The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (10 page)

“You’re blushing,” Rose accused. “You never blush.”

“The library’s musty. I feel a sneeze coming on.” She did a pathetic job of faking a sneeze.

Rose pursed her lips, a sign that her married brain was working up a plan. She began to slowly walk around Dillie.
Ugh!
She definitely had a plan in mind. “Have you seen Lord Ealing lately?”

The little pulse at the base of her throat began to throb. “Stop prowling around me.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.” She continued to circle her in a slow, deliberate manner that Dillie found most irritating.

“Yes, I saw Charles Ealing yesterday and will likely see him this evening at Lady Wakeford’s ball.” She wasn’t particularly looking forward to it, but couldn’t admit it to Rose. Everyone liked Charles. Her parents thought he was a perfect gentleman. She liked Charles, as well. She wished to like him more than she did. She wanted to fall in love with him and be in raptures when he proposed marriage.

However, he didn’t make her skin tingle or her heart skip beats. She didn’t think he would look very good naked. He was soft and lumpy.

Ian was hard and smooth.

She sighed. She had to stop thinking of Ian, for he could offer her nothing. As nice as he was at times, there was nothing to recommend him as a husband. Falling in love with Ian would condemn her to a life of loneliness and disappointment. And how would he be as a father? He’d been nice enough to Ivy the other day, but that required only a few moments of his time. How would he behave toward his own children? Would he bother with them at all?

Rose regained her attention by giving her a hug. “You let us know what you want, once you’ve figured it out for yourself. We’ll support you, whatever your decision.”

She returned Rose’s hug. “I wish it were that easy. I’d love to have what all of you have with your husbands, and I don’t simply mean marriage. You’ve all found love with the one partner in life who makes you happy, who believes in you and brings out the best in you, just as you bring out the best in him.”

Rose cast her an indulgent smile. “You’ll find it, Dillie.”

She drew away slightly and sighed again. “When?”

“You’re young still. It will happen. Don’t be so impatient.” But her smile slipped as she added, “If your heart leads you to the Duke of Edgeware, be careful. Learn all you can about him before daring to open your heart to him. It is a rare mother who hates her child as openly as the dowager duchess hates him. There must be a reason. Find out what it is as soon as possible.”

A GRAY MIST FELL
as Dillie stood on the steps in front of the Farthingale residence with Rose later that afternoon, watching Rose’s sleek carriage draw up to the townhouse gate. “I enjoyed our time together,” Dillie said, a little wistful as they hugged farewell. These visits were a rare pleasure, for Rose now had a thriving glassware business, a doting husband, and beautiful children who commanded her attention.

“Remember what I said about Edgeware,” Rose whispered before scrambling up the carriage steps and climbing in. She stuck her head out of the window as the carriage began to draw away. “I love you, Dillie!”

“Love you, too.” She grinned and tucked her shawl more securely about her shoulders to ward off the chill in the air and then glanced up at the sky again. The clouds were thickening. She sighed. This light mist would soon turn into a hard rain. She hoped it wouldn’t ruin Lady Wakeford’s ball this evening. She had been looking forward to it all week long. Her sisters, all of them save Lily, would be in attendance. Goodness, she missed them. It was no fun clattering about alone in this big house.

There was no help for it—she simply had to find herself a husband. How difficult could it be? She already had two men under consideration. The first was Charles Ealing, an amiable lord who genuinely seemed to like her. He had much to recommend him as well. The second was Ian Markham, who was not amiable in any way, and she didn’t know why he’d even slipped into her thoughts. He had no intention of ever marrying, didn’t want the complication of a wife.

So why was she thinking of him? The Chipping Way curse was stuff and nonsense. They weren’t destined to marry.

Goodness, the mere possibility made her shiver.

Dillie walked back inside. “Pruitt,” she said as the Farthingale butler hurried forward to close the front door, “where’s my mother?”

“Retired to her quarters for a nap. Your aunts have retired to their quarters as well, no doubt to refresh themselves before the Wakeford ball.”

“Where are my cousins? Sleeping as well?”

Pruitt rolled his eyes. “I doubt it. Last I saw of them, they were upstairs in the children’s quarters being read stories by their nannies. I hope these young ladies last longer than the pair they replaced.”

“I’m sure they will. The younger boys aren’t as wild as they were last year. They’re growing into little men, and Lizbeth has turned into quite the young lady.” She shook her head and let out a gentle laugh. “Amazingly, I’m sure they’ll be no problem.”

Pruitt nodded. “Truth be told, it is a little disconcerting to have the house so quiet. At first, I was afraid I was losing my hearing.”

She shook her head and laughed. “But you haven’t.” Then she turned serious, nibbling her lower lip in thought. Pruitt had been in the family since before she was born and knew her family better than anyone else. He was loyal, clever, and a good judge of character. Though he never voiced an opinion, he always seemed to be standing close by whenever one needed him. “Pruitt, what do you think of the Duke of Edgeware?”

His eyebrows arched upward, an obvious sign of his surprise. “It isn’t my place to say, Miss Dillie.”

“But say it anyway. Please, Pruitt. It’s important for me to know how you feel about him.”

“No,” he said, leveling a gentle, grandfatherly gaze on her. “What matters is how
you
feel about him. However, I can tell you that he isn’t the sort to steal the silverware.”

She frowned at him. “That isn’t very helpful. I know he’s honest. But what else is he?”

He shook his head and sighed. “You’ll have to ask him. However, I don’t think
he
knows the answer to that question yet.”

Dillie thanked him and walked off to retrieve the book she had been reading in the library. Her thoughts were as muddled as ever as she made her way upstairs and retired to her bedchamber. She wished someone had answers to give her. Her twin had always been the one she turned to for advice.

She missed Lily.

By eight o’clock that evening, she and her parents were stepping down from their carriage into the cool evening. They made their way slowly up the grand steps of the Wakeford townhouse in the queue of guests to be announced. The rain had swept through London hours ago, leaving a starry sky overhead and a cool, but dry, breeze.

The receiving line moved quickly. Either that or Dillie was more distracted than she realized. They soon entered the hall and Dillie took a moment to glance about while their names were called out. The Wakeford home was ablaze with light. There were long tapers dripping wax from a row of crystal chandeliers lining the ceiling. The flames from the tapers reflected off the crystal fixtures in glistening bursts of red and amber. More candles blazed in decorative sconces along the walls, casting the elegant Wakeford home in a warm, golden glow.

Ladies and gentlemen chatted and merrily greeted friends as they removed their wraps and handed them to waiting footmen. Dillie stood back a moment to take in the display of finery, the breathtaking shimmer of silks and satins on the women and the fine black coats worn by the men. She glanced down at her own attire. She wore ivory silk trimmed with a pale blue ribbon immediately below the bodice. Her gown was quite simple compared with some of the more lavish designs worn by the older ladies—no bows or ruffles, no intricate lacework to complicate the style.

Her jewelry was simple as well. A strand of pearls adorned her throat, the necklace a family heirloom. Every Farthingale girl was expected to wear it at some point during her debut season. Being a twin, she’d had to wait until now, for Lily was several minutes older and had been given the pleasure last season. In truth, it was less of a pleasure and more of an ordeal, for neither she nor her sisters ever wanted to be the one to lose those precious pearls, something that could easily happen during the mad crush of a
ton
party.

Her sister, Daisy, had actually lost the necklace once. Fortunately, Gabriel had found it for her, and none of the family elders had ever learned about the incident. Dillie closed her eyes and silently prayed that she’d make it through the evening without any mishaps. When she opened them a moment later, Charles Ealing stood before her. “Miss Farthingale, you’re looking as lovely as a gardenia blossom.”

She smiled back at him. She disliked gardenias almost as much as she disliked sardines, but Charles had no way of knowing that. He looked surprisingly handsome. The black of his formal jacket slimmed his slightly round frame, making him appear taller and less lumpy than usual.

“My cousin is visiting from Little Dorking. Do you know her? Lady Mary Abbott? She was widowed last year and has finally rejoined the living, so to speak. I’m duty bound to offer her the first dance, but will you save the second for me?”

She nodded. “That will be lovely.”

“Good. Good.” He bowed over her hand and made a hasty retreat to the opposite side of the ballroom where his family stood in wait for him. Among them was a delicately built blonde beauty who appeared to be searching the crowd for someone in particular. No doubt she was the widow, for Dillie recognized all the other members of his family.

Dillie craned her neck for a better view. She couldn’t see the Ealing family very well, for other guests kept getting in the way. However, she couldn’t help but notice the widow break into a beaming smile as a gentleman approached her.

Dillie’s heart sank. It was Ian.

Lady Mary was obviously pleased to see him, and her smile was in no way innocent. Foolishly, Dillie felt a small pang to her heart. Had she thought Ian would change his rakehell ways? Obviously, he had no intention of it.

“What matters is how the duke feels about her,” Rose said, reaching her side and drawing her away from their parents. “My, he looks handsome. But doesn’t he always? Anyway, that widow isn’t the sort to hold his attention for very long.”

“How do you know?” Dillie frowned at her. “You could be wrong.”

Rose grinned. “But I’m not. Look, he’s already moving away from her.”

“That signifies nothing. He’s probably arranged to meet her elsewhere and is now discreetly moving on.”

“Trust me, he isn’t going to meet her later. He isn’t interested in what she’s offering.” They hadn’t taken three steps before Rose began to unload more pearls of wisdom. Dillie hadn’t asked for her sister’s opinion; however, Rose was a Farthingale and therefore felt compelled to give it. “True, the widow is obviously moon-eyed over him, but look at the tension in his stance. Something’s troubling him. His mother, no doubt. I wonder if she’ll show up here this evening.”

Dillie shook her head. “I hope not.”

Rose let out a light, mirthless chuckle. “And Lady Withnall hopes she will. The tiny terror thrives on the misery of others. She adores ugly scenes. I’m sure the duke will slip away from the party if his mother does show up. He’d rather be thought of as a coward than ever allow their family troubles to be put on public display.” She paused to study Dillie. “Not that anyone would ever consider him a coward. He’s proved himself in battle. He can also be ruthless when pushed too far, so don’t you go running to his rescue. He doesn’t need your help. He doesn’t need anyone’s help.”

Dillie didn’t bother to reply since no response was necessary. However, she was grateful for the reminder about Ian. Rose’s words were painfully true. Ian didn’t need anyone. He didn’t want anyone to complicate his life.

He didn’t need or want her.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Charles has claimed the second dance. I had better write him into my dance card.”

“Who’s taking the first? Father?”

Dillie laughed. “No, his gout is acting up. Uncle George isn’t here yet, and our cousin William has already disappeared into the card room. I suppose you’ll have to keep me company in the meanwhile.”

Rose locked arms with her. “Good, I haven’t seen nearly enough of you lately. Gives us more time to find out about the duke’s mother.”

Dillie gazed at her in confusion. “You must be jesting. Didn’t you just warn me not to get involved in his family woes?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I warned you not to get involved with
him
. Hearing the latest gossip about him and his family is quite a different matter. Ah, there’s Daisy. Laurel’s with her. Oh, they’re talking to Lady Withnall. I can see her egret feather madly bobbing in front of them. Utterly perfect. Let’s join them. I’m sure the old snoop has plenty to tell us all. No doubt she spent the entire afternoon prying every sordid detail from the dowager duchess.”

“Who was more than willing to disclose every rotten thing she could think of about her son.” Dillie felt another small pang to her heart. What had Ian done to make the old dowager detest him so much? She thought of what her father often said.
People don’t change.
But if that were true, how could one reconcile the detestable son and the Ian she knew?

Rose nudged her forward. “Come on. Let’s greet them. It’s the polite thing to do.”

“Engaging in gossip,
encouraging
gossip, is in no way polite.”

Rose shrugged. “Fine. I’m a snoop. So are you, though you’re not ready to admit it. Stop dawdling. Lady Withnall, that bloodhound, must have spilled everything to Daisy and Laurel by now.”

Rose grabbed Dillie’s elbow and propelled her to Lady Withnall’s side, where they exchanged warm greetings with their sisters, the feared harridan, and Aunt Julia, who had joined them. Though Julia had merely married into the family, she was just as much a snoop as any Farthingale and fit in perfectly. She was always at the ready with unasked for advice. Yes, a true Farthingale in spirit, though not a blood relation.