June Calvin (15 page)

He did not join her, however. He had not liked the reluctance she had shown to dance with him, nor the stiffness of her behavior during the country-dance. He would not foist his company on an unwilling woman!

Instead, the duke, after telling Sarah where he would be, took a turn in the card room, reappearing only when he judged his daughter would be ready to return home.

He found Jennifer with her. The two girls were laying plans to ride in the park the next morning. “Will you give us your escort, sir,” Jennifer asked, looking at him hopefully.

“Of course, Jennifer. You will join us, Deborah?”

“No, I thank you, Harwood. I have a great deal of work to do toward Jennifer’s ball. Vincent sent a letter with me that I hope has awakened the servants to their duty. I must get the house turned out, and invitations addressed, and—”

“I understand.” The duke’s mouth curled at one corner.
And I do
, he thought, secretly planning to call on Lady Cornwall very soon. It was clear that her daughter had somehow decided she must have the duke for a husband, and Deborah was trying to help her.

There was such a thing as carrying doting motherhood and complacent friendship too far, though. He would nip such thoughts in the bud the very next day.

Chapter 16

The duke bounded up the steps to the Dowager Viscountess of Cornwall’s doors, mischievously aware that the lady probably did not want to see him. She had proclaimed the necessity of remaining home to work on Jennifer’s ball, however, so she would hardly be able to tell her servants to say she was not at home to him.

A footman answered the door punctiliously, and the butler announced him properly before escorting him into Deborah’s presence. Apparently, Vincent’s admonition to the servants had borne fruit.

“Harwood. Is anything wrong? Where are the girls?” Deborah stood, scanning his features anxiously.

“Nothing at all, my dear. I left the two of them at home with their heads together over Ackerman’s latest drawings. I needed to speak with you privately, you see.”

Relieved, yet suddenly wary, Deborah came from behind her desk. “Let us go into the drawing room. This room is too cramped for entertaining visitors.”

She slipped past him and led the way.

“Now,” the duke began after refusing refreshments. “No more stalling, Deborah! I have something to say to you about Jennifer.”

A worry line appeared between Deborah’s eyes. “You said there was nothing wrong—”

“She has apparently taken it into her head to enthrone me as a knight in shining armor, to whom she must perforce offer herself, because of the role I played with Lord Morton.”

“That’s only partially true. She has come to admire you very much.”

“I can hardly believe you seem so complacent about this. Shouldn’t you be alarmed to find your daughter throwing herself at a man over twice her age?”

“You are hardly an elderly man! Your age is not an impediment.” Embarrassed and distressed at this plain speaking, Deborah nevertheless persisted. “You would make Jennifer an excellent husband. So as her mother I can but hope she has not given you a disgust of her, by her obvious bid for your attention.”

“Not that, of course, but . . .”

“And she would make you an excellent wife, Harwood, could you but see it. She is well-mannered and biddable, and knows how to manage a great house—”

“Acquit me of such folly as taking a sixteen-year-old girl to wife!” The duke was suddenly angry that Deborah could be so obtuse.

“B-but you very nearly married a girl scarcely older than Jennifer last year.” Deborah bit her lower lip to still its trembling. Harwood had never been angry with her before. Old fears and new sensibilities combined to make her extremely uneasy at his scowl and sharp tone.

“I suppose I have Sarah to thank for passing on that evidence of my loss of sanity. Well, I did contemplate it all of ten minutes, but I thank God I was saved from having to live with the consequences of my temporary madness. No, Deborah. I have another candidate for wife in my eye, one much more suitable to a man of my age and very much to my taste besides.” With a swift movement the duke possessed himself of Deborah’s hand. He carried it to his lips before she had a chance to adjust to this sudden change in mood.

On a gasp she pulled away and stood, pacing the length of the room in agitation before turning to him. “I assumed Jennifer had confided in Sarah, and that you had some inkling of what my marriage was like. I have no intention of ever marrying again.”

“Odd. You consider me entirely ineligible as a husband for yourself, yet wish me to wed your daughter.”

“Jennifer must wed and soon, by her guardian’s decree, or I would have her remain single.”

Deborah raised her chin and stared at him down her patrician nose.

“I see.” Harwood stood and walked slowly toward Deborah. She stood her ground until the last minute, then attempted to turn, but his hands on her forearms gently restrained her.

“Tell me about your marriage, Deborah.”

She averted her face. “I can’t. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Did he beat you?”

“I don’t wish to discuss it.”

Seeing how distressed she was, the duke let her pull away. He sighed deeply. “Well, I am sorry, but I cannot marry your daughter, for even if I were so foolish as to marry a chit just out of the schoolroom, I certainly wouldn’t marry the daughter of the woman I love.”

Deborah faced him suddenly. “You mustn’t say that!”

“No, mustn’t I?” He smiled tenderly. “Well, then I won’t. Your wish is my command. May we remain friends, at least?”

To his surprise Deborah put her hands to her face in horror and exclaimed, “Oh, my God! What shall I do?”

“What is it, my dear?”

“It’s Vincent. Oh, can’t you just at least try to care for Jennifer?”

“I already care for her, as a daughter. Has Vincent ordered her to attach me?”

The duke had to lean forward, for Deborah whispered her admission. “I convinced him that you were courting her. That is why he agreed to cancel the betrothal to Lord Morton. If he sees that you are not, and if there is no other titled suitor in sight, he will force her to wed Dolphus.”

“No, he will not, for I made Morton see that pursuing that marriage would be a death-defying act. In short, I promised to challenge him if he persisted. He has escorted Lydia Smithfield to France.”

“He has?” For an instant Deborah looked relieved, but then her brow creased again. “Vincent will just find another such.”

She walked back to the sofa and sank down. “It is as I feared. We shall have to go to America. I shall have to sell my jewelry and . . .”

The duke joined her. “America! Don’t be ridiculous.”

She rounded on him, furious. “I’m not being ridiculous. He told me so himself. He said, ‘I know at least five titled lords who would wed Jennifer in an instant and pay me every cent as much as Morton was to do, for the privilege.’”

The duke’s grey eyes took on the steely glitter that had made Morton shudder. “Payment! Is that what made him agree to such a match?”

“Yes. Ten thousand pounds is the price for which he is willing to sell my daughter.” Deborah did not tell him that Vincent had ordered her to obtain such a sum from Harwood, an order which she had firmly refused.

Suddenly, the hopelessness of the situation overwhelmed Deborah, and she began to weep copious, hopeless tears. Harwood could not resist comforting her. He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair until she had calmed down.

Tears still drenched the brown eyes she at last lifted to meet his. “Will you help me sell my jewelry? I fear I will be taken advantage of.”

“You’re that afraid of Vincent’s machinations?”

“Yes, oh yes! With his permission and a special license, she could be spirited away and irrevocably wed within a half hour’s time. If he comes up to London for her ball and does not find you dancing attendance on her, or another
parti
as eligible as you, he will certainly approach one of his candidates for her hand the next day!”

Harwood sighed. “Then it looks as if I had better be very attentive to little Miss Silverton, doesn’t it? But sooner or later Vincent will realize the truth, for I won’t marry her. It would be a disastrous mistake to do so, for all three of us.”
And for a fourth
, the duke added to himself, thinking of John.

“Lord Threlbourne has been paying her a great deal of attention. He may yet come up to scratch, if we can only gain some time.” Deborah searched the duke’s face anxiously.

“Ah.” Harwood leaned back. “Yes, I have seen him with her several times.” The duke considered Deborah as she sat there, despair and hope warring on her face. She was desperate. The last thing he wanted to do was let her get away to America. If he could keep her nearby, his own hopes that he could bring her to love him were still very much alive. But let her set sail . . . no! So he would have to appear to court her daughter for a while.

Wincing at the thought of John’s reaction, the duke slowly stood up and looked down into the anxious brown eyes. “Very well, Deborah. I will spend sufficient time with your daughter to at least justify the suspicion that I am courting her. We can begin this very night at the Vauxhall party if you wish.”

“Oh, yes, I do! I had been about to cry off, for both of us, as I am so busy. Would you escort Jennifer?”

“Yes. And if need be, I will have a very serious talk with Vincent.”

Deborah shook her head. “Vincent would not take meekly to being menaced the way Morton did. I fear you’d have a duel on your hands if you tried such a thing.” She stood and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“That might not be an entirely bad idea, sweet watering pot.” Harwood’s long, slender fingers closed over the scrap of lacy cloth as he took it from her and applied it where it would do the most good. Then he cupped her chin. “Be brave, Deborah. You are not alone. I will stand your friend.”

“Thank you, Harwood.” She offered him her hand. Instead of shaking it as she had intended, he once again carried it to his lips. Surprised at the pleasant shiver this brief contact with his lips caused, she stood rooted to the spot as he strode from her drawing room, a slight smile on his face.

***

Vauxhall was a squeeze. It seemed as if the entire
ton
had turned out, and every mushroom and Cit, too. The duke saw that he would have his hands full, watching after the safety of both young women. Thus it was that he gladly turned Sarah over to Henry Fortesque soon after they arrived, only warning the young man in cordial but firm tones not to decide to take her away from the lighted area for a stroll along any of the dark walks.

Jennifer startled her friends by refusing to join the younger set. Her mother had explained that the duke would pretend to court her. She told her daughter, “What I hope is that he will find himself enamoured of you as he gets to know you. The pretense must become reality.”

After the concert, the duke rose to dance with Jennifer. From behind them, a hearty masculine voice boomed out.

“Harwood, as I live and breathe. You sly dog.” It was Roger Vine, a crony of his from Eton and Oxford. Looking Jennifer up and down in a most improper fashion, the stout squire demanded, “Introduce me to the fair incognita.”

“Roger!” The duke shook his old friend’s hand, but hastily disabused him of any mistaken notions as to Jennifer’s class. “This is Jennifer Silverton, daughter of the late Viscount Cornwall.”

“Ah, yes.” Roger lifted a quizzing glass ostentatiously. “Heard she was a beauty, like her mother. Never thought to hear of you robbing the cradle, but looking at her, I can see why you couldn’t resist.”

Jennifer gave Vine a graceful curtsy and looked at Harwood for direction.

The duke was embarrassed by the man’s lascivious look. Denial was on the tip of his tongue, but he had promised Deborah. And besides, Roger was just the sort of gossip who would see that news was put about that he was courting Jennifer.

So instead, the duke patted Jennifer’s hand, tucked it under his arm, and with a curt “Quite so,” excused themselves, as the dance was about to begin.

“Going to marry a breeder after all, Justin? Young Andrew not shaping up as you would like? Well, can’t blame you. A man likes to sire his own heir, especially with such a delicious young morsel for a dam, eh?”

Wondering why he had ever made friends with such a crude man, the duke whisked Jennifer out of earshot of Roger’s suggestive speculations.

Jennifer reported the entire evening in detail to her mother, including the duke’s embarrassment and her own sense of unease at putting him in such a position. Deborah was distressed to find she had caused Harwood to become the object of jests and sly innuendoes.

***

The day of the planned trip to Richmond dawned fair and warm, but blustery. As a result, plans to drive out in the young men’s curricles were put aside in favor of closed carriages. There was some obvious tension between Justin and Deborah in the Duke of Harwood’s carriage, but Jennifer and Sarah’s lively spirits soon dispelled it.

“I have the perfect idea. Let us play Twenty Questions,” Sarah suggested. “And let the object be, something we can typically see from our carriage window.”

“Let me be first,” Jennifer begged, giving an eager little bounce on the carriage seat. “I already have something in mind!” They quickly drew the two adults into the game, which kept them all well occupied until they arrived at their rendezvous at the Star and Garter.

There they found that Lord Eberlin had modified their plans a little because of the wind, which continued to erupt in strong gusts.

“No pleasure in fighting tablecloths or eating dirt,” he asserted. “I’ve taken a large dining room. The innkeeper and my servants are setting it up now.”

Once they were all assembled, about twenty guests were found to have accepted Lord Eberlin’s hospitality. The indoor picnic featuring a wide array of delicacies took the better part of two hours to consume, and by the time they were finished, all the guests were in agreement that some exercise was just what was required to aid the digestion.

The hilly promenades around the Star and Garter challenged several of the young couples to try to climb higher, the better to admire the picture the Thames made coiling through the valley below.

The duke offered his arm to Deborah as their children, accompanied by their escorts Henry Fortesque and Gilbert, Lord Threlbourne, joined a noisy coterie in making the climb. Alexander and Anna-Marie were in this group, but Sarah appeared to take no notice of them. She seemed to be entirely absorbed in conversation with Henry.

The knot of young people drifted ahead of their chaperones, chattering gaily about the day and quizzing each other as they climbed a steep path to the next rise.

Justin and Deborah walked in silence. Justin was grateful that Jennifer already had an escort today, so that he wasn’t required to spend his time with her. Even silent and embarrassed, Deborah’s company was what he craved.

The two were startled when the front ranks of the young people ahead of them suddenly broke and milled about for a few seconds, peculiar exclamations hinting at something extraordinary on the rise above. Then they beat a hasty retreat back along the path.

“What’s wrong?” Deborah asked, noting her daughter’s abashed countenance.

Gilbert, his face as red as his hair, stammered out, “Someone’s up there, ma’am, ah . . . two someones, having a picnic on the height.”