A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty (20 page)

“You mean in case one of them crashes?”

“No, I don’t mean that at all. I mean in case the fabric gets ripped or something like that happens.”

“This worries me, Gibby.”

“I know it does. But you saw the way Henrietta loved floating above the trees, high in the sky. I think all women are going to enjoy it and appreciate that it’s faster than a coach.”

“I still say it’s too risky. There is no way you could get enough people interested in flying to run a business of ballooning people from London to other villages and counties. And at best, you can only do it a few months out of the year because of the weather.”

“You are just a naysayer.”

“Damnation, Gibby, I’m trying to find out if the woman’s just trying to get her hands on your money and abscond to who-knows-where with it, or if she is foolish enough to truly believe she can make a prosperous venture out of this preposterous idea.”

“If I didn’t know you so well, I’d take offense at what you just said.”

Blake sighed, realizing he had sounded angry. He wasn’t. “You know I mean no offense to you. Will you give us more time to look further into this before you give her any money?”

“I’ll hold off a little longer, but I must help her. I gave my word.”

“I know. But, there’s no hurry, is there? I mean if she’s legitimate?”

“Well, you know what Lord Chesterfield said: ‘Time can be a blessing or a curse, depending on how you use it, wisely or foolishly.’”

Blake knew that only too well.

“The balloons have to be made, and that takes time. Mrs. Simple only has the two at the barn. She’s afraid someone else might hear of her plans and start a business before she has time to do it. There’s no room for competition in this business.”

Blake sat back in his chair and laughed. The thought that someone might steal this idea was just too humorous.

“I know you get yourself wrapped up in ridiculous projects like this just so one of my grandmother’s grandsons will bail you out.”

Gibby smiled. “Yes, I have nothing better to do than be looked after by you fools.”

“Tell Mrs. Simple I’m convinced she doesn’t have to worry about anyone stealing this idea from her. Balloons have been around for close to fifty years now. If it was a good and safe mode of mass travel, someone would have started a ballooning company years ago.”

“Well, now, I’m not so sure about that. Mrs. Simple said a man came snooping around her barn a couple of days ago, asking her workers a lot of questions about the balloon.”

That didn’t worry Blake. He was sure it must have been someone sent there by Race or Morgan. “It was probably just someone interested in the novelty of ballooning.”

The servant approached and set an open bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses on the table in front of them. He poured the bubbly liquid into each glass. After the server left, Blake and Gibby raised their glasses to each other.

“To the next successful mode of mass travel,” Gibby said with a wide, confident smile.

Blake smiled and lifted his glass. “And may that be the locomotive engine that’s showing great promise in Newcastle.”

They laughed and sipped the champagne.

“Excuse me, Your Grace.”

Blake looked up to see Lord Waldo Rockcliffe standing beside him, looking as if he might shake right out of his shiny, black knee boots.

Lord Waldo bowed. The man was so thin that Blake wondered if he would snap when he bent forward. Both Blake and Gibby rose from the table and greeted him.

“I’m sorry to disturb your evening, Your Grace, Sir Randolph, but I saw you over here and didn’t want to pass on the opportunity presented to me.”

Blake and Gibby remained silent. Blake wasn’t sure what opportunity he was referring to.

Lord Waldo’s light brown eyes twitched nervously, and his pale lips had a slight tremor. “I’d like you to consider me for the honor of marrying Miss Tweed.”

That will be a cold day in hell.

“Would you allow me to come to your home, Your Grace, and formally ask for her hand?”

“Lord Waldo,” Blake said as calmly as he could when all he wanted to do was grind his teeth together at the thought of this man with Henrietta. “Miss Tweed just made her debut last night. At this point, I’m not prepared to consider any proposal for her hand from anyone. She will need time to enjoy some of the Season and consider all the bachelors who hold her interest.”

“I suspected that, Your Grace, but I wanted to be the first to make my intentions known to you. I intend to charm her, court her, and make her fall in love with me.”

That will be another cold day in hell.

Blake thought of all the calling cards he’d received since word first leaked that he had a ward of marriageable age. Lord Waldo was shaking so badly that Blake decided not to tell him that more than two-dozen better men had already come asking about Henrietta. Waldo had a mighty long line to stand in.

“You, of course, are free to do all those things within the proper bounds of what is expected.”

Lord Waldo bowed again. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll be happy to be at your service whenever you wish. Again, I apologize for interrupting your evening.” He looked at Gibby. “Sir Randolph, it’s always good to see you.”

Lord Waldo walked away. Blake and Gibby sat back down and picked up their champagne.

Blake took a long drink and then said, “Does that fop really think he has a chance in hell of winning Henrietta’s hand?”

“Sounds to me like he does.”

“I’d sooner cut off my right foot than let that happen.”

Gibby chuckled. “He has always seemed to be something of a weak-kneed ninny. In fact, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him without Rockcliffe.”

“You’re right. They are always together. I guess that means the Duke is somewhere here in the club.”

“By the way, do you still detest the man?”

“Immensely.”

“Hmmm. Too bad the popinjay doesn’t know he doesn’t have a chance in Hades with the lovely miss.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“So tell me, how is the lovely Henrietta?”

Perfect.

“I’m sure she’s fine. I haven’t seen her today as Constance keeps her busy.”

“There does seem to be quite a furor over the young lady. Have you checked on the wager at White’s?”

“No.”

“Did you read what the gossip sheets said about her today?”

Blake held his face as expressionless as if he was playing cards with Rockcliffe. “No.”

“I guess you’ve been too busy with my life to worry about the life of your ward?”

Blake smiled. “You are such a bastard sometimes, Gib.”

“It keeps me healthy.”

“I’ve bet on my share of distasteful wagers at White’s too many times to count, but the one concerning Henrietta is off limits to all of us. And you know I never read the scandal sheets.”

“Not reading them was understandable when you were always in them, but with your ward in them, you need to give them close scrutiny.”

“Why?”

“You know Lord Chesterfield said, ‘There’s always a grain of truth to every rumor.’”

“The hell he did.”

“Well, somebody said it. You need to read the gossip pages because they will enlighten you.”

“And I need that?”

“You can find out what other people are saying about her, and who she’s really interested in, by reading the tittle-tattle in the newsprint.”

“I consider it useless blather.”

Blake poured more champagne into their glasses and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw two gentlemen in the far corner chatting and looking his way. No doubt, they wanted to come speak to him about Henrietta, too.

Blake sighed. “Maybe Henrietta’s guardians
are
cursed. I’ve had little peace in my life since she arrived.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but Henrietta thinks her previous guardians were cursed, and that now I am. And with all the things in my life that have changed since I met her, I’m beginning to think there may be some truth to that curse. I haven’t had a peaceful night’s sleep since she got here.”

“The sleepless nights I understand, but what the devil are you talking about a curse?” Gibby asked.

“I’m not sure I understand the whole story of how it came about, but Henrietta believes someone put a curse on her guardians and that’s why all five of them have died in the past twelve years. Of course, she believes I’m part of that curse and next on the list to die. I’ve tried to tell her there is no such thing as a curse.”

“Of course there is,” Gibby said.

Blake gave him a look of disbelief. “Don’t tell me you believe in all that hocus-pocus stuff?”

“Sure I do. I’ve known plenty of people in my time who were cursed in one way or another.”

“How many do you know who have been given the curse of death?”

“There have been some. It all depends on what you believe. If someone believes a death curse has been put on him, he will die. On the other hand, you can’t curse someone who doesn’t believe in them.”

“And how do you know this?”

“It was told to me by a woman who claimed she was a witch.”

Blake smiled. “I’ve known plenty of witches, but not one who could conjure a spell and make it work.”

Blake and Gibby laughed.

“I’ve been cursed, myself a time or two,” Gibby said proudly.

“You don’t think I’m going to fall for that story, do you?”

“It’s true. I believe your grandmother must have cursed me, because after I met her, I never wanted another woman the way I wanted her.”

Gibby’s words caused Henrietta’s face to flash before his mind’s eye. He saw her as she was last night with her head thrown back, eyes closed, the smile of wonder on her lips, while he kissed the slender column of her throat all the way down to the soft, shapely mound of her breast.

“Excuse us, Your Grace.”

Slowly, Blake turned around and saw the two gentlemen he’d seen talking in the far corner of the taproom.

He held up his hand to stop them before they had opportunity to say more. “Don’t tell me; you’re sorry for interrupting me, but you want to make known your intentions to charm, court, and win the hand of my ward, Miss Henrietta Tweed.”

The two men looked at each other in astonishment.

“It’s the curse,” Gibby said with a grin.

“You might be on to something, Gib,” Blake said, and they both started laughing.

Sixteen

My Faithful Grandson Lucien,

Study on this from Lord Chesterfield: “In the course of the
world, a man must very often put on an easy, frank countenance
upon very disagreeable occasions; he must seem pleased
when he is very much otherwise; he must be able to accost
and receive with smiles those whom he would much rather
meet with swords.”

Your loving Grandmother,

Lady Elder

THE GREAT HALL GLIMMERED WITH LIGHTS FROM thousands of candles, or so it seemed to Henrietta as she stood at the entrance to the famed building with its twelve Corinthian columns lining the main ballroom. Blakewell and Constance were taking care of their wraps while she stood in awe of the chandeliers and wall sconces, radiating with extraordinary light and giving the room a breathtaking gleam.

The room was spectacularly decorated with flowers of every size, shape, and color, arranged in large pots, wound around the columns, and dripping from the ceiling. Henrietta had no idea where they found so many fresh flowers so early in the spring season. At one side of the room stood three long tables, each one filled with fancy silver trays loaded with such delicacies as chilled oysters, fowl baked in figs, lamb cooked in plum gravy, preserved apples, and pears simmered in a brandy sauce.

Her mouth watered at the sight of the delicious food spread before her, but she wouldn’t sample the first taste. Constance had, once again, insisted she dine at home. That was a puzzle to Henrietta when the food was such a lavish production at both the parties she’d been to.

Sparkling champagne glasses were lined up ready to be filled and served. The violinist, cellist, and flutist played a lively tune, and the dance floor was overflowing with colorfully dressed ladies and finely dressed gentlemen swinging, twirling, and clapping as they moved about the room in time with the music.

Henrietta was still awed by the opulence of all the houses and buildings she had been in since arriving in London. The people in the quiet villages where she had grown up truly had no idea of the grandeur of the houses, the fancy details of the clothing, or the extravagance of the parties held by London’s elite Society.

She noticed that Blakewell seemed to be in considerably less pain than during the previous evening. He had appeared more calm and relaxed on their short drive to the Great Hall. That pleased her. Though she had loved every moment of caring for him, she didn’t relish seeing him in pain.

As they walked toward the champagne table, she glanced at the duke, and love for him swelled in her heart. She had realized she loved him last night and that she desired him tremendously.

She wanted to do things for him. She couldn’t wait to see him. She wanted to be with him. It had to be love that she was feeling.

A stabbing pain pierced her chest as they stopped at the drink table. But he didn’t love her. He wanted her to marry another man, not him. And she must marry soon. His life was in danger because of her. No matter what he thought, the curse on her guardians was real. He could only be saved by relinquishing her guardianship. And marriage to another man would do that.

Blake handed a glass of champagne to Henrietta and one to Constance before taking one for himself. He thought Henrietta looked sad; though she smiled at him, there was a hint of anguish to it.

“Now, Your Grace,” Constance said, “ tell me who would you most like to see Henrietta dance with first this evening, and I’ll arrange it.”

No one but me.

He took a sip of his drink and glanced from Constance to Henrietta. “I will leave it up to Henrietta as to whom she chooses to dance with.”

“Thank you for that option, Your Grace.”

“I’m certain she won’t have to wait long for a request to dance.” Constance turned to Henrietta. “Of all the gentlemen you met last evening, who caught your fancy?”

None had caught her fancy.

Henrietta hesitated, trying to figure out a way to sidestep Constance’s direct question.

“The choice is an easy one. I shall dance with the first gentleman who asks me.”

Constance gave her an approving smile. “That is always the best thing for a young lady to do at a ball. And you said it just in time,” Constance added. “I see the first gentleman is on his way. I can tell by the way he’s walking that he is headed straight for Henrietta. And I have no doubt that every bachelor here tonight will want her to save him a dance on her card.”

“Good evening, Your Grace, Mrs. Pepperfield, Miss Tweed,” Lord Snellingly said as he bowed low before kissing first Constance’s and then Henrietta’s hand. “Might I say that both you ladies look exceptionally lovely tonight.”

“Thank you, Lord Snellingly,” Constance said.

Henrietta remembered meeting Lord Snellingly the previous night. The man was tall, slim, and quite handsome in a classic way, but looking at him, she felt none of the butterfly sensations in her stomach, weak knees, or fluttering in her chest that she experienced when she looked at the duke.

Lord Snellingly stepped closer to her. “After meeting you last evening, Miss Tweed, I was inspired to write you a poem.” He unfolded a piece of parchment and looked at Blakewell. “With His Grace’s permission, of course, I’d like to read it to you.”

The duke’s brow furrowed deeply. “I don’t think this is the place for poetry reading, Snellingly,” he said.

“It’s only three lines, Your Grace, and I’ll say it quickly.”

“Henrietta?” His Grace asked.

She stood very still. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea that this man had written her a poem, and she was certain she didn’t like the fact he wanted to read it to her in front of the duke and Constance. But she must look for a husband, so she had to consider every man a possibility.

If she couldn’t have Blakewell, the man she loved and wanted, would it matter who she married?

“Very well,” she finally said. “Since it’s a short poem, please go ahead.”

The man smiled gratefully at the duke and then turned his attention to Henrietta.

“The sun cannot outshine the light in my love’s eyes.

“When she looks at me, darkness never falls.

“I am drawn to her the way a baby bird’s chirp
draws his mother back to the nest.”

Henrietta smiled at the man. “Thank you, Lord Snellingly, that was lovely.”

Lord Snellingly beamed at her praise. “It is easy to write poetry for someone as beautiful as you, Miss Tweed.” He turned to Blakewell and said, “With your permission, Your Grace, may I have this dance with Miss Tweed?”

“No way in hell” was Blake’s first thought, but he saw Henrietta smiling at the man. He guessed she could consider the man handsome, but had she really fallen for that poetry blather?

Blake nodded to Snellingly and quietly watched as he walked away with Henrietta. A knot formed in Blake’s chest, and he felt as if his stomach had flipped over. He had seldom experienced what he was feeling, but he knew what it was.

He was jealous. Damned jealous.

He found that unbelievable. He had never been jealous over a woman in his life, but what else could it be? He didn’t want any man touching Henrietta, not even to dance with her. What kind of hold did she have on him?

“She’s handling herself very well,” Constance said, breaking into Blake’s thoughts.

“I knew she would,” Blake answered, hoping his newly discovered feelings didn’t show on his face.

“Is it me, or was that the worst poem you have ever heard?” Blake asked Constance.

“Lest you forget, Blake, I’m a woman. I’ve heard some very bad poetry through the years from beaux trying to impress me, but I admit that none of it comes close to being as bad as what we just heard. Now tell me, Blake, surely you have been thinking of someone who might be a good match for Henrietta. If you will let me know of your choice matrimonial candidates for her, I’ll guide her in their direction.”

He ignored her statement and said, “Tell me what is being said about her in the gossip sheets.” Blake wouldn’t give Gibby the satisfaction of asking him about it, but he wanted to know.

Constance sipped her champagne and then said, “Mostly good things.”

“Mostly?”

“Yes, there is the usual nattering about her beauty, wit, and charm. Unfortunately, Lord Truefitt’s “Daily Society Column” is reporting you are desperate to make a match for her so you can be rid of her as quickly as possible because she is a burden to your carefree life.”

“Damnation,” he whispered under his breath.

That might have been true when she first arrived, but it was no longer the case. She was growing on him. He actually liked knowing she was in his house and under his protection.

“My fear is that it will make inappropriate and unworthy men think they can pursue her hand.”

Hence, the many calling cards from men he didn’t know as well as advances from the likes of Lord Snellingly, Lord Waldo, and Count Vigone.

“How did something like that get started?”

“Who knows how anything gets started with the gossipmongers? But good will come from the bad, and it will all equal out,” she smiled sweetly at him. “Between the scandal sheets, the wager at White’s, and her being your ward, she has easily become the most popular young lady of the Season. Surely you’ve had inquiries about her.”

“I have been inundated with men I know and men I don’t know and don’t care to know, all wanting to make their intentions known that they plan to ask for Henrietta’s hand. Even if I wanted her to marry in haste, what would make the lot of them think I would not be very selective in whom I allow her to marry?”

“Come now, Blake, a chance is all they are looking for. What could be better for them? She has her pick of London’s finest gentlemen. Surely there will be one who catches her attention and of whom you will approve. And the tittle-tattle is right, isn’t it?”

“What’s that?”

“The sooner the better, as far as you are concerned?”

Blake looked out over the dance floor and spotted Henrietta dancing. His breath quickened just looking at her.

“Perhaps that was true when I first spoke to you, Constance, but not anymore. I’m in no hurry to find Henrietta a husband.”

“I see,” she said coolly, and then added, “However, it’s no wonder every eligible man is prepared to try his luck at winning her hand. She is quite a catch, Blake. Beautiful, charming, and intelligent, and everyone knows you will bestow a wealthy dowry on her. She’s definitely the diamond of the Season.”

“I know.”

Constance smiled at him, and Blake remembered why he was once attracted to her. She was enticing. He needed a woman to help him forget his craving for Henrietta, but his desire for Constance had long passed. She would be of no help to him in that way.

Blake returned Constance’s smile, and then picked up another glass of champagne.

After more than two hours of watching Henrietta enjoy herself on the dance floor with so many men he’d lost count, Blake walked outside the front of the building for some fresh air. The flames from all of the candles and the crush of people had the Great Hall hot and confining, even though the night air had a chill to it.

The fog and mist were clearing, and he could see the light from the streetlamps in the distance. Maybe the downpours were finally leaving London. It had been wet for days. He stood just under the portico, breathing in deeply the cool, damp air. It felt good to be outside. It was making him crazy watching Henrietta dance, smile, and talk to all those fops gathered around her like yapping dogs. She was in demand, no doubt about that, but he hadn’t thought one of the men pursuing her tonight was worthy of her hand. He blew out his breath in a huff. She had more than enough confidence to send most of those men scurrying away in a panic if they ever got into a verbal confrontation with her.

Earlier in the evening, Lady Houndslow had approached him, giving him a come-hither look meant to entice him straight into her bed, and at first he had given the idea considerable thought. But, after spending only a few minutes with her, Blake had no inclination to visit her, and he was more than happy he hadn’t spent the afternoon with her before his trip to Valleydale with his cousins.