The Duke Diaries (7 page)

“Perfect,” Mary replied, her eyes sparkling with humor. “We are going to query every gentleman we dance with or talk to tomorrow night and every day and night during the next fortnight. If any of them answer all these questions correctly, we will agree to marry them on the spot. Agreed?”

Verity shook her head. “You cannot be serious. Let me see.” She read the first question and exploded with laughter.

1. Do you have a secret love child?

Chapter 5

R
ory entered the Talmadge manor house near Dovedale Wednesday evening at precisely one-half hour past the appointed time. He would have arrived far later, if at all, had it not been for the matter at hand—forcing Verity’s hand.

She was proving to be damnably difficult to govern. He should have known. Was there a Fitzroy in the last five hundred years who had not been stubborn? He very much doubted it.

But he wasn’t used to the trait in a female. Coquetry, fickleness, a love of flattery, and everything that sparkled was what most ladies were made of. Verity appeared just the opposite. She was outspoken, honest, practical, and very amusing. He liked her.

For the first time in his life he wasn’t certain how to proceed even if he knew he would win in the end.

At least when she agreed to his proposal, his conscience would be less heavy and he could attend his appointment with death if Candover refused to accept his apology for harming his sister and . . . Catharine. Rory had meted out his own punishment for his unspeakable actions toward Catharine fourteen years ago; he had become a cog in the war between England and France. But he knew Candover would never forgive him. And so Rory had prepared himself to face death long ago. Who would have guessed it would take so many years to be served his dish . . . and that it would suddenly become far less appealing than it had been fourteen years ago?

He tugged at the neckcloth Towareq had spent so much bloody time arranging this evening. God, he just needed more air. At least he had managed to time it right. The Talmadges had stopped receiving and everyone was already in the ballroom when a liveried servant bowed and motioned him into the chamber he knew well from so long ago.

It was the same glittering scene of many a year gone by. Magnificent crystal chandeliers above shone reflected light from dozens of candles. The intricate gold leaf panels on the walls framed bucolic scenes from the last era of powdered and bewigged ladies and lords dancing, picnicking, and children swinging. The domed ceiling, painted by Laguerre, featured the Virtues and Vices in glorified battle. It captured the essence of the scene below perfectly.

Rory examined the people in the elegant chamber under hooded eyes. Conversation abruptly stopped and all eyes turned toward him.

He finally spotted Lady V. She had dared to refuse to see him yesterday when he came to call on her at Boxwood. He took one step toward her when Miss Phoebe Talmadge hurried to block his path.

“Your Grace,” she said with a deep curtsy. “You are just in time. The music is about to begin and, let’s see . . .” She glanced at the card attached at her wrist with a gold ribbon that matched her shimmering gown, which matched her gleaming hair held high with gold combs. “Yes, I remember. You are my first partner.”

And this was merely the beginning of the evening designed in hell. The notes of a waltz wafted from the musicians perched in the balcony.

Lord, it was like holding Catharine. Phoebe Talmadge was the exact height as her dead sister. His arm fell on the same waist, and his gaze fell on the same intensely cornflower blue eyes filled with farouche mystery. “How old are you?”

She smiled and his gut clenched. There was the same sense of unruliness in her expression.

“How perfectly rude, Your Grace. I should like to tell you, but I shall have to do it in private for there are far too many people staring at us.”

He looked away to negotiate the edge of the ballroom only to see his future bride—he winced at even thinking the word—yes, his
bride
entering the dance just ahead of him with a prematurely balding and bespectacled young gentleman. Why wasn’t she dancing with young Talmadge? Rory increased the length of his stride to draw closer.

“Did your brother ask Lady Verity Fitzroy for the first set as we discussed?”

“Of course he did. My brother and I always honor our commitments, Your Grace.”

“Good.” His gaze tracked Verity and her partner.

She continued for his ears only, “I’m very unlike my sister in that way.”

His attention swiveled to the beautiful Miss Talmadge. “Sorry?”

“I’ve been described as virtually identical to Catharine in figure, form, and every manner. I loved her, and still pine for her just like
everyone
who knew her,” she whispered the last. “But where she was reckless and fickle, I’m quite the opposite, you see.”

“I do see,” he replied and pulled her closer.
Indecently closer
. “But the very thing most appealing about Catharine was her recklessness and her divine fickle nature. We were two of a kind, I fear.”

Phoebe laughed. “I suppose this is the best moment to confess that while my brother did indeed request the first set with Lady Fitzroy, she replied that she was old enough to be his mother and that she did not want to start tongues wagging. She was very right in her thinking, I believe. But what do
you
think?”

He would not waste his time telling her what he thought. It required enough concentration just to follow the couple in front of them. He didn’t even notice the babble coming from her pretty face until she disengaged her hand from his shoulder and grasped his chin to draw his attention toward her.

“You are quite provoking me, Your Grace.”

“How so?”

“I will tell you if you take your eyes off the other guests and look at me.”

It was what he least wanted to do. He reluctantly diverted his gaze from Verity and her very ordinary-looking partner in the dance and looked down at Phoebe’s eyes, lips, upturned nose, and blond hair done up in the exact same fashion Catharine had employed and he had memorized all those years ago.

“Thank you,” she said coyly. “Now what I was saying . . .”

He had trained his eyes and ears to pick up conversations at great distances during his stint with Wellington. It had served him well. What in hell was Verity saying now?

“Lord Villiers, I’m so sorry to beleaguer you with so many questions, but I do believe it will expedite our acquaintance, you see. You are very free to ask me anything you like in return.” She did not stop to see if he had anything to ask. Instead she plowed forward. “So, no mistresses or love children and no relations living with you. And did you love your mother while she lived?”

“Owwww!” Phoebe Talmadge cried out as Rory mistakenly put his full weight on her tiny foot.

She sounded like a cat in heat, was his first unkind thought. “Oh, my dear Miss Talmadge. Do allow me to apologize.” He escorted her as she limped to the edge of the dance floor.

“You must carry me to the front salon.” She pouted. “I do believe you’ve broken all of the toes on my left foot, Your Grace.”

“Allow me to fetch your brother or a footman.”

“No,” she insisted. “It’s only fair that you take me since it’s your fault.”

Catharine would never have behaved in such a wholly childish fashion. Surely, not.
Maybe
. He sighed heavily. “Oh, all right.” He leaned down and captured her under her knees and her arms. She immediately placed her arms about his neck.

A hundred pair of eyes drifted in their direction along with a few calls of concern.

“Just a few bruised toes,” he said loudly to anyone who would listen.

Not a moment after he deposited Phoebe Talmadge on the striped satin divan with a scrolled Egyptian arm on one side, Mary Haverty rushed inside.

“Oh my dearest Miss Talmadge. I’ve arranged for your maid. Shall we not call the apothecary? And you, Your Grace—”

He really could have kissed Mary for this. Her beauty was such that men lost their heads by the dozen, exhibiting advanced signs of lovesickness, penning atrocious odes to her eyes, and arranging deliveries of hothouse flowers by the carriage load. And yet? Rory had never been attracted to her. There was a sisterly quality to her.

“Yes, Lady Haverty?”

“Do find Lady Fitzroy for me. She always has smelling salts, and we might require them if the bones have to be reset.”

Phoebe Talmadge nearly swooned in panic.

Perfect. “Back in a trace.”

Nothing could have made Rory happier than to tap the shoulder of the gentleman who had stolen his rightful space on Verity’s dance card, dangling from her slender wrist.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, her nose rising in the air.

“No, I must beg yours,” he retorted dryly. “You’re needed in the salon. Or your smelling salts are needed.”

“Oh.” Her mouth made a small round O. “In that case, Mr. Findley, would you be offended if we resume our conversation between the—” She examined the card on her wrist. “Hmmm, shall we say between the third and the fourth set?”

“It would be an honor, Lady Fitzroy. And by the by, the answers to your questions are that I am neither a gambler nor a rake, and no, I am not in love with another female at this moment.”

What in hell
? He nearly dragged Verity out of the ballroom, amid much whispers all around. She wrenched away from him a few feet from the double doors leading out of the ballroom. He glared at her, before he realized she was merely fetching her reticule, which was as ugly as her singularly unappealing trio of ostrich feathers in a turban that made her appear twice as old as she was. Why did petite ladies mistakenly think that hideous, sneeze-inducing bird plumage would make them appear taller?

Beyond the doors, he pulled her into a private alcove, with two palms in front of it.

“What in hell are you doing?” The back of his neck itched and he scratched it.

“I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“Why were you asking that buffoon those provoking questions?”

“He didn’t seem to find the questions provoking at all. In fact, he immediately agreed that my method of discerning a gentleman’s true character was a capital idea.” She tilted her head. “I find docility in a man quite novel and charming.”

“And what method is this?”

“A series of questions designed to learn if a man would be an ideal candidate for a husband or not.”

“This was Mary Haverty’s idea, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps,” she said airily. “But, actually, I found the original questions a bit mild. The ones I added are far more interesting.”

“Let me see the list.”

She blinked. “I left it at Boxwood.”

“Liar.”

“Bully.”

He reached for her reticule and before she could stop him he extracted a card and held it over his head as she reached for it. “Stop. The footman will think there are wild animals in here if you disturb the palm fronds any further. On second thought—” He withdrew her smelling salts and emerged from the alcove with his firm grip on her arm while he motioned to the liveried footman. “You there, young man. Deliver these salts to Lady Haverty in the salon across from the ballroom.”

Rory then quickly led Verity through the main hall and past the gilded entrance toward the stand of birch trees threaded with lanterns on the side of the elegant stone mansion. “Now, then.” He finally looked at her list of questions.

She pulled her arm from his grasp and snorted in frustration. “Go ahead. Read it. Why should I care a whit what you think?”

In the lantern light, he scanned the card and immediately almost choked. “You will be the laughingstock.” He began to read the list aloud. “ ‘Do you like children? How many children would you propose to have? What do you do with your time? Are you opposed to ladies riding astride? What do you suppose servants call you behind your back? Are you in love with anyone? Any mistress? Gambler? Rake? Which of your relations live with you? Do you love your mother? Have you ever tortured or killed small animals for pleasure? Do you believe in the superiority of the female mind?’ And lastly—Oh, dear God,” he paused to regain his breath. “Tell me you did not ask any gentleman this question.”

“Which one?”

“The one that says: ‘Would you be opposed to allowing me full control of my dowry with the understanding that your
pin money
would be at least five thousand a year?’ ”

“Of course. So far all the gentlemen I’ve queried thought the sum more than adequate.”

“How do you know they’re not all lying through their teeth?”

“Why, they’re so shocked when I begin the rapid-fire questions that any fool could discern if they were lying. It’s amazing how strong the male urge is to be polite toward a lady. You being the exception, of course.”

He refrained from responding if only to prove her wrong. “And just how many gentlemen have you asked these questions of?”

“Hmmm, five or six I believe.”

“But the ball only just started.”

“You were late. Don’t worry, rakes are always late. Then again, it means nothing to me as rakes are off my list, as you can see. But we can still be great friends, if you are feeling up to the challenge of friendship finally.”

“This is not how the daughter and sister of a duke is supposed to behave.”

“You would know given the number of these sorts of ladies you’ve seduced.”

“Absolutely. Wait, how would you know anything about . . . Damnation, this is beyond idiotic. I am far more eligible than any of these country bumpkins.”