A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty (13 page)

Blakewell turned to Henrietta. “There’s a possibility that Gibby might have known one or more of your past guardians, even if they didn’t live in London. I’m assuming that most of them were close to the same age as Gib. Why don’t you tell him about them?”

“Most of them?” Sir Randolph asked.

“She’s had five since her parents died, but that story might be too long for this trip.”

Blakewell started digging through the food basket to find something to eat.

Anticipation rose inside Henrietta at the thought of exchanging stories with Sir Randolph about her former guardians.

“It’s not a long story at all. It’s a wonderful idea. If you don’t mind, Sir Randolph, I would love to tell you their names to see if you knew any of them.”

“I don’t mind at all. I can’t think of anything that would entertain me more on a long journey than to be engaged in conversation with a young lady as beautiful and charming as you.”

Henrietta smiled with graciousness at his compliment. “Thank you. Perhaps we should start with the last one, Lord Palmer.”

“Palmer, yes, I knew him, knew him well. We went on several hunts together with the Duke of Norfolk. Of course, that was many years ago.”

“Don’t tell any raucous stories, Gib. Remember you are talking to a young lady.”

“I think I can tell the difference between a young lady and a blade without any help from you.”

And so the conversation went.

Time passed quickly as Sir Randolph was, indeed, acquainted with two of her former guardians and he had heard of two others. Henrietta found him to be a clever and charming man with a quick wit and a discerning mind.

The three of them drank warm chocolate from pewter cups and ate scones filled with plum preserves as they discussed people from long ago, poetry, books, and Lord Byron’s latest scandal. All the while, Henrietta was conscious of the duke sitting inches from her. At times she was convinced she could feel his touch, though he never actually made contact with her person.

The coals in the iron pot had cooled, and the pitch darkness of night was slowly replaced with dawn. Henrietta looked out the small window in the carriage door and saw sunrise spreading across the wide expanse of morning sky. Slashes of pink, blue, and dark gray lay on the horizon.

Nine

My Dearest Lucien,

Sometimes Lord Chesterfield’s quotes are so simple that they
are divine. “Carefully avoid all affectation either of mind or
body. It is a very true and very trite observation that no man
is ridiculous for being what he really is, but for affecting to be
what he is not. I have known many a man of common sense
pass generally for a fool, because he affected a degree of wit
that God had denied him.”

Your loving Grandmother,

Lady Elder

WHEN THE CARRIAGE ROLLED TO A BUMPY STOP, Blakewell pushed open the door and stepped down. He waited for Sir Randolph to exit the cab before reaching inside to help Henrietta. Instead of taking her outstretched hand as she expected, he grasped her waist with his strong, firm hands and lifted her out of the carriage and set her on her feet. He gave her waist a little squeeze before turning to his driver and giving him instructions.

Cold air nipped at Henrietta’s cheeks as she surveyed her surroundings. They were in what appeared to be a large clearing. Not far from where she stood, she saw a large building with what looked like barn doors thrown wide open. Near the building, several people were milling around a large wooden basket with smoke rising from its center. The outside of the basket was elaborately decorated with pink and yellow flowers and blue ribbons. Stretched beside the basket lay a huge piece of colorful fabric that resembled a discarded drapery blanketing the dew-moistened ground.

From the corner of her eye, Henrietta saw a woman approaching them so she turned to look at her. The woman appeared to be at least twenty years older than Henrietta, maybe more. She wore a friendly smile and moved with a quiet demeanor that seemed more practiced than natural. Her black cape, gloves, and bonnet were all trimmed with a narrow band of expensive-looking fur.

“Sir Randolph,” the attractive woman said, extending her hand to him and staring directly into his eyes. “How lovely to see you again so soon, and you brought guests. It’s so wonderful of you to do that.”

The old man’s dark brown eyes sparkled with pleasure from the verbal and visual favor the woman bestowed on him. She definitely wanted Sir Randolph to know she was happy he had arrived.

He kissed the back of her hand before complimenting her on how lovely she looked. He then made the introductions smoothly and quickly, as only a man who had spent many years in Society could do.

Mrs. Beverly Simple smiled at all three of them, but her gaze lingered on Sir Randolph as she said, “I’m pleased you could come and go up with us this morning. My employee in charge today tells me that it is an exceptional day to go up, and that sunrise will be beautiful.” She turned to Henrietta. “I’m especially pleased you are here, Miss Tweed. Have you been on a balloon before?”

Henrietta returned the woman’s smile. “No, first time.”

“How about you, Your Grace?” Mrs. Simple asked. “Have you ever been up?”

“Yes. Once,” he said with no enthusiasm in his voice or his manner.

“Then you know how lovely it can be.” She looked at Henrietta again. “I’m sure you’ll find it exciting, and you will get to see how safe and practical ballooning can be for travel between London and its surrounding counties. But, of course,” she stopped and smiled at Sir Randolph. “I’m really hoping ladies will use our balloons to travel between London and their summer homes. You’re not afraid of heights, are you, Miss Tweed?”

Henrietta’s stomach tightened with anticipation. “Ah, no, I don’t think so. I’ve probably never been higher than the fourth floor of a house, though. How far up will we go?”

Mrs. Simple laughed, and once again Henrietta had the feeling it was more practiced and forced than natural. Henrietta considered the possibility that Mrs. Simple might be nervous about taking them up. After all, she was entertaining a duke.

“We’ll go quite a distance farther up than you’ve been before, Miss Tweed. As long as you don’t have a fear of heights, you will love it. It truly gives you the opportunity to ride the wind and feel completely free.”

“It sounds absolutely thrilling. I don’t think I’ll have a problem.”

She winked at Henrietta. “Good. I’ve never had a lady faint on one of my balloons.”

“And, Henrietta, I’m sure if you feel sick or frightened of the heights we reach, Mrs. Simple will have the balloon lowered back to the ground immediately,” Sir Randolph said in a solicitous voice.

“Of course, and it does happen on rare occasions,” Mrs. Simple said in a tight voice. “I do like to warn everyone that floating can be such an unexpected sensation that some people do have slight difficulties. You seem very confident, Miss Tweed, and I don’t expect you to have any.”

Henrietta was too excited about this adventure to have any trouble. To be up in a balloon with the duke was too heavenly to even dream about. She turned and looked at him. He didn’t appear as excited as she, but then he had been up in a balloon before. She couldn’t expect him to show as much enthusiasm as she felt.

“Why don’t we go watch the inflating,” Mrs. Simple said as she deliberately positioned herself by Sir Randolph so she could walk beside him. “My maid will be serving our refreshments of champagne and fig tarts after we are aloft. This, I might add, is the kind of personal attention you will never find on a hired carriage or a mail coach,” she said, throwing a self-satisfied glance in the direction of Blakewell.

“I believe it’s tradition to have a bottle of champagne or wine onboard, is it not, Mrs. Simple?” the duke asked in response to her smug expression.

“Yes, you are quite right about that, Your Grace.”

“Why is it that you always have it onboard?”

Henrietta asked as they walked toward the basket.

“I could answer that for you,” Mrs. Simple said, “but Sir Randolph has such an eloquent speaking voice; perhaps I can impose on him to tell you.” She looked over at him. Her eyes sparkled. “Would you mind relating the story for me?”

He beamed with pleasure at her compliment. Despite his advanced years, he had no trouble keeping up with the pace they were walking.

“I don’t mind at all. I’d be honored to repeat the story you’ve told me.” He turned to Henrietta. “As you probably already know, the first balloon was made in France.”

“I do remember reading that about balloons, but little else.”

“Yes. Concerning the French, I happen to agree with what Lord Chesterfield said about them.”

“Did you have to mention that man’s name?”

Blakewell muttered.

“I knew it was a sure way to annoy you,” the old man answered, though there was no mischievousness in his tone.

“Consider your mission accomplished and continue your story,” the duke said.

“Thank you, Your Grace. As I was saying, ladies, Lord Chesterfield always said, ‘There are really only two things the French are good for: one is fashion and the other is wine.’ However, the French do take great pride in ballooning as one of their gifts to mankind, along with the finest of wine and the best of fashion. The French actually call the balloon an aerostat, but we prefer to use the word ‘balloon.’ When the early balloonists started flying great distances from their homes, naturally they traveled over various towns and villages. At first, they met with all kinds of misfortunes. Most of the people in the villages had never seen or even heard of a balloon big enough to carry people from place to place. There were accounts of balloonists being shot down out of the sky because people didn’t know what the hot-air balloon was. Frightened villagers attacked some balloonists with weapons or threw others immediately into prison.”

Henrietta gasped in shock. “All that sounds appalling. Why did the villagers behave so dreadfully?”

“A lot of people thought the balloons carried creatures that had come from the heavens to harm them.”

Henrietta was enthralled with the story. “Creatures from heaven?” Henrietta asked. “That’s absolutely shocking.”

“But true,” Sir Randolph answered.

“No one can tell the story like you, Sir Randolph,” Mrs. Simple said. “You make it come alive for everyone.”

Henrietta watched how Mrs. Simple doted on Sir Randolph. Was the woman truly besotted with him? Henrietta wasn’t sure. For some reason, Mrs. Simple’s smiles and compliments didn’t feel genuine.

“Fine Frenchmen that they were, balloonists started taking along a bottle of champagne or wine from their region of France. They could give this to the locals when they landed to prove they were human—not creatures from the heavens, but actually people from faraway villages.”

“That’s a fascinating story,” Henrietta said.

They stopped a few feet from the wooden basket, and Henrietta peered inside. She saw a metal fire ring. Using bellows, workers caused the ring to smoke and fill the balloon with hot air. She watched with awe as the colorful fabric started to swell. With each swish of air she heard, the balloon became fuller and bigger until it slowly started to lift off the ground.

“The balloon part can be made of any lightweight material. This one is made of taffeta,” Mrs. Simple told them. “I had each panel sewn in a different color so the balloon would look like a big bouquet of colorful flowers floating in the sky.” She paused and sighed contentedly. “I wanted it to be so beautiful that ladies would want to ride in it.”

“It is truly magnificent,” Henrietta said as the balloon continued to swell until it stood erect directly above them.

Mrs. Simple looked at the duke and said, “As you can see, as part of our plans for producing balloons for travel, we’ve made a larger basket that will hold up to six travelers comfortably. We’ve installed bench seating for those who may want to sit down on some of the longer journeys.”

“Ballooning is fine as a way to spend a Sunday afternoon or as a hobby, Mrs. Simple, but I don’t see it as a safe or practical way for anyone to travel on a daily basis, as do coaches, carriages, and horses.”

Mrs. Simple’s shoulders lifted, and her gaze seemed to freeze on the duke’s. “I disagree with you about that, Your Grace. I think ballooning will be especially practical through the summer when the roads are heavy with freight traffic and boggy from rain. This will be the perfect way for ladies to get from London to Kent or Dover, or wherever their summerhouse might be, without the worry of falling prey to highwaymen or accidents. It will be easier and faster to move travelers from one city to another. But, let’s go onboard, shall we, and you can see for yourself,” she said with her practiced smile.

Mrs. Simple opened a gate that was built into the basket and the four of them boarded.

“I understand the hot air making the balloon rise, but what makes it come down?” Henrietta asked.

“That’s an excellent question, Miss Tweed,” Mrs. Simple said. “Look straight up. There is a circle cut in the fabric at the very top of the balloon. It’s attached to this rope hanging in the center of the basket. When we are ready to land, my employee will pull smoothly on this rope. That will make the top of the balloon open. The hot air will escape, allowing us to slowly and safely descend to the ground for a very gentle landing.”

“Exactly how far have you flown in a balloon, Mrs. Simple?” the duke asked.

“Oh, goodness, distance-wise it would be hard to say, but from town to town, perhaps from London to Dover. It could be that Dorset is farther. I’ve flown to every county in and around London. I’m not really sure of the distance between each, but I am happy to tell you that I landed perfectly each time, and nothing dreadful has happened to me yet.”

“That’s comforting,” he said dryly.

Henrietta didn’t know why, but she was certain Blakewell had taken an instant dislike to Mrs. Simple. “In 1785, a French-made balloon successfully crossed the English Channel for the first time,” Mrs. Simple continued. “Ballooning has only gotten safer since then. I have been flying in balloons for over three years, and I’ve never been in an accident. Now, if everyone is ready, I think the inflating is finished.”

The workers on the ground let go of the ropes, and the balloon lifted off the ground with a shake, a shudder, and a swing. Henrietta almost lost her footing. She grabbed hold of the rim of the basket to steady herself as the balloon tilted to one side before smoothing out into effortless floating as it lifted higher into the air.

Henrietta’s stomach did a flip but, just as quickly, she looked at the horizon and the beautiful colors in the sky. Her stomach settled. She felt peaceful and serene.

She stood beside Blakewell and watched the ground get farther away. Their carriage and the barn became smaller as they sailed above the treetops. The wind blew strong and cold against her face as they floated effortlessly across the air.

Enjoying the experience, she turned to the duke and her eyes widened. Something about him didn’t seem right. His gaze was transfixed on the ground below. His hair blew wildly in the wind, and his face was ashen. The knuckles on his hands had turned white from the death grip he had on the rim of the basket.

“Your Grace, are you all right?”

He didn’t respond. He stared blindly at the ground.

She looked behind her. Mrs. Simple had Sir Randolph engrossed in conversation, and the two workers were busy. Blakewell leaned so far over the edge of the basket that she feared he might fall out.