The Duke Conspiracy (3 page)

She was lost in happier recollections when a
deep voice pulled her from her distraction. “Miss Smythe? Might I
have the pleasure of your company for the next dance?”

Blinking in surprise at the gentleman before
her, Rose drew a momentary blank before recognition dawned on her.
“Lord Dunbar?” she asked as she dropped a brief, hasty curtsy
before her face bloomed into a smile she struggled to prevent
turning into a grin. “I would be delighted to partner you in the
next dance.”

“I was wondering if you perhaps had an
injury,” the viscount commented, causing Rose to look at him in
question. “I have not yet seen you on the dance floor this
evening,” he explained. Rose could see from his contrite expression
that he regretted his choice of words, but her own face felt like
it was flaming with her embarrassment so she was unsure how to set
him at ease.

“I am new to Town, my lord, and do not know
many people,” she tried to excuse.

“I wouldn't think that would much matter,” he
replied, still confused. “A beautiful young woman such as yourself
very rarely finds herself standing with the chaperones.”

“I have not yet been presented in the Queen's
Drawing Room, so that could account for it,” Rose tried to put a
brave face on it. She was torn between feeling flattered over his
compliment and being irked that he was harping on her lack of dance
partners.

Rose was almost amused by the viscount's
confusion and his look of chagrin as he began to realize that he
should never have pointed out a young lady's identification as a
wallflower. He tried to turn the matter into a jest. “Did you do
something particularly scandalous while in Vienna?”

Rose looked at the viscount sharply as she
felt the heat rise once more into her cheeks but she refused to
allow him to get a reaction from her. Keeping her face as straight
as possible, she allowed one eyebrow to inch toward her hair line.
“Not that anyone ever found out about.” She turned the veiled
admission into a sly jest.

Lord Dunbar threw his head back and chuckled
loudly, causing heads to turn in their direction. Rose struggled to
maintain her composure despite her fierce desire to rebuke the
viscount. She could hear her mother's words in her mind—
don't
make a scene.

“Come along, miss, our dance is beginning. Do
not mind the busybodies staring. You will have to grow accustomed
to it, as I am quite certain you are about to become a popular
young woman.”

Rose stared at the viscount, shocked at his
apparent arrogance. “Just because you have paid me a bit of
attention?” she asked, incredulity coloring her surprised
tones.

“No,” he declared with disgust, “because you
are a taking little thing and everyone will soon discover that for
themselves.”

Rose managed to keep her mirth contained to a
delicate, low chuckle but inside she was full of gales of laughter
and she was sure it was written all over her face. Her breath
caught as she noticed the look of appreciation on his face
. Was
it possible the viscount was
about to
set up
a
flirtation with her
?
she wondered. His next words
disabused her of that idea.

“How is it that you have not yet made your
curtsy to our Queen? Surely you were not that far behind us in
age,” Lord Dunbar probed.

“You are just full of social niceties this
evening, are you not, my lord?” Rose asked, sarcasm dripping from
each syllable. “Did no one ever tell you it is decidedly bad form
to make any reference to a lady's age?”

“But surely you cannot be of an age to be
concerned about that?” Wesley defended.

In all honesty Rose could not prevent the
negligent shrug that followed his question. “No, you are probably
right. And I truly do not care about such things. But it is strange
to be experiencing such a sense of not belonging when I have always
felt so comfortable in my own skin.” Becoming a trifle flustered
over her admission, she hastened to return to the previous
question. “I did not come out earlier because we were in mourning.
Then we left the country to accompany my father in his diplomatic
duties. Now I am in the uncomfortable position of being rather more
experienced than the usual debutantes, but I am confined to all the
traditions accompanying making one's debut in London.”

“Is it so very terrible?”

Rose hesitated before answering and the
viscount could see indecision clearly displayed upon her expressive
features.

“Yes and no,” she finally answered, prompting
another laugh from Wesley.

“That is so very specific,” he chided, his
tone dry.

Her color rising once more, Rose elaborated.
“I found the social rounds amongst the diplomats and their families
much more comfortable as we were a smaller group and there was such
an air of excitement, as the men were involved in such important
affairs. Now, being in London, I feel lost in the crowd. And it
feels a little awkward to be making my debut alongside
seventeen-year-old misses fresh from the schoolroom.”

“I can see how that might rub the wrong way,”
Wesley tried to be sympathetic. “I hear our dance is drawing to a
close so I must bid you good night. I hope the Season becomes more
interesting for you.”

“It already has,” she answered with a
smile.

“I could hardly credit it, Elizabeth!” Rose
declared with a touch of disgust in her voice. “No sooner had the
viscount returned me to my mother's side than there was practically
a queue of men waiting to ask me to dance.”

In her agitation Rose got up to pace around
the elegantly appointed drawing room where she and Lady Elizabeth
were having tea. She usually found the large, sunny room to be
welcoming and settling, but today not even the oversized painting
of Elizabeth as a young girl could get a smile out of her.

“Are you complaining?” Elizabeth asked,
confused.

“Not exactly,” Rose had to admit. “The ball
was obviously much more interesting when viewed from the dance
floor rather than the sidelines with the chaperones. But it was
just so surprising that Lord Dunbar had such power over everything.
What if he had taken me in disgust? Would I be condemned to
obscurity for the rest of my days?”

“My dear Rose, surely you must see that you
could never be left in obscurity? It is just impossible for you.
There is far too much vitality shimmering around you for you to
remain on the sidelines for long. And truly, who cares what makes
people tick?”

“I most certainly do,” Rose declared with
determination. “I want to be accepted into the
ton
because I
am witty or some such, not because Lord Dunbar, the famous Viscount
of Bracondale, found me mildly amusing.”

“But you
are
witty and droll and
amusing and lovely. If I did not like you so much I would find it
impossible to be friends with you. You are clearly my competition.
So what if the gentlemen were a little slow to discover you? What
matters is that they did, and you had a lovely time, right?”

“I suppose you are correct,” Rose admitted
grudgingly. “Enough about me, did you have a good time at the ball?
I was so excited to be finally dancing again that I failed to spend
any time talking with you. I am sure you must have also been on the
dance floor, but I so rarely caught a glimpse of you.”

“That is quite all right. Our mothers would
have our heads if we spent too much time with each other and not
enough looking over the eligible gentlemen.”

Rose's tinkle of laughter followed these
words before she resumed her questioning. “So I told you all about
my dance partners, now you tell me. Did any of your partners strike
a chord for you?”

The strange look that crossed Elizabeth's
face caused Rose to intensify her questions. “There
was
someone! Out with it, my lady, who struck your fancy?”

“It is nothing like that, Rose. No one was of
particular interest to me, alas.” She again hesitated before taking
a deep breath and plunging into speech. “I danced with the Duke of
Wrentham.”

Rose could feel the color draining from her
face at her friend's words. Hating the thought of even her dear
friend sensing a weakness in her she decided to try to brazen it
out.

“Was the duke any good as a partner? I must
admit I find it difficult to imagine, since I can recall how he
hated the lessons his tutor insisted he must endure.”

Lady Elizabeth followed her friend's lead and
did not refer to the possible awkwardness. “You must make an effort
to stretch your imagination then, my dear, as the duke's lessons
have clearly paid off. While he was not as skilled as Lord Danbury,
he was a perfectly lovely companion for the quadrille we
shared.”

“But of course, no one can quite match up to
Lord Danbury's skills on the dance floor,” Rose banter was a trifle
weak but she kept her chin firm and brave.

Elizabeth grinned, continuing, “Well, at the
very least all my toes rejoiced over not being trodden upon even
once throughout the entire dance.”

“I would hardly call that a cause to praise
his dance skills.”

“Clearly you have not had the misfortune of
being partnered with some of the gentlemen I have been paired up
with of late.” Elizabeth's wry answer was followed by a teasing
smile.

“I cannot argue with you there, as I have
been sorely lacking in dance partners.” Seeing that her friend was
about to commiserate, Rose hastened to return to the subject at
hand. “I am happy to hear that the duke's title has clearly brought
him previously unheard of skills,” Rose countered, feeling much
more the thing after her momentary lapse of zest.

“He was actually quite a lovely dance
partner; besides not stepping on my toes he politely conversed with
me and appeared to be very kind.”

“How lovely,” Rose answered in a monotone,
not wishing to prolong this particular conversation. “Did you have
any other interesting experiences at the ball?”

“Not particularly. While the Chorneys were
perfectly lovely hosts, I found the ball to be much like any other
I have attended and would much rather have been home on our estate
curled up with a good book after a long day of riding or visiting
our tenants or some such, anything other than being in a stuffy,
crowded ballroom listening to bored society matrons rehashing the
latest
on dits
.”

The two girls shared a look of mutual
agreement before Rose answered with reasonable aplomb. “I cannot
help but agree with you wholeheartedly, but the trouble is that in
order to attain a home of our own we need to marry. And apparently
the only way one can marry is to go through this ridiculous charade
one calls the 'Season.' So events such as the Chorney Ball are a
necessary evil, would you not agree?”

With a heartfelt sigh, Elizabeth nodded
before mustering up a smile and adding, “At least with a friend who
feels similarly it is not quite so dreadful.”

“Exactly,” agreed Rose with a wide grin.

Both girls were distracted by the clatter of
approaching people. They had been so engrossed in their
conversation that they had failed to hear the knocker. It would
seem that their comfortable coze was at an end as Lady Elizabeth
had more callers.

“Lucky thing you came unfashionably early,”
Elizabeth whispered just before the butler stepped into the room to
announce the new arrivals.

“Ladies Emmaline and Constance Chadwick to
see you, my lady,” the staid older retainer intoned.

Rose had to stifle her giggle as she watched
her friend put on the airs expected of an aristocratic debutante.
She watched in awe as her friend rose slowly to her feet, an air of
boredom heavy upon her features.

“Welcome, ladies,” she said, her usually
cheerful voice dulled by her tones of ennui.

Rose reflected that the ennui might not be
fully feigned as the new arrivals were not the most enjoyable
company to spend time with. She could feel her own face pinching
with a touch of distaste as she observed the two newcomers mincing
into the room.

“My darling Lady Elizabeth,” Emmaline began
in a breathy voice that made Rose wish she could box her ears, “how
charming to see you today.”

“Yes, charming,” echoed her sister without an
ounce of originality.

Rose saw that Elizabeth could not maintain
her bored façade as this struck her funny bone. “How lovely to see
you,” the lady lied with a twinkle in her eye she quickly disguised
by turning to introduce Rose. “Are you two familiar with my dear
friend, Miss Rosamund Smythe?”

Both girls dropped into curtsies that were
the barest minimum of politeness, registering Rose's social
insignificance as a mere Miss.

“We have not previously been introduced. How
do you do?” Emmaline was forced to acknowledge.

Suppressing her amusement as best she could,
Rose dipped into her own practiced curtsy, far more experienced
than the rest of the girls in the various nuances of social
interaction from her years as a diplomat's daughter. Ignoring their
veiled jab, Rose offered them a charming smile.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,
Lady Emmaline and Lady Constance. You are the daughters of Lord
Chadwick, are you not? I have not been introduced to him, but my
father has sung his praises on numerous occasions. As you are here
for the Little Season you no doubt know all about their work on
Britain's involvement at the Congress of Vienna.”

The two sisters looked at Rose blankly for a
moment, unsure how to respond to her. Rose kept her face as
straight as possible as she observed their obvious confusion. They
clearly thought it beneath their notice to follow politics, but
since she had complimented their father, they could not snub her
for what they would consider bluestocking tendencies.