School For Heiresses 2- Only a Duke Will Do (8 page)

“Last night Simon pointedly left White’s as soon as the king arrived,” Regina persisted. “Marcus witnessed it himself. Doesn’t that prove Simon’s sincerity?”

It shook her, to be sure. She’d wondered if the king had coaxed Simon to distract her in exchange for some political advantage. But if they were on bad terms—

“Don’t you see?” Regina went on. “You have thought him the villain for so long that you would rather hide from your feelings than accept the changed man.”

“You’re wrong, I tell you,” Louisa said. “And I am not hiding!”

“From whom?” asked a deep male voice.

She jumped, then whirled to find Simon in the doorway, eyes gleaming. “From anyone,” she said, her heart in her throat. “I’m not hiding from…anyone.”

As Raji chattered and everyone behind her except Regina dropped into deep curtsies, Simon said, “Glad to hear it. Because only cowards hide. And I never took you for a coward.”

Heat filled her cheeks. She deserved that; she had been a coward. His bold, consuming kiss in the woods had unsettled her, but avoiding the truth never solved anything. The butler appeared behind Simon, looking flustered. “Forgive me, ladies. I intended to announce His Grace, but he insisted upon surprising you.”

“Of course he did.” Louisa managed a remote smile. “The duke is nothing if not insistent.” Just like his sister, whom he resembled to an astonishing degree, both of them blond, blue-eyed, and bold. Except that Regina’s boldness was invigorating. Simon’s was just plain dangerous. Like now, when he was scouring her with his impudent gaze. “You gave me little choice, Miss North. You seem to have forgotten our appointment.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and I are supposed to pay a visit to Lady Trusbut, remember?” Idly, he scratched his monkey’s belly. “Raji was looking forward to it. But when I went to the town house to fetch you, they informed me that you were here.”

A hush fell across the room. Even the girls knew that gaining Lady Trusbut’s support had been a particular quest of Louisa’s.

“I didn’t think you meant it.” She lifted her chin in challenge. “After all, Your Grace, you have a bad habit of saying what you don’t mean.”

Ignoring the gasps from behind her, he shifted Raji to his shoulder. “Then give me a chance to prove I have overcome my bad habits.”

As if confirming his master’s words, Raji chattered madly, clutching a wooden carving of a bird to his furry chest. Painted bright yellow, the toy was clearly well-worn, well-loved. A canary. So Simon hadn’t been lying to Lady Trusbut about Raji’s preference for canaries.

It was a small thing, yet it gave her pause.

Simon held out his arm. “Shall we go? I have the phaeton waiting.”

Though the prospect of spending time alone with Simon in a phaeton unnerved her, she dared not lose the chance to snag Lady Trusbut’s support. Besides, he could hardly make advances in broad daylight with a monkey and groom as chaperones.

But first she and her ladies had to choose their candidate. “I tell you what, sir. Let me finish my meeting and then we’ll go. You can wait for me downstairs.”

He tensed, but before he could protest, Eliza burst out with, “Perhaps His Grace should participate, too. He probably knows all your prospective candi—”

“Hush, Eliza!” Louisa cast the loose-tongued girl a quelling glance. “I told you, that isn’t a matter for general discussion.”

Eliza’s face fell. “Oh, right.”

Louisa shifted her gaze to Simon. “Especially when we don’t know where the duke stands on our issue.”

“Nor can I tell you, when you are not forthright with me,” Simon countered.

“What do you mean?” she retorted.

He strode into the room. “You said you press your cause in Parliament, but you neglected to say how. I had to hear elsewhere about your unorthodox tactics.”

He’d heard about that?

They were still gaping at him when he added, “And you certainly never said you are putting up your own candidate for the Commons.”

Chapter Six

Dear Charlotte,

It would certainly help Miss North if she mended her fences with Foxmoor. Everyone is sure he will succeed Liverpool as prime minister. But I cannot see Miss North as his duchess. She would lead him a merry dance, and I hear Foxmoor isn’t particularly fond of dancing. Your opinionated cousin,

Michael

L ouisa’s heart dropped into her stomach. He wasn’t supposed to know about their political aspirations. No one in Parliament was supposed to know until the London Ladies marshaled their support. She could think of only one way he’d found out.

But when she glared at his sister, Regina drew herself up stiffly. “Don’t look at me—I didn’t tell him.”

“No, she didn’t.” Simon smiled. “Not for nothing was I once the king’s advisor. I know how to ferret out information, especially when it regards politics.”

As he handed his beaver top hat to the butler, Mrs. Harris said, “Then surely you realize how unhappy some of your friends in Parliament would be to hear that you’re helping us.”

“Helping you?”

“By taking Louisa to meet with Lord Trusbut.”

“Ah. I hardly call arranging an appointment with the Trusbuts ‘help.’ But if you’re looking for real help, I might offer it. After you convince me I should.”

Convince him? The audacity of the man! “We’re not interested in your help,” Louisa snapped.

“We’re interested in anyone’s help,” Mrs. Harris put in. “Especially coming from a man of such stature.”

She cast Simon an assessing glance. “The question, Your Grace, isn’t whether we want your help, but why you’re offering it.”

“I’m not. Yet. First, I would have to know more about your cause—your aims, your methods—”

“You wish to spy on us,” Louisa said.

He cast her a cool smile. “I acquired my other information about your group with ease. So if I wanted to spy on you, Miss North, I would not waste time talking to you suspicious females. I’d be off befriending a less wary member.” He nodded at Regina. “Or bedeviling my sister with questions.”

“Which, to be fair,” Regina put in, “he has not done.”

“I came here to fulfill my promise to you,” Simon went on. “You were discussing politics, so I pointed out that I could help.” He smiled tightly. “But before I endorse any organization, I expect to know its aims and methods. Surely you understand that.” When they remained silently wary, he added with a shrug, “Of course, if you do not want my help—”

“What exactly would you wish to know?” Mrs. Harris asked.

“Now see here,” Louisa put in, “I’m not telling him anything until I know we can trust him.”

“Of course not,” Simon surprised her by saying. “But why not let me observe the workings of your group for a few days? How could that be a problem?” He arched one eyebrow. “Unless what I keep hearing is true, and the London Ladies Society really is planning some wild revolution.”

The others laughed a bit shakily, but Louisa’s stomach knotted up. He certainly knew a great deal after only a week. And if the other statesmen knew what he did, that wasn’t good. Refusing to let him observe might rouse further suspicion of her group’s political aspirations. That wouldn’t be good, either. But if she did let him “observe,” she’d have to endure his presence. Or would she? A sudden idea came to her. “What do you think, Mrs. Harris? Would you like the duke to observe your new committee?”

“I’d be honored.” Mrs. Harris smiled. “If he doesn’t mind riding out here twice a week for meetings.”

“Certainly not,” Simon said. “I could accompany my sister and Miss North.”

“Oh, but I’m not a member of her committee.” Louisa smirked.

His face darkened. “Then let me observe yours.”

She smiled sweetly. “Mrs. Harris’s committee will give you a better picture of our organization.”

How lovely to outwit Simon for a change. If he meant to assess their political aims, this would thwart him. And if he was sincerely interested in her group, Mrs. Harris’s current task would give him an excellent idea of their activities.

He was watching her suspiciously. “Exactly what does this committee do?”

Louisa headed back to the table. “If you can spare another few minutes, Your Grace, we’ll explain.”

“Certainly,” he said, following her.

He held her chair out with one of his tigerish smiles and she knew exactly how a gazelle must feel to be cornered. She shook off the feeling. She wasn’t cornered. She’d found a way to keep him out of her hair for a while, hadn’t she?

And thank heaven for that. Look at the handsome scoundrel—he already had the girls blushing and stammering as Mrs. Harris introduced them. Even Venetia turned a bit pink, and no man ever affected her.

What was it about Simon that turned perfectly reasonable females into blithering idiots? Was it his ability to make a woman feel as if he was listening only to her, paying attention only to her? Or was it simply his air of command? He pulled back a chair for Mrs. Harris with a male grace that was beautiful to behold, every motion deliberate, nothing wasted. And once they were all seated and he took his own chair opposite Louisa, she couldn’t help noticing how well he controlled Raji. He tapped the table and the monkey hopped right onto that spot, clutching his toy canary to his white furry chest. Eliza, who’d finagled the seat beside Simon, uttered a girlish sigh. “Your monkey is just darling, Your Grace.”

“You haven’t seen the creature lay waste to a woman’s coiffure,” Louisa quipped. “That darling draws blood if you’re not careful.”

“Only when presented with the right temptation,” Simon said. “He thought Lady Trusbut’s peacock was a toy.”

“Like his little carving,” Eliza said. “Where did you get it?”

“Simon probably carved it himself,” Regina put in. “He likes to whittle.”

“Really?” Mrs. Harris surveyed Simon with new eyes. “It’s very good.”

“Whittling keeps my hands busy while my mind works through a problem,” he said. Louisa had forgotten that odd habit of his. He’d once whittled her a perfectly charming miniature lily, merely because she’d said she liked them. It was the one reminder of him that she’d kept.

“Did you learn to whittle in India?” Eliza asked.

“No,” Simon said with a chuckle. “My father taught me.”

Louisa blinked. She had rarely heard him speak of his parents. She’d learned more about them from Regina than she’d ever learned from him.

“Is it true you were the first duke to serve as Governor-General of India?” Eliza asked with stars in her eyes.

“Miss Crenshawe, stop plaguing the duke,” Mrs. Harris broke in.

“It’s fine.” Simon cast Eliza a kindly glance. “And no, not exactly. Wellington served long before me, though he wasn’t a duke at the time.”

“Simon wasn’t the first of our family to go to India, either,” Regina put in. “My mother’s younger brother served there, too. Uncle Tobias was there as a lieutenant for…what was it, Simon? Two years? Before he died of malaria?”

Simon’s expression grew shuttered. “Three years.” He sat back. “But enough talk of India—I want to know what Mrs. Harris’s committee does.”

His strained smile gave Louisa pause. All she’d heard from Regina about their uncle was that the poor man had gone to seek his fortune, and instead had died alone. A very sad tale. Was that why it bothered Simon to think of it?

Oh, why did she care? She forced herself to pay attention to what Mrs. Harris was saying.

“We’re presently assessing tasks that would provide sustainable income for our convict women while teaching them usable skills,” Mrs. Harris explained. “We need one that requires little training, since we lack sufficient volunteers for that. Yet it must pay well.”

“How well?” Simon asked.

“Enough to support our projects—the prison school, supplemental clothing and bedding, and matrons instead of male guards.”

“Why would you have to pay for matrons—isn’t that the prison system’s responsibility?” Simon asked as he scratched Raji’s back.

“It should be.” Anger at such injustice burned in Louisa’s chest. “Instead, guards are paid out of fees taken from the poverty-stricken prisoners. So of course they’re brutes who use their position to bully the women, subjecting them to—” She broke off, remembering the younger girls. “To…er…their advances.”

“And Parliament does not consider it a problem,” Regina said. “Despite committee reports, they refuse to institute the proper reforms.”

“The Home Secretary claims that we would ‘remove the dread of punishment in the criminal classes.’”

Just remembering the speech made Louisa’s blood boil.

“That certainly sounds like Sidmouth.” Simon’s voice held an edge. “He equates reform with revolution and radicals.”

“And you don’t?” Mrs. Harris prodded.

A veiled look crossed his face. “It depends on the reform. But I see why you want to put up a candidate. And if you’ll forgive my saying so, I could be of greater use in advising you—”

“Oh yes,” Louisa cut in, “I’m sure your fellow statesmen have told you exactly how to advise us.”

His gaze pierced her. “Do you suspect me of being an agent provocateur?”

“I can’t imagine why I should.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “What could possibly be suspicious about a duke with political aspirations wanting to spend time with female reformers instead of with his chums at his club?”

With a lazy smile, he trailed his gaze down to her mouth. “Even a duke with political aspirations can have a personal reason for wanting to advise…a friend.”

When that set the schoolgirls to giggling, she tossed her head. “Fine. As long as you limit your advice to helping us with an income-producing task for the convict women, sir, I am happy to hear it.”

Eliza cast him an adoring glance. “Perhaps the duke could tell us how to teach the convict women to whittle. Wouldn’t that be an income-producing task?”

“Handing knives to prisoners is not a good idea, Eliza,” Louisa snapped, annoyed by the girl’s hero-worship.

Simon settled back in his chair. “Whittling might not work, but your women could paint someone else’s carvings.”

“And who will provide us with those? You?” Louisa taunted.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Of course not. But I could supply the paint.”