Good Dukes Wear Black (19 page)

“Mrs. Dauntry,” Trent cut in sharply, “you do both Ophelia and me a disservice.”

Ophelia was pleased to see her mother gape at being spoken to in such a way.

“And,” he added with a scowl directed toward the other interloper, “Goring is correct to want to leave. He has no place here. Any agreement you might have had with him about Miss Dauntry's hand is void.”

“Unless what I just saw was the conclusion of a marriage proposal,” Mrs. Dauntry said with a cynical laugh, “then I think not.”

To her shame, Ophelia heard the disbelief in her mother's tone. She clearly didn't believe that a man like Trent would bother offering marriage to Ophelia.

She opened her mouth to explain to her mother that it didn't take a proposal from another man to prove she would never marry Goring, but before she could speak, Trent said, “That is precisely what you saw, ma'am. And I will not tolerate such disrespect of Ophelia either while I am here to offer her protection or when you are alone with her.”

What the—

Ophelia gaped at Trent, unable to decide whether he was serious, or had some other reason for telling her mother an outright lie.

But rather than grinning and declaring that he'd only been bamming her, instead he simply stared back at her.

“Is this true, Ophelia?” Mrs. Dauntry asked, looking as shocked as Ophelia felt. “Why would you accept a proposal from another man when you are clearly promised to Lord Goring?”

But Goring, seeing who held the power in the room, perhaps, was already slipping out of the room. Behind Mrs. Dauntry's back, of course. He was not such a fool after all.

Mrs. Dauntry looked as if she'd like to go after him, but was arrested when Ophelia responded. “It is true, Mama,” she said, deciding to trust that Trent had some sort of plan. Even so, however, she left herself a means for escape. “I had not yet given him an answer, however.”

When she turned to Trent, he gave her a slight look of exasperation but did not object.

Her mother, however, was not going to be so easily cowed.

“It is customary for a gentleman to approach a young lady's father with an offer of marriage, is it not?” Mrs. Dauntry asked. “I feel sure Mr. Dauntry would have informed me if he'd received such a visit from you.”

“And for that I apologize, ma'am,” Trent said with an inclination of his head. “I was carried away in the moment and forgot all propriety. But rest assured I will approach Ophelia's father at the first opportunity.”

As Ophelia watched, her mother's nostrils flared with annoyance. “You both seem to have things all figured out, don't you?”

Since any response to that would mean angering her further, both Ophelia and Trent held their tongues.

“I had hoped, Ophelia,” Mrs. Dauntry said with a shake of her head, “that you would allow yourself to be guided by me in your choice of a husband, but clearly you are as headstrong as you are disobedient.”

“Mama, I have tried to tell you again and again that I do not wish to marry Lord Goring,” Ophelia protested, grateful that Trent was here to offer her some support. “But you refused to listen. I know you and his mother had dreamed of joining our families, but I'm afraid that's a dream that will not come to fruition.”

“Clearly,” Mrs. Dauntry said with a frown.

Trent cleared his throat then, and said, “There is just the matter of gaining Miss Dauntry's consent to my proposal.”

“Is that not beside the point, at this juncture?”

And Ophelia suddenly realized that her escape route was not quite so convenient as she'd hoped.

“Even so,” Trent said smoothly, “I should like a moment with Ophelia before you take her home.”

Mrs. Dauntry looked as if she'd like to object, but perhaps realizing that this whole matter was now out of her hands, she shrugged. “Ophelia, I will go find your father and inform him that we are leaving.” To Trent she added, “You have five minutes, your grace.”

When her mother was gone, Ophelia turned to Trent with a speaking look.

“You needed rescuing,” Trent said with an elegant shrug. “And it's not as if you wished to marry Goring.”

Then, perhaps doubting himself for a moment, he asked, “Did you?”

“Of course not,” she said, poking him in the chest with a finger. “I hadn't thought to marry anyone in the near future.”

“Well, sometimes,” he said with an innocent air, “things change.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “What made you say that? What could possibly have made you do it?”

Trent stepped closer, and despite what she hoped was her annoyed face, he slipped his arms around her. “I thought,” he said, before kissing her on the nose, “that since you were kissing me quite thoroughly before we were so rudely interrupted, you might not be averse to marrying me.”

It was very difficult to remain angry when someone kissed you on the nose, Ophelia realized with a sigh.

“You were not entirely wrong,” she said, keeping her gaze firmly on his chest.

“Good,” he said. Then, pulling away, he gave her a little push in the direction of the door. “Go find your mother and I'll wait for a few minutes so no one sees us leaving together.”

“We're already being rushed into a betrothal,” she argued, though she did as he said. “What more is there to lose?”

“Just go, Ophelia,” he said with exasperation of his own.

“Only betrothed for a few minutes and you think you can order me around,” she groused.

Then with a backward glance at him, she shut the door firmly behind her.

*   *   *

After a sleepless night, in which he went back over the events of the Kinston ball again and again in his mind, Trent rose early and dressed with more care than he was accustomed to.

“I don't know when I've seen you go through this many cravats, yer grace,” grumbled his valet, Bamford, after Trent had crumpled the fourth neck cloth in as many minutes and tossed it aside. “One would think you was in the petticoat line.”

At the valet's tart words, Trent supposed he might as well tell the man about the upcoming change in their circumstances. “If you must know, I'm paying a call on Miss Ophelia Dauntry's father this morning to ask for her hand. So you're not far off.”

“Huh,” the grizzled ex-soldier grunted. “I knowed it was coming up one of these days. Might have guessed it when she showed up at the door in a faint. In the family way is she?”

“Damn you, Bamford, she is not,” he growled as he finally managed to tie a decent Corinthian knot. “I'll not have you speaking of your future mistress in that way either. Show some respect, man, or I'll toss you out on your arse.”

Having been with Trent for long enough to know when there was steel behind his words, the valet threw up his hands in apology. “Easy, yer grace. I was just putting two and two together to make seven. You can't blame a man for making assumptions when yesterday morning you weren't thinking marriage but today you are.”

“Well, next time perhaps don't make such a miscalculation,” Trent said grudgingly. “I shall count on you to ensure that the rest of the house treats her with the respect she deserves. Especially since our marriage will likely happen quickly. Can I count on you?”

They exchanged a look in the pier glass and Trent saw surprise in the other man's eyes. Surely his servants had expected him to marry at some point.

But Bamford nodded and said, “O'course, yer grace. I'll see to it, don't you worry.”

Trent glanced down at his waistcoat again. It was a peacock blue with silver-threaded embroidery throughout. Against the black of his coat and the pristine white of his shirt and neck cloth, it was eye-catching. He wondered if he was perhaps overdoing it a bit.

As if he'd spoken aloud, Bamford shook his head. “It ain't every day a man gets betrothed, yer grace. Miss Dauntry will like a bit of dash, see if she don't.”

Feeling rather like a prize fool, Trent nodded his thanks.

“I'll be out for most of the day, Bamford. Tell cook to hold supper.”

“Of course, yer grace,” the valet replied.

As Trent turned to leave, he heard the man clear his throat behind him.

“What is it?” he asked, his hand on the knob.

When he glanced round at the man he looked more serious than he'd seen him since their days on the Continent. “I just wanted to offer my congratulations, yer grace. I'm pleased for ye.”

Trent found himself surprisingly touched by the other man's words. They'd been through a lot, the two of them.

“My thanks, Bamford,” he said with a grin. “I don't think either of us thought this day would come when we were in Belgium, did we?”

“Psh,” the ex-soldier responded with an answering grin. “I knowed if anybody could face the frogs and live to tell the tale it would be you. Why do you think I stuck by ye for such a long stretch?”

“Why indeed?”

*   *   *

When Trent lifted the brass knocker of the Dauntry town house some time later, it was with an oddly uplifting sense of optimism.

While it was true he was preparing to put his bachelor days behind him, Ophelia was a beautiful, intelligent woman. And he wanted her rather badly. He might not yet feel the sort of overwhelming passion that Freddy and Mainwaring felt for their wives, but he was confident that he and Ophelia could be happy together.

If, that is, her mother didn't put up another obstacle before he managed to make a formal proposal. She'd appeared to accept defeat in her plan to marry Ophelia to Goring last night, but that could have been a temporary appeasement.

He might no longer be an active soldier, but that was no reason to abandon his head for strategy.

And Mrs. Dauntry was as wily as any general he'd ever encountered.

But when he was ushered into Mr. Dauntry's study, he was relieved to see the man was alone. From what Ophelia had said about him, Trent suspected Mr. Dauntry was the more reasonable of her parents.

“Why do you want to marry my daughter, your grace?” the older man asked after greeting Trent and gesturing for him to have a seat, then taking one for himself behind his enormous desk. “What is it about her that makes you single her out for your attentions? You are quite the catch, I would imagine. And while I am quite proud of my daughter, I do not delude myself into thinking that she is the most eligible young lady in London.”

Resisting the urge to straighten his cravat, Trent said, “I believe, sir, begging your pardon, that you quite mistake my requirements in a wife if you think I care one whit about a potential bride's standing in the
ton
. I am far more concerned with her ability to carry on an intelligent conversation.”

“And yet,” Mr. Dauntry said wryly, “it was not conversation that my wife found you engaged in last evening.”

Trent felt a suspicious heat in his cheeks. “That is correct, sir. But let me assure you that I do not take what happened last night lightly. I know what honor demands, and I am more than willing to do my duty. But let me assure you it is no hardship. I want to marry Ophelia, and had been seriously contemplating asking for her hand before last night.”

As he spoke, Trent saw something in the older man's expression relax a bit.

“I do not mind telling you, your grace,” Mr. Dauntry said with a nod, “that I was prepared to toss you out on your ear if you'd come to me with a proposal wrapped in the usual pompous nonsense. I know parents are not supposed to have favorites, but Ophelia is mine. And she is a bright girl. I would not have thought she'd look twice at a man who couldn't keep up with her intellectually. But stranger things have happened. And if you'd been the typical young nobleman with more hair than wit, I'd have rejected you. But now I am much more sanguine about you.”

Trent wondered idly how it was that Mr. Dauntry had allowed Mrs. Dauntry's attempts to force Lord Goring on her for so long if Ophelia was indeed his favorite daughter. But he wasn't prepared to look this particular gift horse in the mouth, so he bit his tongue and thanked the man instead.

As if he had heard Trent's thoughts aloud, Mr. Dauntry then said, “It has been my wife's dearest wish for many years for one of her daughters to marry the son of her dearest friend. Lord Goring, to be precise. She is not best pleased at the way events have unfolded between you and my daughter. But as far as I'm concerned, you have my blessing. While Goring does not. I just thought you should know lest my wife attempt to make one last effort at bringing her plan to fruition.”

“I am well aware of Goring's desire to marry Ophelia, sir,” Trent said. “And I can assure you that my suit is strong enough to withstand anything your wife might attempt in order to prevent me from marrying Ophelia.”

Mr. Dauntry nodded with approval. “Very good, your grace. Then it's settled. All it needs is for you to speak to my daughter.”

He stood and extended his hand to Trent. “She's in the drawing room. Third door on the left.”

Taking his leave of Ophelia's father, Trent left the study and went in search of Ophelia.

 

Fourteen

Ophelia sat over her needlepoint—about which she was indifferent at best—in the drawing room of Dauntry House the next morning, feeling rather like a prisoner waiting for the executioner.

It wasn't that she found Trent to be repugnant in any way. Of course not. She'd kissed him quite willingly the evening before. And though she had no experience to compare it to, she was convinced he was very good at it, kissing.

There was no denying the attraction between them. Though only last week she would not have credited it.

She'd always found him handsome, of course. That was obvious to anyone with eyes. But the time they'd spent together these past two days had revealed him to be kind, fair, and if his pursuit of Maggie was any indication, determined.