June Calvin (17 page)

After another moment or two of studying the uninspiring view of the garden below, Harwood turned toward her as if coming from a trance. “Then I had best leave you to your work. I will keep my promise to stand your friend, you know, yours and Jennifer’s. I will show myself out.”

Before she could even respond, Harwood was gone, leaving Deborah wondering why, when she had succeeded in discouraging the duke so thoroughly, she should feel so wretched.

***

Determined to overcome his unhappy state of mind, the duke strode up the steps of his town house, concentrating on the plans he had for his new secretary, who was to report for work later in the day. He would allow himself no time to brood over this latest setback in his pursuit of Deborah.

He charged into the office, and then stopped short, shocked by what he saw.

In the window embrasure, entwined in one another’s arms in an intimate embrace, were Jennifer Silverton and John Warner.

“My God, John! What are you about, man?” The duke closed the distance in three strides and stoutly grasped John’s shoulder. So involved were the pair that the duke had to shake him forcefully to make them end the passionate kiss.

Breathing deeply, Jennifer and John lifted identically dazed eyes to his.

“I cannot believe you have so far forgotten yourself as to compromise . . .”

“It is my fault, sir. I threw myself at him.”

“It is not what you think, Justin. We are engaged to be married.”

“Huh! A most unusual engagement. Neither Jennifer’s mother nor her guardian will countenance the match!” But the duke’s expression of outrage cleared somewhat. He took the young girl’s hands in his.

“I am most sorry that my kinsman has so far forgotten himself.”

“I am not, sir. I love him, and he loves me. I decided late last night that I could no longer pretend otherwise. We will be wed, with or without my uncle’s approval.”

“You do realize that if you run away to marry against your guardian and your parent’s wishes, the scandal that ensues will surely end all hope John has of rising in politics?”

Jennifer bit on her lower lip. “Oh, Mama said so, but why—”

“Why? Because disobedient children strike at the heart of the family, which strikes at the heart of society, at least in the conservative viewpoint of most adult men. And men are, after all, who make the laws, as your mother pointed out once when we were discussing the subject.” The duke smiled kindly at her. “I don’t say it is fair, but it is the way of the world.”

“As if I care for a political career at the expense of my darling’s happiness.” John thrust his jaw out. “We shall live on my estate in Scotland, and be happier on a pittance than either she or I can ever be on a fortune, apart from one another.”

“Bowled over, aren’t you, lad?” The duke studied his determined young cousin. “Well, just so you both know and clearly accept what you will give up if you lose the game.”

“What do you mean, ‘lose the game,’ sir?” John eyed the duke warily. “We’ve just said we give up the game.”

“I mean that Lady Cornwall may think Vincent holds all the cards, but she may be surprised. I am willing to help you play the hand, if you both are quite sure you are prepared to make the sacrifice of the loss of your fortune, Jennifer, and your career, John, if we lose.”

“I care naught for my fortune, sir, compared to a life with John. But . . .” She looked miserable.

John’s eyes narrowed. “But you do not care to give up my political career?”

“Not for my sake! For yours. For England’s! I would never wish to deprive you of your rightful place, which is surely in the government.”

John dropped a quick kiss on her nose. “My rightful place is at your side as husband.” He turned to the duke.

“Tell us what cards we hold, sir, for we both are willing to risk the stakes.” John pulled Jennifer into the circle of his arm, in defiance of the duke’s disapproving glare.

“Very well, but to begin with, you must cease and desist this sort of unlawful expression of affection. For the next two weeks, until Jennifer’s ball, your behavior toward one another must be impeccable, and I must continue to be seen courting her.”

“Still, sir?” Jennifer studied the duke with amazement.

“Yes, still. Not a vigorous pursuit, you understand, but an interest sufficiently noticeable that Vincent may begin to imagine himself as part of my circle of friends and relatives. I intend to show him just how influential I am. I’m hoping he will ponder well the advantages to himself and his daughters of keeping my friendship and regard by allowing you to marry whom you wish.

“When the time comes, I shall attempt to awaken him to the
ton
’s disgust should it learn of the ten thousand pound bribe from Morton. The Silvertons were always very concerned for their consequence. I think he will shrink from scandal as much as your mother does, Jenny.

“If need be, but only as a last resort, I will offer him the same ten thousand pounds that Morton offered, to let you marry John. I confess I have a strong dislike of seeing him succeed in his greed, but it may be unavoidable.

“Of course, for insurance against Vincent’s bullheadedness, we will begin immediately to place my best cattle along the North Road to speed you on the way to Gretna if need be.”

Jennifer threw herself into the duke’s arms. “My mother has a wonderful friend in you. She will be so thrilled.”

Patting her back soothingly, the duke shook his head. “No, say nothing to your mother as yet. She might be too fearful to take the risks this entails.” He straightened and smiled down at Jennifer, chucking her chin lovingly. “She doesn’t appreciate just how clever a fellow I am, yet.”

“In fact . . .” The duke appeared to consider carefully. “In fact, we might let her think that my masquerade is becoming a reality.”

John frowned. “Even more gossip will result if I appear to have stolen Jennifer from beneath your very nose.”

The duke nodded. “Our public behavior must be very cautious. I was thinking of giving Deborah some more private hints. Sarah might be helpful here.”

Putting one finger to her lips and cocking her head, Jennifer murmured, “Now I wonder what you are playing at? A double game, methinks.”

“Minx.” Harwood ruffled her hair before offering his hand to John. “Your fiancée is too clever by half.”

Chapter 18

“You have contrived a very elaborate scheme for decorating the ballroom, have you not?” Vincent frowned over the plans Deborah had given him.

“Compared to what other balls have displayed, particularly balls honoring girls in their first season, this one is quite modest.” Deborah felt a creeping at the back of her neck. Vincent standing over her like this, scowling and rocking back and forth on his heels, reminded her too much of her late husband.

“And the guest list—is it not too long for our ballroom?”

“A ball must be a squeeze or it will not be seen as a success.”

“Ah. And have most accepted?”

“Of course.” Deborah lifted her chin proudly.

“Harwood has accepted, hey?”

“He was among the first. He has already asked Jennifer for the second dance.”

Vincent scowled. “Not the first?”

Exasperated, Deborah snapped, “Of course not, Vincent. As her uncle and guardian, you are expected to lead her out.”

“You needn’t get hoity-toity with me, madam. I was only the second son, consigned for the most part to an army barracks or a grim battlefield bivouac while Seymour was learning all the finer points of society.”

Flushing with embarrassment, Deborah apologized, adding, “You are twice the man he ever was.”

After a brief struggle with himself, Vincent smiled at her compliment. “A sort of rough diamond, eh?”

Deborah smiled back, in charity with him for once. “Something like that.”

“Well, you must show Winnifred and me how to go on. I never cared much for the social whirl, nor ever shall, but we want our children to take their place in society as the family of the Viscount Cornwall should. Wouldn’t want them to be held back by some faux pas of mine.”

Biting back the urge to tell him that his proposed betrothal of Jennifer to Lord Morton would be the worst sort of faux pas, Deborah continued going over the plans for the ball with Vincent.

Just then the door to the library opened. “The Duke of Harwood, my lord,” Rayburn announced. “Are you in?”

“Of course, of course.” Vincent’s heartiness poorly masked his nervousness. “Should we receive him in the drawing room, Deborah?”

“No, you shouldn’t, Lord Cornwall. I followed your butler here.” The duke shook Vincent’s hand after greeting Deborah politely but coolly. “Just came to pay my respects and invite you to a dinner I am giving tomorrow evening. Glad you came up to town early for the ball. Don’t know if you are interested in politics . . .”

Vincent shook his head as they seated themselves. “I’ve never given it a thought.”

“I’ve been little better, truth to tell, but some strong new currents are stirring the political waters. It behooves us as peers to be aware of them, help chart a course.”

Flattered and a little overawed, Vincent listened to the duke run through the names of others attending his dinner. The most influential members of the
ton
were included.

“I hope that your wife will be able to attend as well. Jennifer and Deborah have already accepted. Remarkable and very fascinating for a young girl to be as interested in politics as Jenny is.”

“I can’t say that I approve of such an interest. The female brain . . .”

“An intelligent, well-informed female makes a much better companion than one with more hair than wit,” the duke insisted.

Vincent didn’t wish to come to points with the duke. “To each his own,” he allowed. “As for Winnie, I’m not sure she will be able to attend. She is at the dressmaker’s today; says she hasn’t a thing to wear.”

Harwood favored him with a conspiratorial grin. “So say they all. But why isn’t Deborah helping her? She would be an excellent advisor.”

“Ah, to tell the truth, sir, Winnifred and I are such different types and have such different tastes that I doubt I would be of much use to her.” Deborah avoided the duke’s eyes.

“Nonsense. She would be proud to have you help her. I’ll suggest it this evening,” Vincent asserted, though both he and Deborah knew that Winnifred’s refusal to shop with Deborah sprang from jealousy over her sister-in-law’s superior figure and countenance. The current Viscountess Cornwall did not show to advantage next to the dowager.

The duke noted Vincent’s attitude with satisfaction. The man was virtually fawning on him. His plan was going well in every respect.

“And is Jennifer with your wife, Lord Cornwall?”

“No, I believe she has gone riding with some friends. But I am sure she will return shortly,” Vincent assured him eagerly.

“I am sorry to have missed her, but I look forward to discussing politics with her this evening.”

***

Vincent came without Winnifred to attend the duke’s political dinner. “Says she would be embarrassed to be so out of the fashion,” Vincent confided as he made her excuses to the duke. “But I feel sure it is partly that she has no interest at all in politics. Indeed, I was quite surprised to find that you were right. Jennifer and Deborah both seem keen on the subject.” Vincent’s voice had a martyred tone to it as he glanced at the two women he had escorted.

“I am very glad you came,” Harwood assured them. “Lady Holland is here, and she will be grateful for intelligent conversation while we men are talking politics over our port.”

“Which you likely will do until all hours.” Deborah smiled indulgently.

Jennifer pouted. “You mustn’t have all of your political discussions over port, sir. Else I shall miss them.”

“Quite right.” The duke took her hand and patted it kindly. “I shall see that we join the ladies in good time, my dear.”

Deborah darted a glance at Vincent, and saw a gleam of pleasure in his eyes at this sign of partiality.
Now if pretense can only lead to reality
, she thought, not without a sense of shame at her plans for Harwood.

The duke was true to his word. The men joined the ladies surprisingly early. The duke came directly toward her and Jennifer, who were enjoying a comfortable coze with Lady Holland and Mrs. Rush, the American ambassador’s wife.

A lively political conversation ensued. After a time the duke suggested that Deborah play and sing for them. “For I think music the perfect way to end such an evening.”

Deborah readily agreed, noting that the duke took her place at Jennifer’s side. Jennifer gave him a coquettish smile, an expression her mother had seldom caught on her face. Her heart gave a little flip-flop.
What man would be proof against that?
she wondered. And then wondered why she wasn’t more pleased at the thought.

***

“Are you quite sure you and your lovely wife won’t accompany us to the Barrymores’ ball? The countess will make any guests of mine welcome, you know.” Harwood looked from Vincent to Winnifred expectantly. He and Sarah had just dined with the Cornwalls.

“La, no, Your Grace!” Winnifred plied her fan. “Until my new gowns are ready, I must play least in sight, for it would never do to appear in three-year-old fashions.”

“You look quite charming,” the duke assured her, before turning to Jennifer. “And you, my dear. You look like springtime itself. I hope that the night is not too chill for that fragile muslin, however.” He let his eyes slide down Jennifer’s slender form appreciatively.

“She does look a treat, doesn’t she,” Vincent boomed. “But then, the Knollbridge line has always produced beauteous females.”

“And you see how
ravissant
Mama looks tonight,” Jennifer agreed. Deborah patted her hair self-consciously. She knew she was in her best looks, in a rich gold satin lavishly trimmed with lace.

But the duke barely glanced at Deborah before responding in a neutral tone, “Indeed. Lovely as ever, Lady Cornwall. Here, let me tuck this shawl around your shoulders, little one.” Carefully, solicitously, he wrapped Jennifer in the pale green cashmere shawl that she was carrying.

Deborah was left to whirl her shawl around her own shoulders, whereas until recently Harwood had eagerly performed that office for her.

He is doing an excellent job of pretending
, she thought, turning to catch the avaricious glow in Vincent’s eyes. Clearly Vincent believed the duke’s interest in Jennifer was sincere.

After they were all four seated in Harwood’s carriage for the short drive to the earl’s ball, Deborah expected the duke’s marked attentions to Jennifer to cease. But even after the door was closed against Vincent’s watchful eye, the duke fussed with Jennifer’s dress and shawl. “Here, let me arrange your skirts. Don’t want to wrinkle that beautiful dress. And tuck that shawl around you well,” he ordered, his hands busy around Jennifer’s person. “Once we are inside, you may display those beautiful shoulders to the world, but no need to risk a chill until then.”

The duke had seated Jennifer beside him, surprising Sarah and Deborah by handing them into the backward-facing seats. Deborah was puzzled.
Why is he doing this, now we are alone? I thought Sarah was in on the deception?
But Sarah was watching the duke and Jennifer with a look of surprise that said his actions were a mystery to her, too.

Once at the Barrymores’ home, the duke continued showing Jennifer marked attention, leading her out for the first dance, and requesting the supper dance before anyone else had a chance to do so. Deborah watched them as they whirled through the steps of a quadrille. Jennifer was certainly obeying her mother’s orders, flirting with the duke to the exclusion of all others in the set. Moreover, the duke was returning the favor.

On the way home the duke asked to take Jennifer for a drive the next day. Deborah agreed, of course. It was, after all, just what they had planned. They had
not
planned that he would keep captivated eyes trained on Jennifer’s face as he asked. Again Deborah glanced at Sarah. Harwood’s daughter turned her head to meet Deborah’s eyes and beamed at her. As the duke assisted Jennifer out of the carriage, Sarah leaned forward and whispered in Deborah’s ear, “It’s as if he never really saw her before tonight. I think he has quite forgotten it is all a pretense.”

It is what I hoped would happen
, Deborah told herself fiercely.
It is what I want.

***

The Dowager Duchess of Carminster’s annual ball was in full swing. The strains of waltz music wove their way through the close air, while overhead, hundreds of candles sparkled in glittering chandeliers.

The duchess’s ballroom was said to be the most opulent in all of London, excepting only the Prince Regent’s. The eighty-year-old matriarch was, moreover, not one of the numerous elderly ladies occupying comfortable chairs along the edges of the ballroom. No, she was dancing this waltz, as light on her feet as ever.

“I admire her so,” Jennifer whispered to her mother as she watched the white-haired lady move without apparent effort across the ballroom floor.

Deborah smiled. “So do I,” she agreed. “And envy her some, too.”

“For dancing with Harwood?” Jennifer cast a knowing eye at her mother.

“Not at all. For being so carefree.” But Deborah’s heart convicted her of lying. All evening she had felt as if a stiletto had been buried in her heart as she watched her daughter flirt with the duke.

He had been true to his word, pretending so well to an interest in Jennifer that it would have fooled anyone. When he had helped her into the carriage this evening, for instance, his look had been so tender it caused a peculiar ache in the vicinity of Deborah’s heart. Once again, this look had been unnecessary for convincing Vincent, as only Sarah and Deborah saw it. It seemed that the pretense was leading to love.

“Our plan is going very well, wouldn’t you say, Jennifer?”

“He is a very fine man, Mother. I begin to think you had the right of it. And it does seem that his attentions are very particular!”

Deborah’s fists clenched. She felt that sick sensation she was experiencing every time she contemplated Jennifer married to the duke.
What is wrong with me?
she wondered.
Surely, I am not jealous of my own child?

Sarah whirled by just then on the arms of Henry Fortesque. “They make a lovely couple, don’t they?” Deborah asked her daughter.

“Hmmmm?” Jennifer’s eyes had strayed across the room, to where John Warner was conversing with the American ambassador. Quickly, she returned her attention to her mother.

“Oh, yes! I begin to think she may fix her affections there. After all, Lord Alexander isn’t even here tonight, so it isn’t as if she is trying to make him jealous.”

“I wonder why he isn’t here? Everyone is, simply everyone. And there is Anna-Marie. Lord Eberlin will cut him out if he is not careful.”

“Did you not hear the latest
on-dit
? I declare Arnold Lanscombe took the greatest delight in telling it in front of Anna-Marie, probably hoping she’d cry or something. That little worm!”

Deborah pulled her attention from the tall, lithe figure of the duke whirling his white-haired partner through the dance. “He is a little worm, but he always seems to know what is going on. What did he say?”

“Alexander has announced that he is sailing for India soon. He has gone into the country to bid his family farewell.”

Deborah frowned. “And how did Sarah take that?”

“Oh, I was proud of her. What she felt I cannot say. She hasn’t confided in me at all, and I haven’t liked to pry. But if she was upset, she certainly didn’t show it. She was standing with Mr. Fortesque. She just laughed and said that Henry mustn’t take it in his head to join Alex, and he assured her in the most gallant fashion that he would never leave England while she was in it.”

“That young man is a bit forward,” Deborah said reprovingly.

“Yes, well, better than being quite a bit behindhand, as Alexander has been!” Jennifer tossed her head, and Deborah got the impression there was some hidden message in the comment.

***

In the time leading up to Jennifer’s ball, the duke conducted a careful courtship, not just of Jennifer, but also of Vincent. He took him to the best men’s clubs, solemnly introducing him to the cream of society. He invited him to political dinners where the issues of the day were discussed frankly and knowledgeably by the king’s ministers and loyal opposition alike. He fenced with Vincent at Angelo’s, challenged his prowess with a pistol at Manton’s, and accompanied him to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing club, though not being an aficionado of the Fancy, he disdained to trade blows.