The Duke Dilemma (7 page)

“Indeed they will.” Edward widened his eyes at his niece with mild surprise. “You must know better than to ask that of Lord Brent.”

“But Uncle…” Her wide dark eyes implored him, but Edward was not to be dissuaded. She sighed with exasperation and leveled a hardened glare at Frederick, focusing her severe displeasure on him. “I suppose I shall handle things in my own way, then.” Without a good-bye, she left.

“Wretched cousin Connie.” Frederick groaned. “She wants me to contrive a meeting between her and Trevor.”

“She’s setting her cap for young Rutherford, eh?”

“She don’t know a thing about him, never met him above twice. She’s all about in her upperworks, I can tell you. He’ll have none of her—and if the notion ever occurred to him, I’d straighten him out soon enough,” Freddie assured his father.

“I can’t say I blame you, my boy.” Edward concurred regarding Miss Connie Kimball. She had a strong personality and it would take an equally strong husband to temper her. He thought about the conversation and the promise he’d made to Rutherford. “Now that you’ve escaped your cousin’s clutches, what do you think about standing up with another young lady?”

Frederick could not have sounded warier when he asked, “What lady would this be?”

“Trevor’s niece, his eldest sister’s gel Jane, Miss Jeffries. It’s one of the duties that come along with the dukedom, you see. Everyone wants your countenance. Not to mention, you would be doing a great favor for his family.”

By his expression, the Earl of Brent knew when he’d been bested.

CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning, Edward sat behind his desk taking care of his daily business with Abernathy, which took a good deal more time today than it had during their previous meeting due to his fatigue. Suffice it to say that his evening at Almack’s had taken its toll. When Edward put down his quill, his secretary moved on to the Duke’s personal affairs.

“The Earl of Brent has seen to the flowers and cards for the young ladies he danced with at last night’s assembly, Your Grace.” Abernathy placed the most recent parcel and signed letters next to his satchel on the table.

Edward might have dropped his quill if he had not just set it aside. He had wished for another few hours in bed, yet his son, who had always been more slumber-eyed than the Duke, was suddenly running about in the early hours of the morning. “He’s taken it upon himself, has he? Not even fobbed off the task on a footman?”

“That is my understanding, sir. His lordship rose early this morning and left to see to the arrangements.”

“That is absolutely unheard of!” Edward’s back hit the chair with a resounding thud. He had never known his son to take matters into his own hands with such gusto. “I can quite honestly say he has caught me completely unawares, Abernathy.”

“Has he, Your Grace?” Abernathy sounded as if he understood. “One’s offspring is apt to do that to a parent on occasion.”

Edward moved from behind his desk and paced to the hearth. He placed his right fist on his side and rubbed his forehead in thought.

“I believe my son has finally matured and I think he could use a challenge.” What could he do to prepare his heir for the trials that he would someday inherit when the dukedom fell to him? “I’d like you to look into an acquisition, a small estate, something that needs some improvements, for the Earl of Brent.”

“Do you think he can undertake such a task during his matrimonial pursuits, Your Grace?”

“I don’t expect it will interfere with his current endeavors should he be successful in finding a bride. I imagine it might take some time to find the suitable property as well. We shall see.” Edward turned away from the hearth, faced Abernathy, and rubbed his hands together. “It is about time he gained some experience. However, I do not wish to overwhelm him. This new estate should be in some disrepair but not so great that it proves so large a challenge as to discourage him.”

“Noted, Your Grace.” The secretary wrote on a pad of paper. “Is there any location you had in mind, sir?”

“I think the farther from Faraday Hall, the better. I think you would agree it would not do Frederick any good to turn to his father for every small crisis that may befall him. We do not wish to make it too easy.” It was neither here nor there if his secretary agreed with him. Edward knew he was right.

“Understood, Your Grace. I shall make inquiries.”

Edward felt fairly satisfied with this undertaking. It would make a suitable wedding gift if all went well for his son. At the pace Frederick sought out young ladies, there might yet be a wedding by the end of this year. “Have we finished, then, Abernathy?”

“His lordship plans to return in time to accompany you for morning calls.”

Edward straightened, growing alert. “You mean for
me
to accompany
him
,” the Duke corrected. He strode across the room, taking his place behind his desk once more.

“If that is what you wish, sir.” Abernathy nodded, which Edward took as an apology for his mistake. “The final item.” The secretary handed a letter to the Duke and made a small bow before taking his leave.

The letter was from Edward’s eldest daughter, Augusta. Opening the missive, he skimmed the salutation and inquiry to his health, looking for the heart of her correspondence. The last line Augusta had written said it all: she was currently on her way to London.

Dressed in a simple, drab brown frock and her hat, Louise headed to the garden with her basket containing her gloves, trowel, shears, and a small knife. She pulled a linen scarf across the lower part of her face out of habit to prevent her from breathing in the pollen that made her sneeze and her eyes water. The strip of cloth did have the added benefit of providing some warmth on this chilly day, as did her broad-brimmed hat.

The few hours she’d waited for the overcast sky to clear and the temperature to rise had done nothing more than delay her presence in the garden. Placing her basket on a planter, balancing it on a corner for stability, Louise took up her gloves and slid them on while she assessed the foliage.

Her gaze followed the winding path, taking in the flower beds, pots, and long planters. Her
pretties
had always done well,
even in their normal low-light condition. This year, however, the occupants of her garden seemed woefully sad with their dismal performance. The honeysuckle that climbed along the back wall lacked robust growth, and absent was its spray of tiny flowers that usually had a near-overwhelming sweet fragrance. The tulips, which she planted in a large rectangular pot to her right, barely managed to emerge from the soil with their small, pointed leaves. They were hardly tall enough to contemplate any sort of bloom.

Louise turned her attention toward the back corner where her hollyhocks usually grew. “Oh, dear,” she said in a miserable tone, recalling the beautiful pink tower of flowers that had occupied the space the year before. The flanking ferns grew low, covering the stalks, and had withered and blackened from the excess moisture. “How sad you all look. Water is the last thing you need. Betty’s done the best she could. I don’t know that you would have fared any better if Dora had helped.”

Strolling down the path toward the locked iron gate that led to the street, Louise turned her attention to her climbing roses that covered the south-facing back wall. Profuse new bright green growth sprouted even though no more than the smallest amount of light reached the bushes, yet she could not see a hit of buds. Delphiniums, usually tall and growing abundantly enough to hide the wall itself, were also missing.

What her plants needed, from what she could discern, was warmth and light. Exactly how Louise would remedy this, she wasn’t exactly sure. Gazing around, beyond the brim of her hat, she blinked up toward the sky. She decided the canopy of the trees needed to be thinned to allow the sunlight to reach her poor posies.

“Yes, that’s what we shall do,” she told the flora around her. “It will not be much longer, my pretties. Soon you shall have the nourishment of the golden light.”

There was much work to be done, and it was best Louise got started.

Lady Augusta strode into the foyer of Worth House. “Hello, Ralston.” She gazed around the room as she drew off her gloves, relishing the familiar sight of the curved banister of the staircase and the molded cornices leading to the tall ceiling.

“Welcome, Lady Augusta,” the butler intoned. “His Grace informed the staff to be expecting your arrival.”

“My father doesn’t happen to be about?” Augusta hadn’t really thought there would be a chance he’d be at home in the middle of the day.

“I’m sorry to say that His Grace and Lord Brent have gone driving in the Park. They left some time ago.”

“In the Park?” She narrowed her eyes at the butler, discerning whether he told her a Banbury tale. That would be quite unlike Ralston, but even more unlike her father to take a drive in Hyde Park. “At the fashionable hour?”

It was astonishing, actually. Although her father had accompanied her to various social engagements during her Season, as he probably had all his daughters, the Duke had never been seen in the middle of the day when he should be attending Parliament.

“I suppose they won’t return for some time, then?” Augusta contemplated what she might do while alone.

“Yes, my lady. If I may bring something to your attention”—the butler cleared his throat—“this, I believe, might be of interest to you.” He held a silver tray, the one used for visitors’ calling cards, where Augusta saw a familiar name.

Augusta’s eyes went wide when she noted the new address. “Char-Char is
at home
? This is above anything wonderful!”

“Yes, my lady.” There was a cheerful lilt in Ralston’s normal somber tone. He must have understood exactly how much it meant to Augusta to be able to see her sister.

“Where is my maid Beatrice?”

“I believe she is overseeing the handling of your trunks.”

Augusta had no patience for all that. “Tell the driver I wish to be off at once to see my sister.”

Within the hour, Augusta had arrived at Danbury Place and descended the lowered steps of her carriage. Soon she stepped up the walkway and into the foyer and asked the butler to announce her arrival.

“Char!” Augusta disregarded every bit of propriety and extended her arms.

“Gusta!” Charlotte dashed from the corridor to receive, and bestow, a loving embrace. “It is so very good to see you!”

“My dearest Char-Char.” Augusta hugged her sister tightly. Dressed in light blue, looking lovely as ever, Charlotte’s perfectly shaped face with her perfect facial features in perfect proportion was framed with shimmering golden-blonde curls. Her resemblance to an angel did not stop there. Her disposition and character had never been faulted by anyone. She was an undisputed darling. “I had no notion we should see one another so soon.”

“Nor did I.” Charlotte held her sibling at arm’s length. “How wonderful it is to look upon you, and how well you appear.”

“Have you received Moo’s—”

Charlotte hushed Augusta and glanced around. “The foyer is no place to discuss our private affairs. Do you have time to”—Charlotte began in hesitation—“of course you do, that’s why you’ve come, of course. And you left the children in Suffolk?” She
turned to address the butler. “Partridge, have a tea tray brought to the front parlor, if you please.”