Charming the Duke (4 page)

“You do realize, Athena, that Smithly is a man?”

“You have tried on occasion to convince me of that. But my mind is unchanged. He has no comprehension of duties or honor.”

“I don’t mean being a man as in being a gentleman. Accepting responsibilities and what not. I mean, well, ah,” he said as he plopped down on a settee.

“What is it, Freddy?” Athena asked as she approached him. “You look dreadful.”

Thornsby blew a breath. “I don’t imagine Mother enlightened you all that much as to what went on between,” he looked at his lap as the seconds ticked by, “between men and women?”

“Whatever does that have to do with Andrew?” Athena asked hands on her hips.

Thornsby owed his sister this much. He owed her more than this. They ran the estate together and lived together companionably. They cared deeply about one another. “Men, Athena, regard women in a highly different light than I imagine women view men.”

“I suppose we do, Freddy. But since you are not a woman, I can’t imagine you having any understanding of our viewpoint.”

“Athena, for once in your life, accept that I may have more experience than you. And women are a subject that I’m more knowledgeable of than you are about men.” Thornsby stared at her.

After some thought, Athena replied. “I will give you that, Freddy.”

She had acquiesced that point but Thornsby felt the ice became thinner with each word he spoke. “You see, my dear, men will have, ah, ah, relations with nearly any woman. Whereas women require some delicacy, some thought or feeling to, to, commence relations.” Athena had the strangest look on her face. “Men just aren’t terribly choosy.”

Athena turned, gathered her bag and went to the door. She stilled when her hand met the knob. She did not turn. “So Andrew being a man would rut with anything standing still, and you are convinced I may be his next victim. I do suppose I fit the bill, though.” She turned and stared. “I am just any woman and Andrew would hardly be choosy.”

Thornsby lurched forward, determined to erase the hurt on his sister’s face. The door closed before he could reach her.
Damnation and damnation.
He had no intent of insulting Athena. But clearly, he had. This business of men and women, other than the obvious romp, was proving to be quite confusing.

* * *

“Did the Duke arrive, Mother?” Juliet asked.

“Yes, he did. I am embarrassed to say no family member was there to greet him,” Frances said as she studied herself in the mirror. “James fetched me from the kitchens.”

“He was greeted by a family member, Mother,” Matilda said. She and her sisters were gathered in her mother’s rooms, and they turned to her as she spoke. “Me.”

“Really, Matilda. He didn’t say,” Frances replied. “He was just standing there in the doorway.”

Matilda shrugged. “He handed me his gloves. I believe he thought I was the maid.”

Frances turned quickly. “How dreadful, dear. We mustn’t let the Duke carry on with that misconception. I will set this to rights immediately.”

Matilda shook her head. “Not necessary, Mother. I introduced myself.”

Alexandra and Juliet hurried to the bed where their sister sat. “You introduced yourself to a duke?” they said in unison.

“Well, yes. Did you expect me to draw his bath?” Matilda asked.

“Is he as handsome as everyone says, Matilda? You simply must tell us,” Alexandra asked.

“What does he look like, Matilda? Do tell,” Juliet added.

Matilda shrugged, hoping her face didn’t color. “Handsome enough.” She would never reveal his “blond and beautiful” remark. It was too embarrassing, and her sisters and Mother would make a fuss about the insult. And Matilda suspected this man was of interest to her sisters. “His sister is pleasant. We met her a few years ago. Do you remember, Juliet?”

Juliet struck a thoughtful pose. Her face lit up. “I do.” Her face fell. “She made me feel most uncomfortable, though.”

“Uncomfortable in what way, Juliet?” Frances asked.

“I got the most dreadful feeling she thought I was dim-witted.”

Alexandra and Frances laughed aloud.

“How ridiculous,” Frances cooed. “For anyone to think you anything but brilliant and beautiful. We must set her to straights this very weekend.”

“What sophisticated topic could you ply her with, Juliet?” Alexandra asked excitedly.

Juliet tapped her lip and looked the room up and down. Frances was deep in thought as well. Alexandra waited expectantly. Matilda held her head in her hand, hoping to stave off an impending throb.

“I’m sure the Duke’s sister will fathom your true personality and abilities on her own, Juliet. No need for elaborate schemes,” Matilda said.

“But Matilda, we can’t have her thinking what’s not true is true. It wouldn’t be right,” Frances replied. “Now, Juliet, whatever have you learned from those fashion sheets from Paris?”

Juliet squealed. “Fashions from Paris! Oh, Mother, I know everything I need to know about that.”

“You will dazzle the Duke’s sister,” Frances supplied with a smile.

“And hopefully she will mention her regard for you to her brother,” Alexandra added.

“Miss Wilcox does not look like a woman much concerned with fashion,” Matilda said.

Juliet’s eyes lit up. “More perfect then. I will educate her on fashionable dress.”

Matilda followed her sisters down the staircase as they reviewed and refined their plans. Her mother checked the buffet. Matilda found Ethel seated in a corner of the dining room, already eating.

“James. What has happened to the cluster of sugared fruit on the ham? And the smoked salmon garnish is gone as well,” Frances called to the butler.

Matilda looked down at the plate her grandmother held. It was piled high with orange fish and sugared grapes. “Ethel. How could you?” Matilda said with a sigh and seated herself. “You know how Mother loves all the little special accents on her buffet.”

“I smeared the face of every butter angel on the platter.”

“My butters,” Frances cried from across the room.

Matilda watched as her mother whirled away in tizzy. “Terribly trivial of you, Ethel. I’m ashamed.”

“I’m old, Matilda. I must get my jollies where they present themselves.”

Her father joined them, bowed to his mother and kissed her hand.

“Mother, you look wonderful tonight. Doesn’t she look wonderful, Matilda? Just wonderful.”

“Save your platitudes for this gaggle of idiots, Francis,” Ethel Sheldon replied.

Fran Sheldon stuck his hands in his pockets.

“My banker paid me a call today,” Ethel said to her son. “Had some interesting information for me.”

“Old Julius. How is that bear of a man, Mother?”

“Still capable of rational thought. Something I worry about for my own son. He told me you’ve invested quite a sizable chunk of our money in some moving iron beast that will transport people and not just coal,” Ethel said warily.

“Most fortuitous investment for the Sheldons,” Fran replied.

“How would that be, Francis?” his mother asked.

“He didn’t tell you? He may not have known. That’s the only answer for it.”

Ethel and Matilda watched as the Earl of Bisset’s thoughts spewed from his mouth.

“What are you talking about, Father?” Matilda asked.

“Well, well. I’m sure he didn’t tell you.” Francis smiled broadly. “Twenty-two percent return on our investment. Capital, I’d say. Thought I’d give each of the girls a bit of it for their dowry.”

Matilda stared at her father. She could hear Ethel muttering something about falling down and smelling like roses. She reached to still her Grandmother’s hand. “An increase to my dowry or my pin money, Father?”

“Whatever you like my dear,” he said and smiled.

“Francis,” a guest called from the door.

Her mother hurried to the newcomer, her hand out swept in welcome. “Heigh ho, Filbert, be right there,” Matilda’s father said and turned. He excused himself and went to the portly man in the entrance, just as his wife arrived. They all dissolved into laughter moments later.

Matilda’s eyes closed.

“They still laugh about that, do they?” Ethel said. “Simpletons.”

“But Ethel,” Matilda said in a whisper. “Perhaps Father’s investment will be the amount I need to complete my plans for the orphanage.”

Ethel’s eye roamed the room as the guests began to converge on the food. “Sly devil, you are, Matilda. I’m proud of you.”

* * *

Thornsby stood to the side of the room beside Smithly. The Earl of Bisset and his wife stood center stage in front of a massive floral display. Thornsby had been told the heir and his affianced stood beside them.

“What has Athena so miserable?” Smithly asked. “She has barely made a scathing remark to me all evening.”

“Probably something I said,” Thornsby said as he nodded to a woman passing. Her ostrich feathers nodded in reply. “God, what an assemblage.”

Smithly turned to him. “What did you say?”

“I said what a miserable assembly of England’s finest.”

“No, about Athena. What did you say to her? You said ‘probably something I said’,” Smithly asked.

Thornsby stared at Smithly. “When you left her bed chamber,” he paused long enough for Smithly’s face to pale, “I attempted to have a long overdue chat with my sister.”

“Concerning what topic?”

Smithly had that look when something he was clearly not meant to have or hear, he fully intended to obtain or know. “A delicate topic, Smithly. I have no intention of discussing it with you.”

“A delicate topic? What topic could be delicate to your formidable sister? Explain what topic could possibly exceed her knowledge,” Smithly said with a huff. “She is the most contrary, know-it-all to grace the kingdom. She rants and raves . . .”

“Enough,” Thornsby hissed. “I attempted to explain why a man, you, to be exact, should not be allowed in her bed chamber. She misunderstood. I believe I may have hurt her feelings.”

“Hurt her feelings? What did you say?”

Thornsby rounded on his friend. “That women are more selective about whom they romp with whereas men are rarely discriminating.”

“True enough.”

“When I tried to point out that you are indeed a man, she took issue.”

Smithly’s eyes widened. “I am a man, Thornsby. What did she think?”

Thornsby envisioned the wounded look he saw briefly in his sister’s eyes. “She twisted my words. Claimed I said men will rut with any woman and that you would hardly be choosy.”

“Athena is not just ‘any woman’, Thornsby,” Smithly clipped off. “You, being her brother should recognize her unique qualities. Distinct qualities.”

Thornsby watched Smithly find Athena in the crowd. When Smithly turned to him, Thornsby could never recall a more unpleasant look on his best friend’s face.

“She is a gem. Out of my league. Older. Wiser. But a gem all the same, Thornsby,” Smithly shot his cuffs and turned to walk away. “I would be so choosy if there was any chance of her being my choice.”

Thornsby’s jaw dropped and snapped shut. Smithly held a tendre for Athena? Andrew had just gotten done calling her a contrary, know-it-all. Now she was a gem? He watched Smithly weave through guests to Athena’s side. It was then he noticed the brown wren he’d mistaken for a maid hiding among the ferns. She was attempting to scratch her head with the hand that held a glass of punch. The contents edged perilously close to spilling down her shoulder. He’d best heed Athena’s advice and appease the girl.

“May I hold your glass while you, ah,” Thornsby said and looked from one side of her head to the other.

“Damnable pins. Damnable Mimi,” she said. “Here.”

Thornsby caught the glass and its contents before they blotted his white shirt. He eyed the wench. She was grimacing and digging her finger in amongst her braids. Apparently she found the offending spot. Her face stilled and she sighed.

“Better?” Thornsby asked.

“Quite. Thank you.” She pushed her glasses up and took a look at him up and down.

She was dressed in a dreadful blue gown. Her spectacles sat crooked on her nose and the braid she’d been burrowing under had come undone. A loop hung over her ear. He heard Athena’s voice in his head chastising him. She was right of course. Conversation. Conversation.

“Lovely party, my dear. Such festive decorations and lively music.” Thornsby quoted verbatim what Andrew had said to the Bissets. He attempted a friendly smile.

“I suppose. If you care about such nonsense,” Miss Sheldon said.

“Nonsense?” Thornsby said and cocked his head. “I’ve yet to meet a young woman you didn’t enjoy this sort of thing. You’re saying you don’t care for parties?”

“What powers of deduction you have, sir. I’m overwhelmed.”

Thornsby stood stock-still. Athena had mentioned she was the clever one. Not the pretty one. Although, Thornsby would concede her clear skin and gleaming teeth made an agreeable face. She was reasonably put together otherwise. Hint of cleavage. Not overly plump or wan. All else was impossible to discern under the dreadful gown she wore. She clearly thought little of him.

“I suppose I should have deduced you don’t care overly much for these sorts of festivities as you are hiding here in the ferns scratching your scalp,” Thornsby said and stared at the woman intently.

“I imagine you should have.” She shrugged her shoulders, snorted and looked around the room. “What possibly is there to like?”

Who, other than his sister, among the women of London disliked parties? “What don’t you like about them?” Thornsby asked.

“Nary a soul in this room, aside from Ethel, possibly your sister and myself are bright enough to find their way out of a room with one door.”

As if by divine direction Miss Sheldon’s sisters and mother appeared. “Greetings Your Grace,” the Countess said as she dropped a curtsy. “My daughters, Misses Juliet and Alexandra Sheldon. The Duke of Thornsby. I understand you met my middle daughter, Matilda.”

Thornsby bowed and held the hand of the oldest, Juliet. “My pleasure,” he murmured as he placed a kiss on her snow-white glove. He groveled equally over the other sister’s hand.