The Unexpected Duchess (4 page)

“As a matter of fact—” Garrett began.

“She’ll just have to memorize them, that’s all,” Lucy interrupted.

Cass pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Memorize them? Oh, no. I’m afraid I cannot.” She took the parchment from Lucy’s grasp and eyed the first few lines. “Lucy, I’ll never be able to remember all this—and even if I did, I’d be too shy to say it.”

Garrett gave Lucy an I-told-you-so stare. “There, you see. You cannot go putting words in Cassandra’s mouth.”

Lucy plucked the paper back. “What’s wrong with this?” She cleared her throat, reading the first paragraph. “‘While I’m certain there are scores of ninnies who would fall all over themselves at the slightest crook of your ducal finger, I do not happen to be one of them. I believe I’ve made myself exceedingly clear on the point and must wonder what they taught you in your military schools because it appears understanding the King’s English isn’t among your varied talents, whatever
those
may be.’”

Garrett gave Lucy a long-suffering stare. “Honestly?
Must
I tell you what’s wrong with that?”

“I quite like it,” Jane added, not taking her eyes from the page she was reading. “Perhaps a bit too long for my taste but clear enough.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes at Jane. “Of course
you
like it. If provided a quill you’d most likely write something far worse.”

Jane snorted. “Something far worse? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you like it because I don’t. I swear if I claimed the world was round you’d say it was flat merely to be contrary,” Garrett replied.

“You give yourself
far
too much credit, Upton. It makes me question—”

Garrett opened his mouth to speak. This time Cass stopped him.

“Oh, Lucy, you must know I couldn’t possibly say that to the duke,” Cass said, her cheeks bright pink.

“Why not?” Lucy asked.

“For one thing, it’s terribly rude,” Cass replied.

“Not to mention I doubt the duke would believe that Cassandra came up with that on her own, even if she could memorize all of it,” Garrett added.

“And I know I’ll never be able to memorize all of
that
.” Cass gestured to the paper.

“I don’t see why not,” Lucy replied. “Just think of it like one of our beloved plays. Pretend you’re an actress.”

Cass’s eyes went wide. “An actress! Why, Mama would lock me in my bedchamber for a week if she knew what we’re up to.”

Lucy tossed a frustrated hand in the air. “Who cares what your mama—?”

“Read another, Lucy,” Jane requested. “Perhaps a shorter one, easier to remember.”

“Very well.” Lucy sat up straight and scanned the page. She flipped to the next. “How about this? ‘Sir Duke, I regret to inform you that I am otherwise occupied tomorrow and the next day and the next. I am engaged every day upon which you might inquire as to my availability. In fact I am feeling a trifle under the weather at present and hope you will retrieve your hat and gloves with all due haste and remove yourself and your equine companion from this address.’” She finished with a firm nod of her head.

Jane arched a dark brow. “
That
was shorter?”

“It was every bit as rude,” Garrett added, shaking his head.

“Lucy, I would never say something like
that
.” Cass tugged on her gloves. “It’s just too mean.”

Lucy tossed a hand in the air again. “Mean? Mean? Cass, the man is trying to court you and refuses to take no for an answer and you’re worried about being mean?”

Garrett gazed at Lucy skeptically. “How do you know Claringdon won’t take no for an answer? I knew him several years ago in the army, long before he was a lieutenant general, of course. He seemed a reasonable chap to me.”

Lucy turned to her cousin and gave him an exasperated look. “You weren’t there last night, Garrett. Tell him, Cass.”

Cass swallowed and peered around Lucy to address Garrett. “He did seem quite determined.”

Jane nodded. “I agree with Lucy. He was rather unwilling to hear the word
no
. You may just have to be a bit more forceful, Cass.”

Garrett gave Jane a smug smile. “Oh, and I suppose you would memorize such a speech and have no trouble rattling it off.”

Jane turned her attention back to her book. “I don’t need to memorize anything. I’ve become quite proficient telling off pesky gentlemen from dealing with
you
through the years, Upton.”

Before Garrett had a chance to reply to that barb, Cass grabbed Lucy’s hand. “Oh, Lucy. I cannot memorize those words.”

“Of course you can, Cass,” Lucy said.

Cass bit her lip. Her eyes were wide as inkpots as she stared at Lucy. “Promise me you’ll come over this afternoon and be there when he pays his call.”

Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her slipper on the carpet. “Oh, I’ll be there all right. Whether the duke likes it or not.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Derek scrubbed his hands through his hair, pushed back his chair, and stood up from the large oak desk in the study of his new town house. He paced over to the large windows that overlooked the street and braced one hand against the wall. Damn it. The reports delivered from the War Office this morning didn’t look good. Not good at all.

Not only was there no news of Swift’s condition—the last Derek had heard, Swift had been taken to a makeshift hospital outside Brussels—but there was no news of Donald or Rafe, either. Donald, Swift’s older brother, was the Earl of Swifdon. He was also a spy for the Crown and had been in Brussels just before the last battle. He and Rafe, Captain Rafferty Cavendish, had been assigned to a highly secret and highly dangerous mission to spy on the French line as it advanced toward Brussels. Neither man had been heard from since. According to this morning’s reports, they were both presumed dead.

Derek clenched his fist against the wall. Damn. Damn. Damn. He was completely bloody useless here, standing in an overly decorated town house in Mayfair. He belonged on the trail on the Continent, searching for his friends, seeing to Swift, helping ease his friend’s last days on earth however he could. But his orders had been clear. Return to London immediately and play the part of the victorious new nobleman. The country needed a celebration, apparently, and Derek’s presence in the ballrooms of London was meant to give them their hero.

And he hated every moment of it. This town house. This life. It wasn’t for him. He’d never aspired to be a duke. And he’d had no preparation for it.
Return to London, you’re a duke now
had been about the extent of Wellington’s orders.

He might be stuck in London, but he would use his prized decisiveness to do what he could to help his friends. He sat back down at his desk, pulled out a sheaf of parchment, and plucked a quill from the inkpot. He had some ideas. Places where Swifdon and Rafe may be holed up if they’d been injured or forced to hide. Derek had to get someone from the War Office to listen.

He had to find Swifdon and Rafe. That much was certain. If Swift was dying, Derek couldn’t allow Donald and Rafe to die, too. No. He wouldn’t allow it.

He finished writing his list for the War Office and signed and sanded the parchment, then heated his new ducal wax seal over a nearby candle and sealed the paper closed. He rang for a footman to bring the missive round to the War Office posthaste.

He’d done all he could do for his friends for now. In the meantime, he would continue with his pursuit of Lady Cassandra. That was something he could do for Swift. Compared with the horror of war and the torture of not knowing the fate of his friends, how difficult could a bit of courtship be?

CHAPTER SIX

When Derek was ushered into Lady Cassandra’s drawing room, he got the distinct impression that the entire household had lost its collective mind. The butler stammered, the housemaids ran into each other, and the two footmen nearly tripped him in the corridor. Apparently, a duke received a much different level of service than a lieutenant general did. If he was still becoming accustomed to his new title himself, it certainly didn’t help matters to have an entire household staff scurrying about as if the prince regent himself were paying them a visit.

“His Grace, the Duke of Claringdon,” the butler intoned, ushering Derek into the drawing room.

Derek grimaced. How long would it be until he heard that title and actually thought of himself?

“What is your name, my good man?” Derek asked the butler.

“Shakespierre,” the man replied with a completely straight face.

Derek did a double take. “Shakespeare?”

“No, Shakespierre, Your Grace. It’s French.”

The butler took his leave, and Derek shook his head. That wasn’t French. Yes, he was in a strange house to be certain. He turned his attention back to the room at large.

Lady Cassandra sat perched upon a cream-colored settee like a pretty doll. Her blond hair was piled atop her head, and she wore a pink gown that complemented her bright blue eyes. Eyes that watched him carefully, almost fearfully. Good God, the chit was frightened of him. He’d have to overcome that before he asked for her hand.

A sharp movement across the room caught his eye, and a flash of pale yellow skirts revealed … Lady Lucy Upton.

“Your Grace,” Lady Lucy said before he’d even had a chance to greet Lady Cassandra. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Derek eyed the beauty up and down. A pity she was such a harridan, because the woman had a lush exotic look to her tilted eyes, dark shiny hair, high cheekbones, and full lips that nearly begged for a man to kiss them. Only he’d no doubt draw away bloody and bitten, he thought with a wry smile. Why Lady Cassandra insisted upon keeping Lady Lucy by her side, he would never understand, but apparently Lady Lucy was the price Derek must pay for Lady Cassandra’s company. So be it. If he couldn’t handle one little spoiled Society miss, he wasn’t worth his salt.

“I came to pay a visit to
Lady Cassandra
,” he replied with a tight smile.

“Please, have a seat.” Lady Lucy gestured to the chairs across the room and blinked her long, sooty eyelashes at him.

“Y … yes,” Lady Cassandra echoed softly. The poor young woman looked as if she were about to bolt at any moment, like a soldier caught stealing rations.

Derek strode over to a chair near the settee where Lady Cassandra perched. He waited for the prim Lady Lucy to flounce over and take a seat before he took one himself. Ah, the aristocracy and their tiny fancy chairs. A man his size was likely to break it to bits. He shifted uncomfortably and pointedly ignored Lady Lucy.

“I trust you are well today, Lady Cassandra,” he said.

Lady Cassandra nodded. “Oh, yes. I’m quite well. How are you”—she cleared her throat—“Your Grace?”

“Excellent. And how are your mother and your father?”

“Both quite well also, thank you. Mother is out paying afternoon calls and Father is at his club.”

Derek nodded. Lady Lucy was sitting at an angle behind him where he couldn’t see her face but he got the distinct impression, from the many times Lady Cassandra’s eyes flitted over to look at her friend, that she was somehow feeding her information. She was like a bloody spy from the War Office, that woman.

“Not too tired from the festivities last evening, I presume?” he asked.

Lady Cassandra’s eyes flitted over to Lady Lucy. “No. Not at all.”

Derek gritted his teeth and shifted in his ridiculously small seat. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”

Another quick glance toward Lady Lucy. “Oh, I … um. That is to say, we…”

“We’re having a look at the shops,” Lady Lucy announced from behind him. “Quite busy today. Quite.”

Lady Cassandra looked a bit relieved to have been spared the need to answer the question.

“And what about tomorrow afternoon?” he asked Lady Cassandra, but his entire attention was attuned to the little minx behind him.

Again, Lady Cassandra looked to Lady Lucy for her cue. “I … we…”

“Quite busy tomorrow afternoon as well,” Lady Lucy interjected.

That did it. Derek stood, lifted his chair with ease, and placed it at an angle where he could see both of them properly. “Seems I’m addressing my remarks to the wrong lady.”

Lady Cassandra’s hand flew to her throat. Lady Lucy’s unusual eyes lit with fire, and she stared down her haughty little nose at him. “I don’t know what you mean.” She blinked innocently.

“Don’t you?” He arched a brow at her.

Lady Lucy shrugged. “You’ve asked after our plans and we’ve told you.”

He gritted his teeth. “I asked after
Lady Cassandra’s
plans and you’ve answered for her.”

Lady Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down. “I’m Lady Cassandra’s chaperone.”

“Oh, really? An unmarried female acting as a chaperone?” he retorted.

“Yes. I’m eminently qualified,” Lady Lucy replied.

“That I doubt.” Another tight smile from him.

Lady Lucy nearly came out of her chair. “How dare you?”

“Oh, I dare quite easily, my lady. What I don’t understand is why you insist upon acting as if—”

A small, ladylike throat-clearing interrupted them. Lady Cassandra’s attempt to get the two of them to stop arguing, no doubt. He turned his head to face her. “My apologies, my lady.”

“What are your plans for the afternoon, Your Grace?” Lady Cassandra ventured.

“Seeing as how you’re already occupied, I may ride out to Huntingdon and see the new estate.”

“The estate that was endowed upon you with your title?” Lady Cassandra asked.

“Yes, seems I’m a landowner now,” Derek replied.

“You might want to get under way as soon as possible,” Lady Lucy offered. “It’s quite a journey from here, is it not?”

“Ready for me to take my leave, my lady?” He eyed her with suspicion.

She innocently batted her long lashes at him again. “I meant no such thing. That would be
rude
.”

“Ah, yes, and you’ve no experience in that quarter, do you?” he replied tersely.