School For Heiresses 2- Only a Duke Will Do (7 page)

His Majesty hesitated, then said, “Very well, you scheming scoundrel. I’ll support your friend if I must.”

“I want this in writing, too,” Simon persisted. “Every single term.”

The king looked startled. “Why the devil should you want that?”

“Because if you renege on your agreement this time, I want something to show the newspapers.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” George snorted. “That would be political suicide.”

“For you, too.” He fixed the king with a cool stare. “A written contract will bind us both. Because I refuse to suffer punishment on your behalf ever again.”

“All right, you devil, all right. I’d hoped that sending you to India might curb that arrogance of yours, but apparently I was wrong.”

“If you wanted to curb my arrogance, you shouldn’t have made me Governor-General of half a continent,

” Simon pointed out.

“True. After managing India, I dare say you can manage England with one hand tied behind your back. It

’s what you were born to, after all.” A sudden gleam flashed in the king’s eyes. “But it remains to be seen if you can manage my daughter. Until you do, your chance to manage England is far down the road.”

“Don’t worry. As you said, I made her fall in love with me once; I can damned well do it again. And a woman in love is easy to manage.”

“As long as you don’t fall in love yourself.”

A smile touched Simon’s lips at the impossibility of that notion. “Didn’t you claim I was incapable of love?”

“Ah, but you’re still interested in Louisa after all these years, aren’t you?”

If the king could be blunt, so could he. “There’s a difference between love and desire. You of all people should know that.”

George frowned. “You’re talking about my daughter.”

“Whom you are willing to sell to save your standing with Parliament,” Simon growled. “Your fatherly concern comes a bit late, don’t you think?”

George flushed. “We’re both scoundrels in our own ways, I suppose. Though I still hope you mean to treat Louisa well.”

“Of course. I would not marry her otherwise. But fortunately for your purposes, I am incapable of love.”

Grandfather’s “training” and traitorous mistress Betsy had taught Simon only too well to wall up his heart.

“Which is probably a good thing, since love is a luxury no statesman can afford.” In that, Grandfather Monteith had been right, even if the man’s method for teaching it was suspect. The king sighed. “You do have a point. God knows love has never served me well.”

And Simon would not allow love to ruin his own life and career. He would keep his obsession in its place. As long as he didn’t let Louisa wrap him about her finger, the two of them could have a comfortable, amiable, and honest marriage, the sort that would help him achieve his aims without being mired in hypocrisy, as his grandfather’s marriage had been.

Because Simon meant to prove he could be a better prime minister—a better man—than his grandfather. Then perhaps he could silence the man’s insidious voice in his head once and for all.
Chapter Five

Dear Cousin,

I daresay you are right about monkeys being unsuitable as reformers. But I am no longer sure that Louisa and Foxmoor are at odds, for they were strolling through the gardens at Castlemaine with seeming congeniality. So perhaps they have mended their fences.

Your romantic-minded relation,

Charlotte

M ust the girls practice their scales in here?” Louisa rubbed her temples and prayed for patience. “I can hardly hear myself think over that infernal racket.”

Mrs. Charlotte Harris’s head jerked up, sending her flaming curls aquiver, and Regina burst into laughter. Four days after Regina’s fete, they sat at a table in the largest classroom at Mrs. Harris’s School. Generally Mrs. Harris used it for the monthly teas where she presented her “Lessons for Heiresses” to her graduates on the marriage mart. Today the widow had generously offered the room to the London Ladies Society for their usual Saturday morning meeting.

Morning had long passed, so most of the other members had left. But Louisa was determined to cross one item of business off her list, despite her friend Lady Venetia Campbell’s musical prodigies and their racket.

“I can’t endure this one more minute.” Louisa jumped up, prepared to send the girls packing, then caught the knowing glance Regina shot Mrs. Harris.

“You owe me a shilling,” Regina said to her friend. “I told you she wouldn’t last until the end.”

As Louisa blinked, Mrs. Harris fished a coin from her beaded reticule. “In Louisa’s defense, we are all very tired. It’s been a long day.”

“True.” Regina took the shilling. “But neither of us is grousing about the ‘infernal racket’ of three harpists practicing quietly.”

Louisa drew herself up. “I was merely saying—”

“It’s all right, dear.” Mrs. Harris stood. “They’ve played long enough. I’m sure they’ve quite worn out Venetia’s tolerance, too.” She called over to the girls, “Practice time is over, everyone. You may put your harps away.”

When the noise stopped abruptly and Mrs. Harris sat back down, Louisa did the same. “Thank you, that

’s much better.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Pay Louisa no mind, Charlotte. She has been a regular grumpy goose ever since the fete.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Harris said. “And what has provoked this unusual behavior?”

“Judging from her extreme reaction to the elaborate bouquets my brother daily leaves for her at my house,” Regina said, smirking, “she seems to have developed an aversion to lilies. Which is odd, since they’re her favorite flower.”

“Is it a severe aversion?” Mrs. Harris’s blue eyes twinkled. “Is she sleeping badly? Sighing into her pillow? Croaking out romantic ballads?”

“Very amusing,” Louisa grumbled. “I’m tossing the lilies out as fast as they come in, which is what anyone with an aversion to them does.”

Mrs. Harris laughed. “And Foxmoor? Has she tossed him out yet?”

“No,” Regina said, “but she might as well. She avoids him entirely.”

“That is absurd.” Louisa scanned the list of names on the table before her. “I’m merely too busy with the London Ladies Society to stay home for callers.”

“Busy hiding in your room or sneaking out when he comes by, you mean.”

“Who is Miss North hiding from?” asked Miss Eliza Crenshawe, one of the offending harpists who strolled with Venetia toward the table.

“I am not hiding. I simply don’t have time to entertain Regina’s brother.”

“You’re hiding from the Duke of Foxmoor?” Eliza exclaimed. “Are you mad? I would tremble with excitement if that man came to call on me!”

When all eyes turned to Louisa, most of them reflecting Eliza’s sentiments, she stiffened. “I’m not hiding from anyone.” With a stern glance, she tapped her finger on her list. “I’ve been utterly consumed with figuring out who to choose as our candidate. Which is why we’re here, if you’ll recall.”

That sobered them. “You’re right, of course,” Regina said. “We had to table our other items of business until we’d investigated further; we shouldn’t end the meeting without resolving this one.”

Eliza and Venetia wandered over to stand by the window overlooking the school’s front drive while the other girls took their seats in a flurry of white muslin.

Louisa closely surveyed the younger women. “You girls do know that this matter shouldn’t be discussed outside this room.”

They bobbed their heads in unison, wide-eyed but eager to hear more.

“If you don’t think you can curb your tongues, even with your family, leave now,” Mrs. Harris warned them. “Is that understood, Miss Crenshawe?”

Color stained Eliza’s plump cheeks. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Let’s go on, then.” Louisa stared down at the list. “Of the three men we’ve narrowed this to, I still think Charles Godwin is our best choice.”

Regina frowned. “And I still think he’s too dangerous. It’s one thing to put Mrs. Fry’s brother-in-law into office, but if we start supporting radicals, the MPs will accuse us of fomenting revolution. Especially if Mr. Godwin’s speeches are as fiery as his editorials.”

“I hope they are. Try as he might, Mrs. Fry’s brother-in-law hasn’t gained us a thing. It’s time to shake up those fussy old MPs.”

“But a more moderate candidate—”

“Will just be ignored. As Mrs. Fry’s brother-in-law has been. Radicals at least know how to get things done.” Louisa turned to Mrs. Harris. “Have you mentioned this to Mr. Godwin yet?”

Mrs. Harris had known the man for years, ever since he’d served in the same regiment with her late bounder of a husband.

“No, I didn’t want to speak until we made a decision. But I think he’ll be amenable. He’s already shown himself to be passionate about other reforms.”

“Too passionate, if you ask me,” Regina said. When the other two raised their eyebrows, she sighed. “

But I suppose if you trust him, Mrs. Harris—”

“I do. He’s been a good friend to me since my husband’s death.”

“As good a friend as Cousin Michael?” Regina teased.

Mrs. Harris snorted. “I can hardly call Cousin Michael a friend when he insists upon keeping his identity secret. Stubborn fool. I’m not entirely sure he’s really my late husband’s cousin, as he claims to be.”

“Blast it all—look at that equipage!” interrupted Eliza from the window.

“Come away from there, Eliza,” Mrs. Harris chided. “And a lady does not use words like ‘blast.’”

“Hard to resist when a phaeton bearing a nobleman’s crest is tearing up the school’s drive.” Venetia peered through the window. “Is that a ducal crest?”

As every eye turned to Louisa, her heart stumbled into an erratic rhythm.

“It must be Foxmoor himself!” Eliza exclaimed. “How romantic for you, Miss North! He’s so smitten he rode all this way from town to find you!”

The younger ladies clapped their hands to their breasts and sighed in a perfect paroxysm of maidenly delight.

“Don’t be silly.” Louisa’s own hands fell into a maddening shake, so she buried them in her skirts of spotted pink muslin. “It’s probably one of the parents.”

Mrs. Harris lifted one eyebrow. “Aside from the fact that no duke would ever deign to enroll his daughter in a school, I doubt any of our parents would drive a phaeton. Those are for bachelors.”

“The duke would never ride anywhere after me.” When the others began to grin, Louisa bristled. “It’s someone’s cousin or suitor.” It couldn’t be Simon—she’d made it quite clear that she had no interest in him, not now, not ever.

Yet he kept leaving those gorgeous lilies, and with every bouquet the same line: “Surely we can at least be friends,” followed by the words, “Yours, Simon.” Not “the duke” or “Foxmoor.” Simon. As if he’d never wronged her. As if she’d never had him banished.

As if he weren’t probably consorting with her enemies even now.

Was that why he’d started this? Had the MPs asked him to distract her from her activities? She wouldn’t put it past them—or him, either. Not for one minute did she think he really wanted to be her “friend.”

“The phaeton is stopping!” Eliza leaned forward to see better. “A gentleman is getting out. He’s wearing a cobalt blue frock coat, light blue pantaloon trousers, and Hessians. I do so love a man in Hessians.”

She turned back to smile at them, her hazel eyes sparkling. “Especially a handsome one.”

“Young, too,” Venetia added. “He couldn’t be more than thirty.”

“Thirty-three,” Louisa breathed. When they laughed, she thrust out her lower lip. “If it’s Regina’s brother. Which it probably isn’t.”

“Look, he has a monkey!” Eliza exclaimed.

Louisa groaned. Wonderful. The dratted man had run her to ground. Perhaps she could sneak down the back stairs to the stables…but no, she couldn’t leave without Regina. She turned to Mrs. Harris. “Where are your copies of the London Monitor?” When the schoolmistress blinked, she added, “The ones with Mr. Godwin’s articles. Are they in your office? I shall go see—”

“Hiding in there will do you no good,” Regina put in. “I know my brother—he will find you.”

“Then it’s a good thing this has nothing to do with him.” Louisa headed for the door. “I told you, I can’t be bothered with his visits when we have work to do.”

“Regina is right, dear,” Mrs. Harris said. “You can’t avoid him forever. Just tell him you’re not interested, and put an end to it.”

“I already tried that at the fete. I made it quite clear how I felt.”

“Yet he keeps pursuing you.” Regina arched one blonde eyebrow. “You must have been very convincing.”

“I can’t believe she’s avoiding a duke,” exclaimed one of the girls.

“I can’t believe she’s avoiding the man who once governed India.” Eliza pursed her lips. “Who cares if he

’s a duke? My father’s third cousin is a duke, and he’s an ass.”

“Miss Crenshawe!” Mrs. Harris chided. “We don’t use the word ‘ass,’ ever!”

“Sorry,” Eliza mumbled.

Louisa stifled a smile, remembering similar discussions with her governess. Eliza, with her reckless tongue and budding country beauty, reminded her of how she had been at seventeen: headstrong but naïve, easy pickings for the scheming Simon.

But she was older and wiser now. Surely she could handle one annoyingly attractive duke. And Mrs. Harris was right—she couldn’t avoid him forever, not when she lived with his sister. Better to settle her relationship with him for good. “I shall just have to be firmer in my refusal.”

“For some men it takes more than once,” Mrs. Harris said.

“Especially when the man knows you’re lying,” Regina said dryly.

Scowling, Louisa faced her sister-in-law. “I’m not lying.”

“No? Then why have you been hiding from him? Because you are afraid that you will succumb to his pursuit.” Regina’s eyes narrowed. “Or worse yet, that you will discover he has changed. You are afraid to see him for what he is.”

Louisa snorted. “His claim to have changed may fool you, but not me.”

“Did you know that he and His Majesty have been at odds since his return, reportedly over Simon’s renewed interest in you?”

The unbidden thrill searing Louisa’s veins vexed her, especially when she saw the young ladies regard her with envy and awe. “I hardly believe that His Majesty would disapprove of his old advisor.”