Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (2 page)

London
Before the Season
March 1818

M
Y DEARS, STOP
chatting or you will miss everything! The Duke of Meryon has arrived.”

A group of the ton’s finest gossips clustered near the entrance to Mrs. Harbison’s ballroom. Something interesting had happened.

“Meryon is here?”

“Where?”

“He looks like he’s still in mourning.”

They paused as one as they considered that even without a smile the Duke of Meryon was worth watching.

“Poor Rowena.”

“It has been every bit of a year.”

“Is this his first social outing since she died?”

“What else would he do of an evening?” one of the dim-witted asked.

The ladies laughed at her naïveté. The gentlemen added gruff chuckles and considering glances.

“How long before he marries again?”

“He has an heir. Why would he marry again?”

The whispers bit into Meryon like the tip of a sword, reminding him that his wife’s death had changed his world forever. But these very gossips were the reason he was here tonight.

“Those women are idiots.” His hostess tried to steer him away from the crush of people, her too-tight grip a measure of her indignation.

Meryon halted their progress and bowed over her hand. “Nevertheless, I will speak with them.”

Letty Harbison took his arm again. “You will not speak to them alone, Your Grace.”

“I can handle The Gossips.” He smiled down at her. “I have plenty of experience with backbiting in the House of Lords.”

“But this is my house, Meryon, and I want to hear every word.”

He laughed out loud and could not recall the last time he had. “What a delight you are, Letty. Does Harbison know how lucky he is?”

She tapped his hand with her fan and faced The Gossips, assuming a look that Meryon could only describe as condescending.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Your Grace, I am sure you have met
all these people.”
He would not laugh. She had neatly insulted them and they had not even noticed, thrilled to have a duke in their midst.

Mrs. Harbison turned to him, including the others in their conversation. “I am so happy to see you among the ton again, Your Grace.”

“Oh yes,” one of the ladies echoed. “I know it has been a difficult year for you.”

“And for all of Rowena’s friends,” another added.

“But having you with us will remind us of what we loved most about her.”

“That she was a duchess?” He raised his eyebrows and smiled to cut his insult.

The wisest of The Gossips laughed. “Of course not, Meryon. We loved her because she made you happy.”

“Yes, she did,” he said, smiling at the memory, impressed with this one woman’s insight.

A long silence followed. Meryon waited it out, squeezing Mrs. Harbison’s arm when she would have spoken. The Gossips would not abandon their place by the door but seemed at a loss for words with one of their favorite subjects in their midst.

Meryon waited until they were nervous with embarrassment and then offered his tidbit of news. “Does anyone know why the Duke of Bendas’s grandson has taken rooms at Albany this Season?”

The Gossips fell on the question like hungry kittens, discussing the subject with such enthusiasm that the casual listener would think they actually knew the answer. When the ladies began to speculate on whether Lord William would ever marry, one of the gentlemen brought up the subject Meryon had waited for.

“Have you seen the Rowlandson cartoon of the Duke of Bendas, Your Grace?”

“Bendas? In a cartoon?” Of course he had seen it. He’d sent his coachman to Rowlandson with the story. Meryon’s task had been to find a way to have everyone talk about it. This group would make that happen.

“You should see it, Your Grace. It shows Bendas blindfolded and with rags in his ears while fighting a duel in which he shoots the wrong person.”

The group sprinkled the story with dismay and relish and gobbled it up.

“Rowlandson ridiculed a duke?”

“No one is off-limits to the cartoonists. Look what they have done to Prinny.”

Meryon listened.

“But Bendas is so powerful, so formidable.”

“He is so insistent upon being shown the proper deference.”

“That’s what makes it so delicious. I must find a copy.”

“My husband will have to add it to his collection.”

“It does give credence to that rumor of a duel.”

“I suppose that a duel could be the reason that his grandson is not staying with the family?” Meryon asked.

The gaggle stopped chattering.

Before any one of them was brave enough to ask if the rumored duel was true, Meryon bowed to them, offered Mrs. Harbison his arm, and withdrew. The chatter began again, busily weaving a story worthy of the Minerva Press.

“Bendas was in a duel? That’s shocking, Meryon. Are you not appalled?”

“Appalled, but not surprised. Bendas thinks he is a
demigod, if not a god. He is old and failing and has convinced himself that his rank sets him apart from the laws of man.”

“But who would challenge a duke?”

Meryon thought about his answer. “Someone with a good reason.”

“I cannot believe it, Meryon.”

“It happened. And Bendas’s bullet killed an innocent boy.”

“Dear God, that is awful. You know this for a fact?”

“That question, Letty, is why I find your conversation infinitely more tolerable than that of The Gossips. And yes, I know it for a fact.”

“But I invited Bendas tonight. I hope he does not come. Surely he feels some regret?”

“None,” Meryon said sharply. “He as much as said that women and servants exist to do his bidding and have no value beyond that.”

“My God, Meryon.” She stopped their progress to confront him. “How do you know all these details?”

He could see she had almost guessed. “Because I’m the one who challenged him. The one he meant to kill.”

Mrs. Harbison raised a hand to cover her mouth, agape at the admission. Her eyes were wide with shock. “Meryon! You challenged him to a duel? Why?” She waved her hand in front of her face. “No, I did not ask that. I promise you I will tell no one.”

“Thank you, Letty, but the duel, if not the reason, will be common knowledge soon enough.” Meryon glanced back at The Gossips, who had most likely begun to ask that question among themselves.

“No one will hear it from me!” With that, she composed herself and they began to move through the crowd with endless curtsies and bows.

Meryon sighed gently. Well, he had accomplished what he came to do, but to leave so abruptly would distract The Gossips from their discussion of Bendas, so he allowed Letty to escort him around the room.

“Meryon!” Jack Forbes greeted him with a bow and a clap on the back. “Good to see a familiar face. I’ve been in Scotland for near on two years. The weather was foul but the fishing was superb. How’s the winter here?”

“The duke has recently returned from France, Mr. Forbes.”

“Bet the duchess made you buy her a dozen dresses, eh?”

Mrs. Harbison froze. Meryon made himself relax his fisted hand and hoped it seemed that he could answer the question as easily as any other. “Jack, I am sorry to embarrass you, but Rowena died more than a year ago.” He spoke very quietly, stepping closer to this longtime acquaintance.

“Oh, my God, Meryon, I am sorry. She was a sweet lady and I am ten times a fool. I must start reading the paper.” Forbes bowed, his expression stricken, as he backed into the crowd.

“I am so sorry, Meryon.”

“No apology is necessary, Letty. I expect it.”

“That no one remembers their manners?” She was annoyed, but then laughed a little. “Of course we have no manners when something
interesting
happens.”

“What empty lives they lead if my return to the social scene excites more than passing interest.”

“Duke or not you would be noticed.” She tapped his arm with her fan again, which was as close to flirting as her husband would tolerate. “Tall and good-looking never goes unremarked. But add a dukedom to those good looks and you become as fascinating as …” Mrs. Harbison paused to try to come up with an appropriate example.

“As fascinating as a three-eyed horse,” Meryon finished for her.

She laughed out loud and people nearby turned to look at them. Letty Harbison pressed her lips together and swallowed the rest of her laughter. “More fascinating than a gamester on a winning streak.”

She closed her fan and held out her arm. “Please do invite me to dance, Your Grace. You are the most charming of partners. Is it all that fencing that makes you so elegant when you dance?”

He led her to the dance floor, well aware that the Harbisons’ ball was not much more than a training ground for the Season’s endless soirees. As he moved through the reel his partners blushed, tripped, and counted the steps out loud, and several would not even look up at him.

Meryon found if he smiled they grew even more confused, except for the one bolder than the others. With a seductive look she brushed too close. She could not have been more than seventeen, but when they passed again she whispered, “I can make you happy, Your Grace.”

It said something about his age, or the fact that he had a baby daughter, that his surprise mixed with sympathy for her parents.

By the time the set ended, and he bowed to Mrs. Harbison one last time, he felt he had done his duty. He said as much to Letty and she nodded. “Yes, any more time on the dance floor would find The Gossips speculating about which young lady has caught your interest.”

Before he could answer he could see she was distracted by something in the hall.

“If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I must welcome this guest personally. It is her first social event since coming to England after the death of her husband. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.” Meryon bowed. “Thank you for the dance.”

The orchestra began the next set with a waltz and Meryon watched several couples take to the floor. He added the waltz to the list of a dozen selfish reasons why he missed Rowena. She had liked to dance as much as he did. He had noticed it the night they met. Their delight in dancing together had never faded.

Grief swamped him without warning. His eyes filled and he knew he must find a quiet spot for a moment. If The Gossips saw his eyes water they would talk about it for days.

Meryon went down the nearest passage. The sounds of the waltz faded and the air grew less cloying.

The first door he opened was filled with card players. He raised a hand to the group, but they barely noticed him.

He found a quiet spot on his second try. The dark room was well aired, with an underlying scent of lemon oil polish, which was all he wanted for company.

Avoiding the furniture, little more than hulking shapes in the dark, Meryon found a chair near a fire screen that hid the empty grate. He sat down, relieved beyond reason.

These days his life was equal parts a search for justice and the burden of sorrow, with only the children for relief from his dark thoughts.

Settling into the comfort of the velvet-covered chair, Meryon stared at the embroidered fire screen and did his best to make his mind a blank.

Minutes passed in a haze of memories that he pushed out of his mind as soon as they appeared. His brothers’ silence, knowing no words that could console him. His sister’s sadness even once she was beyond tears. Michael Garrett’s words, so atypical of the vicar he was: “God is a puzzle to me in this and faith is a weak comfort.”

The children. He curled his hand into a tight fist. Rexton’s constant “Where is Mama?” despite being content enough with his nurse. Alicia’s crying as though she knew Mama was gone, inconsolable for days.

All those months in France had done no more than delay a grief that he had been unwilling to face. He’d filled his days with artists, diplomats, government officials, and the occasional visit to the demimonde of Paris.

Tonight proved that time and distance had not enabled him to forget what he’d lost.
Rowena
.

Do not think of her. Do not let the memories in
. Even as he commanded it, he remembered one night: Rowena wearing her favorite golden evening frock, asking him to be sure that her glorious pearl necklace was fastened securely.

Burying the memories, he crushed them into a tight ball that settled near the stone-cold place he called his heart.

Meryon stood up. He would find Letty Harbison, give her his thanks, go home to Penn House. The children would already be abed but he could work on his bill for Parliament. He should start on the wording, list those likely to support it, and examine the calendar for a likely opening for the first reading.

He would also see what his secretary had unearthed about Bendas and if John Coachman had anything to report after this week of spying on the old fool.

When he was halfway to the door, someone opened it from the other side. Stepping close to the wall, out of sight, Meryon remained perfectly still, annoyed that even here he could not find privacy.

Surely they will not stay when they see a dark room. Unless it’s a couple looking for a quiet spot
.