The Wicked Duke (14 page)

Ives looked surprised. Gareth did not. As a bastard, Gareth knew all about walking away from insults. If he had not learned how to do it, he would have been dueling once a month for the last fifteen years.

A man approached their table then. He bowed, and presented Lance with a letter, then turned on his heel and left.

Lance broke the seal and read the two sentences. The solicitor had been very prompt in finding where in London Horace Radley and his family were temporarily domiciled.

He pictured Marianne, lost to pleasure in that garden. He felt again her fist hitting his face. The urge to laugh cleaved through his weariness like a ray of sun through winter's gray light.

He stuffed the letter in his pocket. “Now, which of you is going to host that dinner party?”

“I
t is all too rich,” Marianne whispered to her mother. They sorted through fabrics for their wardrobe at a shop patronized by the best of society. The bolts created a sensory experience of color, texture, and luxurious touch.

Other women did the same as they did. One lady, who appeared to have a modiste as her companion, removed any fabric that appealed to her and had it placed in a very large stack on the counter.

“Stop it,” Mama said. “Not one more word. It is unnatural for you to keep complaining about the cost, when you will not pay the bills.”

“I am imagining the scene when those bills arrive for my uncle.”

“Oh, tosh. His wife knew how to spend better than
most. I daresay Sir Horace expects much of the same from us. If he does not—” Mama shrugged, to express her indifference. Then she eyed that stack on the counter. “How rude. That woman is reserving the best for herself. She will not use it all, but she wants to make sure no one else can consider any of them until she decides first.”

Marianne continued examining the fabric, trying to avoid doing the same as that rude woman. Most of what she saw would go in her own private stack if she could muster the courage to have one.

She had only given the clerks two bolts to put aside so far. She tried to narrow her choices so she would not be here all afternoon.

“Marianne.” Her mother said her name in a whisper marked with urgency. “Look who just walked in this shop.
Look
.”

Marianne did not look. Her mother was always pointing out notables so they both could gawk. That her mother recognized so many of them spoke to the time before Papa died, when he and she would enjoy the Season in London.

She continued her perusal of the shop's wares, but gradually became aware of a hush descending on the patrons. Her clerk left her and disappeared. Soon not a sound could be heard. Except boots walking across the wooden floor, then stopping.

Her mother's hand closed on her arm like an eagle's talon. “You must turn around,” she hissed.

Marianne turned to her mother, who looked into the shop with a broad smile. Exasperated, she turned to see what had put her mother in that mask.

Aylesbury stood not ten feet away, watching her.

Bows, curtsies, greetings, welcomes. Marianne performed the rituals, all the while her gaze locked on the duke's cheek. The remnants of a bruise showed in a little pattern of yellows and purples.

He noticed her noticing that. His smile, it seemed to her, took on a dangerous character.

The other patrons pretended to go about their business, but eyes remained on him.

“What have you there?” he asked, joining her at the counter. He fingered the green wool she had chosen, and the pink raw silk. Her mother hovered at her shoulder.

“Pretty. However, I think you need—” He looked up at the shelves, narrowing his eyes. He pointed. “That, there. The violet color.”

Two clerks appeared out of nowhere. One of them reached to pull down the fabric. “It is transparent, made of the finest woven silk,” the other said. “It will need an underlayer, of course. Either the same color—” He snapped his finger and pointed to his colleague to fetch another bolt. “Or, if the lady is adventurous, a different one. See how it plays with the light when over this blue. Each movement will transform the colors.” Another snap, and another bolt came down.

“I think it would look best with no underlayer,” the duke said. “Just layers of this. Maybe bound with a gold cord.”

“You mean
à la sauvage
?” her mother asked. “Oh, my, that is not done anymore, Your Grace. It has been
years since women dressed thus, and even then it was scandalous to many.”

“True. Memories of my youth got the better of me. An underlayer it must be. The same color, though. Don't you agree, Mrs. Radley?”

“Absolutely, Your Grace.”

Marianne went back to her own choices. No one had asked her which underlayer
she
wanted. Her mother stepped away to conduct her own shopping, but Marianne guessed all of Mama's attention would be on any conversation with Aylesbury.

The duke sidled close to Marianne's side.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, not turning her head. “Men do not come to shops like this. Dukes certainly do not.”

“We should. It is a feast for the eyes. As for why I am here—I went to your London address, and was told you had come here.”

Bold of the servants to have shared that. The duke had probably intimidated them. She could not imagine any of the temporary servants, or even Katy and old Jane, refusing him the information if he required it.

“You are going to be very bored. My mother and I have several more ensembles for which we need to choose fabric.”

“I will help. Are those the fashion plates there?” He reached for the sheets she had brought that rested on the counter. The clerk obliged him by handing them over.

Everyone in the shop watched, but pretended not to.
Marianne tried to appear blasé, but having Aylesbury review her new wardrobe mortified her. He studied each plate carefully. She could not imagine why.

“These are not a bad start,” he said. “Although this dinner dress looks too old for you. All those ruffles at the neck are not becoming. Tell the modiste to eliminate them, if you have not already.”

Thus did he meddle for the next half hour. The clerk agreed with every bit of advice His Grace offered. More decisive than she, he made quick work of her wardrobe, forcing her to pick this or that, both of which he approved, when she could not choose one on her own.

“It appears we are done.” He set the plates down firmly, and with a vague gesture sent the clerk away. “Now you are free to join me this afternoon. I am going to the park. It has a spare but undeniable beauty in winter.”

Mama appeared at her elbow. “How generous of you, Your Grace. You also have my gratitude for encouraging Marianne to not belabor the fabric choices. Now the modistes can get to work. I feared, with her changeable mind on the subject, that we would not have our new dresses for six months.”

He laughed lightly. Mama laughed harder.

“It is a very generous offer, Your Grace,” Marianne said. “However, I promised to spend the afternoon with my cousin. I dare not disappoint her.” She winced as a pain shot through her foot. Mama had stepped on it, ever so invisibly.

“I will have to find consolation in giving you both a ride back to your house. My coach is outside.”

“My uncle's carriage—” A sharp pain speared her side. She glared at her mother, who was all innocence and looked only at the duke.

“We would be ever so thankful, Your Grace,” Mama said. “Allow me to have one word with the proprietor about sending the fabric to our dressmaker.”

Mama made it a private word. Then she joined Marianne, and they paraded out of the shop with the duke in their wake.

“You did not have to jab me so hard,” Marianne murmured.

“You were about to turn down a ride in a duke's coach. Sir Horace's carriage will go back without us,” Mama whispered. “On the way, you are to recall that it was tomorrow afternoon that you promised to spend with Nora.”

“I will not, because it is today.”

Mama looked over her shoulder at Aylesbury, and smiled. She then bent her head close to Marianne's. “Listen to me, daughter. He followed you here. To London. I am sure of it. Do not be too proud or he may lose all interest in you.”

“I do not want his interest. As it is, if anyone in that shop recognized him, I may be the subject of gossip.”

“Gossip of the best kind. I explained all of that.”

“Mama, he stood there and helped choose my wardrobe. If you saw that going on, what would you think? What do you suppose Mrs. Wigglesworth would think, and confide to all she met?”

Mama's expression fell. “I would not think—”

“Oh, yes you would.”

Aylesbury's coach was big, polished, and bore his escutcheon on its door. Marianne wished he had not brought this one. Everyone would know who had dallied over fabric with Miss Radley.

He personally handed them in. Mama almost giggled when she settled on the fine velvet seat next to Marianne. Any concerns for her daughter's reputation had disappeared.

To their surprise, and Marianne's relief, the duke did not join them. “I will send you on your way,” he said through the window. “Since I am deprived of company, I will shop myself instead of visiting the park.”

Marianne began to thank him, but already he had walked away.

“You handled that without any art at all, daughter. We could have been seen riding in the park with a duke. Instead we will be carried home like so much baggage.” Mama sniffed. “I am very disappointed. Very.”

*   *   *

N
ora twisted her hands together on her lap as the carriage approached Hyde Park. “I am so excited. I hope he is on time, because I cannot wait.”

The carriage had arrived at their house soon after the duke's coach delivered its baggage. Marianne loitered on the first level so she could intercept it. The coachman merely nodded when she explained that she wanted to go out again soon.

He would probably take her anywhere she wanted, at
any time, she realized. He most likely would not feel any obligations to report any doings he thought Sir Horace should know about.

Having a rather dull life, all she wanted to do was go to a park. Now they were entering it through a big gate.

“You can see there is almost no one here,” she said to Nora, pointing out the window. “It is too early for the fashionable set to ride here, and too cold for many people to even take a turn.”

“Not many people, but there are some. Must I really get out and walk?”

“If you want to see Vincent, you must.”

The carriage stopped a short ways inside the gate. The coachman opened the door and set down the stairs. Nora looked at that open door a long time. Marianne began to worry that her cousin would not leave, that even her beloved brother could not lure her to walk among society.

Then Nora screwed up her face and lunged for the door, almost falling before the coachman could catch her and help her down.

Marianne followed and together they strolled down the path toward the place where Vincent had written he would wait.

Aylesbury had been right. The park in winter did possess a special beauty. Silver clouds muted the colors and created a palette of grays, browns, and darkest greens. Did he really enjoy that beauty, or had it only been an excuse to request her company, the way Mama thought?

Mama's other conclusions ran through her head. Had
he followed her? Did he truly have an interest, even a temporary one? Would his attendance raise her worth as much as Mama thought?

She found that hard to believe. Men were not stupid. When all was said and done, she would still be a woman on the shelf who had so little income as to be pitiable.

Suddenly Nora bolted and began running. Marianne looked ahead and saw why. Tall, fair, and dashing in his naval uniform, Vincent hailed them from up ahead. Nora ran to him, threw her arms wide, and flung herself at him with joy.

Joy filled Marianne, too, and not only because her cousin was so happy.

*   *   *

“H
ow long will you be in London?”

Marianne asked the question while Nora snuggled within Vincent's embrace. He looked over her head at Marianne. “Only two days. Plans changed with my ship. I was lucky to get away at all.”

Nora did not seem to hear. Vincent extricated himself from her arms and set her back a bit. “You are even more beautiful, Nora. I would not have said that was possible.”

She
was
beautiful right now. Alert, happy, and full of life. Marianne prayed that three days hence even a fraction of that vitality remained.

“Papa does not know we came,” Nora said. “We snuck away, and will again too. Marianne arranged it all. She was very sly.”

“I was sly? You are the one who found a way to have the servants intercept his letters once we came to town.”

Nora smiled. “I suppose I was sly, wasn't I?” She hooked her arm through her brother's and they all walked together. “I had to agree to get a new wardrobe so we could come to London. At least Marianne gets one, too, so I suppose I can suffer it.”

Vincent laughed. “Suffer a new wardrobe? What a gem your father has in you, that you do not cost him thousands a year on clothing.” He looked over at Marianne. “You also grow more lovely, Marianne.”

He said it sincerely, perhaps. However, there was something lacking in the way he looked at her. Oh, she saw gratitude, for her care of Nora. And appreciation of her character. She had always seen all those good things in Vincent's eyes.

What she had never seen was love, or even fascination. She had never seen a spark of intimacy that went beyond their closeness due to his sister. Even now, as he flattered her, nothing about him hinted at a man's interest in a woman.