The Duke Dilemma (24 page)

“Thank you.” Edward hadn’t realized just how much time had passed since he, outside of church, had raised his voice in song—years, perhaps. A melancholy silence followed, lasting some moments, for no one was currently humming any sort of tune. He returned his attention to his steward’s correspondence and the decision to be made.

“Penshaw Manor looks most promising. With Mr. Kittredge’s recommendation”—Edward indicated the letter before him—“I think we should begin negotiations for its purchase.”

“At once, Your Grace.” The secretary jotted in his notepad.

“Have Mr. Kittredge retain a steward, someone who has a working relationship with the local people and who has a bit of experience.” Edward did not wish his son to turn to his father for every difficulty he came across. Decisions would have to made, and perhaps some missteps as well along the way. But Edward would see Frederick had sound advisors to aid him when engaging the remainder of the staff. Someone should know what they were doing if the young Earl of Brent was to be giving the orders.

“Very wise, Your Grace.” Abernathy continued taking notes. “And will you be informing Lord Brent that you intend to acquire this property on his behalf?”

“No.” Suddenly the significance of what he was about to do struck him. Was he not about to embark on the very thing he accused his children, his son, of attempting—taking control of
his life? But this was different. He wasn’t dictating Frederick’s actions as much as influencing his future. He, of course, had a right. Edward was the father. “I believe we shall keep this to ourselves for the time being.”

Now was not the time to inform Frederick of his good fortune. Edward had no doubt an opportunity would present itself in the near future.

“Very good, sir.” Abernathy had no opinion on His Grace’s pronouncement.

“Is there any news on the owner of the Conduit Street townhouse?”

“No, Your Grace. Inquiries are still being made.” The secretary shifted as if uncomfortable. Despite what Abernathy might have believed, Edward had not been disappointed by his answer. “It seems that bit of information is not as easily attained as one might expect.”

“No, it seems not.” The Duke did not hold his man accountable for the delay. The answer would be forthcoming. “I think we’re finished here.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I shall see to these at once.” He indicated the most recent instructions he’d received with a slight lift of the notepad.

“Very good.” Edward waited for his secretary to exit before continuing softly to himself, “And I shall do my utmost to endure until the end of my social commitments.” Which could not come soon enough.

He lifted his coffee cup and contemplated the remainder of his day. With the absence of a Parliament session this afternoon, the next item on his agenda would be the assembly rooms this evening. This left him time to visit his club, if he so chose, which might add to the ongoing speculation and even more wagers. Perhaps he best keep clear of White’s. Heaven forbid he should influence the betting book. Should he dine with Rutherford,
Talmadge, or Nickleby? He felt no safer, even with his closest of friends. For the present, Edward had best keep his own company.

He found his coffee cold when he finally brought the cup to his lips. No matter. A lukewarm beverage was the least of his worries. He wondered if it would be sacrilegious to suppose attending another Corn Law debate more enjoyable than an evening at Almack’s.

Stepping out of his carriage and into the St. James Street building that contained the Almack’s assembly rooms, Edward reflected upon his thoughts to dress in somber colors this night. No, not necessary, he had decided. His mood had vastly improved from the evening before. He ascended the staircase knowing this might well be the final attendance at the assembly hall, and he hoped that single thought would sustain him.

This would test him. The approaching hours might prove uncomfortable. There might even be a challenge or two ahead. He stopped on the first landing, closed his eyes, and reminded himself:
this is the last time I need attend
.

The Duke raised his chin and checked the folds of his cravat as if tending to his wardrobe could occupy his mind.

“Welcome, Your Grace.” The head steward, greeting the newly arrived guests, bowed and motioned to one of the footmen to step forward and make himself available if the Duke should need anything.

Edward inclined his head in acknowledgment and continued forward.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” Lady Castlereagh sank into a curtsy. “Almack’s is fortunate to welcome you tonight.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Edward replied.

“Is there someone
particular
you wish to see this evening?” she inquired, showing more than casual interest in his reply.

“I thought I might find Lady Kimball in attendance and perhaps her sister, Mrs. Parker.” His attention remained on the Patroness as if what she had to say was the most important, the most necessary, knowledge to him.

“I believe they arrived earlier.” Her voice was level, and she delivered this with narrowed eyes. “Do, if you please, continue inside. I am certain you will not have any problem finding them.”

“I thank you, my lady.” Edward worked hard to keep a wry smile from touching his lips. That served her right, the old scandal-broth brewer. He strolled toward the assembly room.

“Your Grace!” Lady Gelsthorpe’s unmistakable trill caught his attention. Once he turned in her direction, she waved her fan above her head to beckon him near.

For just a moment, a sudden and unexpected spike of elation shot through him in anticipation that his summoner might be accompanied by Lady Vernon.

That would be most delightful!

To spend another evening in her company would be a vast improvement over the onerous hours he anticipated ahead. He glanced around Lady Gelsthorpe, hoping to catch sight of another familiar face. Alas, she was not to be found, and he had to admit to experiencing a sliver of disappointment.

“
We
simply cannot believe you are attending Almack’s!” It sounded more like a scold than an observation from Lady Gelsthorpe.

“We all must do the pretty at some time.” Edward bowed graciously. “As I recall, I have had the pleasure of meeting you at the Royal Academy Art Exhibition.” He would not have remembered without Lady Vernon’s timely reminder.

Lady Gelsthorpe nodded, then gestured to one side, bringing forth a young woman. “
Our
goddaughter. You will allow
us
to make introductions
now,
I trust?”

“It would be an honor.”

With her violet-turbaned head held high and a twinkle in her eyes, Lady Gelsthorpe continued, “Allow
us
to present Miss Dillingham.”

The woman, dressed in a soft green gown, dipped into a curtsy, casting her gaze downward. “How do you do, Your Grace?”

“Are you here to attend the Season?” Edward bowed over her hand, hoping she would look up. He had no wish to converse with the top of her green-beribboned blonde head.

“Oh, dear, no. I should say not,” Miss Dillingham flustered, blushed, and drew her gloved hand from his, then pressed it to her face. “I am quite on the shelf.”

The soft green of her kid gloves complemented the pink flush of her cheeks.

“Are you, indeed?” He studied his new acquaintance a bit closer. Her faced turned upward but she could not look
at
him. Edward thought her young, younger than he, at any rate. Upon closer inspection it was clear she was not a schoolroom miss, but still very lovely all the same.

Should he offer to take a turn about the room with her? Perhaps he should bespeak a dance? Before he could do either, Lady Gelsthorpe had taken control and had escorted Miss Dillingham away from his influence.

“Was that Lady Gelsthorpe?” Lady Kimball stared off into the distance in the same direction Edward gazed. “And who was that young lady accompanying her?”

“Her goddaughter, Miss Dillingham.” Edward still wasn’t sure what had happened. One moment he stood there in the company of Lady Gelsthorpe and Miss Dillingham, the next his
sisters-in-law were fluttering about and gossiping about the company that had just departed.

“I do recall that she arrived in Town earlier this spring.” Lady Kimball did not direct this comment to Edward but to her sister, who replied, “Although many would believe she is firmly on the shelf, she is still rather young. Not even nine and twenty, I think.”

“And quite pretty. Do you not think so, Your Grace?” Lady Kimball’s gaze, followed by Mrs. Parker’s, focused squarely upon Edward.

Goodness, were they now to sing the praises of Miss Dillingham? Would Edward possibly emerge from the Season unscathed? It seemed everywhere he turned, females were being brought to his attention if not outright thrown into his path.

He drew in a breath and recited to himself…
This is the last night I shall attend Almack’s
. A few moments later he had regained his composure, and he ignored the ladies’ topic to begin one of his own.

“Of course you are here on Constance’s behalf”—Edward peered out of the corner of his eye to observe their reaction when he inquired—“or is it Mrs. Raley’s?”

“Constance’s, of course, Your Grace.” Lady Kimball did her best to sound taken aback, but it was not a performance that convinced Edward. “I was hoping to reintroduce Mrs. Raley to Town life. I never expected for her to make a match!”

“Is Mrs. Raley to be married?” Edward did not even choke on the words.

“Can you believe it?” Mrs. Parker’s countenance brightened, and she grew quite animated. “It’s Lord Wells! He proposed just this morning.”

“I must wish her happy.” At least Edward could rest easy on that account. Mrs. Raley would no longer be a candidate for his in-laws to promote.

“I daresay you missed your chance with her, Your Grace,” Mrs. Parker teased.

As if Edward had ever had any intentions in that quarter.

Lady Kimball clapped her hands together. “And the best news yet is not only is our friend Mrs. Raley to be married, there is our Constance!”

“Constance is engaged?” Finally. It had taken long enough, and he would not deny her mother, nor her aunt, feelings of joy and pride. Edward had to admit he was curious as to who would take on the challenge of his niece.

“Look, she comes now.” Mrs. Parker drew Edward’s attention to the left, where a cheerful young couple approached.

His attention went directly to Constance, who radiated happiness, quite overshadowing the blue-and-silver gown she wore. Her smile was by far her finest accessory.

“I could not be happier with her choice.” Lady Kimball’s voice choked with emotion. “How wonderful it will be to welcome my dear Mrs. Raley to the family.”

Family?
Our
family? He took a moment to realize the presence of the future bridegroom.

“Your Grace!” the groom-to-be called out to Edward. “Hallo, Your Grace!”

Edward thought he was dreaming—no, experiencing a nightmare. He did not wish to acknowledge the male who spoke. There would be no avoiding the blackguard in the midst of an assembly room. The Duke realized his niece, Constance, was dangling off the arm of none other than Sir Nicholas Petersham.

Ralston held the front door of Worth House open. “Returned for the evening so early, Your Grace?”

Edward handed off his hat, striding past the butler toward his library. The Duke felt no better now that he was home. He could not dispel the horror of his niece marrying Sir Nicholas Petersham.

After closing the front door, Ralston chased after his employer, preparing to capture his cast-off raiment.

“Yes, I have.” The Duke stripped off his gloves and, without looking, disposed of them somewhere behind him with his outstretched arm. He hadn’t the patience to pause and wait to hand them properly to his butler.

Ralston swiftly captured them in the cast-off hat. “Will you be leaving for another engagement this evening, Your Grace?”

“No, I will not,” Edward replied rather curtly, and pulled at the lapels of his coat, doing his best to divest himself of his outerwear. He soon came to a standstill, nearly tipping over.

“Shall I call for Sturgis, sir?” Ralston trapped the hat under his arm and ran to the Duke’s aid.