goring, you will turn her head with such flattery, I vow. Won't he, Ophelia?”

Ophelia smiled painfully, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. With a polite curtsy, she said, “Thank you, my lord. How nice to see you again.”

They were the same words she'd say to any distant acquaintance upon meeting them again, but Goring took them as his due.

“Your devotion to your friends is admirable,” Lord Goring said, bowing over her hand. “But you mustn't forget who your true friends are, my dear.”

Before she could respond to
that
odd statement, Trent stepped up beside her. “I'm not sure you give Miss Dauntry enough credit, Goring. I am quite sure she can tell paste from a diamond.”

A flash of annoyance crossed Goring's face before he replaced it with a fatuous smile. “Of course she can, your grace. Dear Miss Dauntry has excellent taste.”

Though she was hardly Lord Goring's staunchest defender, Ophelia found herself annoyed that Trent had decided to engage the other man on her behalf. If he didn't want her for himself then he would do well to leave her alone.

Before she could raise an objection, however, Mrs. Dauntry spoke up. “Ophelia, Lord Goring wished to ask you to dance, I believe. Did you not, my lord?”

Could she not even allow the man to ask her to dance on his own? Ophelia wondered in exasperation.

But Goring didn't seem to mind the assistance. “Indeed I did, Mrs. Dauntry,” he said. “I hope you will save me a waltz and the supper dance, Miss Dauntry.”