The Debonair Duke (2 page)

“If you look far to your left, you will see the Duke of Wexford,” her mother whispered during an intermission. “It was most kind of him to assist your father in the matter of my jewelry, you know.” The countess bestowed a wistful look in his direction that most likely was prompted by a wish that she might align her daughter with such a peer.

Determined not to stare, Pamela turned her gaze in the direction mentioned and almost gasped. The duke, for he was the only man who was tall and dark in that part of the room, did not possess a beaky nose, nor thinning hair, and there was not the least sign of weakness about his chin. Furthermore, he was as handsome as could be. At least Pamela thought him to be excessively good-looking in an elegant, restrained manner. There was nothing flashy or dashing about him, just elegance and perfect grooming. Her heart sank. The notion she had begun to nurture
—that of calling upon His Grace to assist her in unraveling the mystery of the necklace—was simply out of the question. The man she had first thought him to be would be approachable. The reality was not. As the music began again, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, listening with obvious pleasure to the delicate strains that floated through the room.

Impossible. Utterly hopeless. Pamela sighed and began to consider how else she might solve her mystery. Nothing grand came to mind.

Since a proper lady did not bring herself to the attention of a gentleman, especially one as splendid as the duke, neither Lady Gresham nor Pamela so much as cast a glance in his direction when it came time to leave.

Pamela brooded all the way home.

“The music puts one into a reflective mood, does it not?” her mother pronounced.

“Indeed, Mama,” Pamela dutifully replied.

“I believe I shall discuss the matter of music with the Lady de Clifford when next I meet with her.” The countess sat a trifle straighter
—if possible—and appeared to mull over what she intended to say regarding the study of music.

Pamela wondered what her life might have been like had her mother been as concerned with her learning as Lady de Clifford was with the Princess Charlotte. Tedious, most likely. Pamela had viewed a list of reading material intended for the princess and did not envy her. Sacred works dominated the list, with history and biographies next, followed by drama, poetry, and literature, quite often in French. Not that Pamela would have minded reading geography texts, for she loved to read about foreign places. She enjoyed botany as well, but would have objected to learning the subject by rote. Since women had smaller brains, they could scarcely be taught to think, hence they had to memorize texts. And reading for the sheer joy of learning was unthinkable.

Putting aside such seditious thoughts, Pamela went up to her bed to dream about the remote and elegant duke who had obviously enjoyed the music as much as she had.

* * * *

By the following day she had not reached any conclusions regarding the magnificent jewels that reposed on her bookshelf, tucked between a book of poetry and one of arithmetic. She had purchased
that
one on the sly, wanting to learn her sums that she might not be cheated at the shops. She thought it a good thing to know for overseeing a house as well. Could a housekeeper not cheat as well as a shopkeeper?

What was she to do? Pulling forth the newspaper from where she had concealed it, she again read the account she had almost memorized by this point. How shrewd the duke had been, outsmarting the thief with cleverness and daring. What would it be like, to know a man with such intelligence? Pamela sighed. This was not helping her to discover the truth of the jewels.

Admitting she needed some assistance
—for there was little she might accomplish on her own—Pamela studied the article once again and the germ of an idea took root. Actually, who better to consult than the duke? He had successfully outsmarted a number of jewel thieves. At least the article implied that he had. There was no real reason she could not consult him, was there?

Of course, there would be no romantic involvement to be concerned about. She was such an ordinary girl, and he had the world at his feet and thus could choose any woman he pleased for a wife. Mama had told her that the duke was single, hence the fawning attention from all the lovely young ladies making their come-outs. She would avoid that nonsense and keep any association strictly correct and proper.

Pacing back and forth in her pretty blue-and-white bedchamber, she mulled over how best to approach the matter. One could scarcely march up to the gentleman and announce that she possessed some jewels that she suspected someone had stolen and had delivered to her by mistake. He would never believe that it had happened, never mind that it had.

There were things she could not do and needed the help of a wise and clever man. For example, how could she go to Bow Street to inquire about any missing jewelry? The very idea was shocking. Unthinkable!

What a pity she had led such an exceedingly proper life. She wryly doubted that there was another young woman in all of London who was more proper than she. This was in large part the result of her mother’s preoccupation with the education of the Princess Charlotte. How better to convince Lady de Clifford that the suggestions put forth by the Countess of Gresham were excellent than to display a perfect daughter. Pamela wondered if she were held up as a paragon of virtue to the princess. She hoped not.

Nibbling at her lower lip while reflecting on the matter, she breathed a sigh of resolution and crossed to the dainty desk placed before one of the two windows in her room. As she sharpened a quill, she considered how best to phrase her request for help.

“Please, Your Grace, I have had a wealth of sapphires and diamonds dumped in my lap, and I do not know what to do with them,” she murmured, then chuckled at the absurdity of her words. She then began to write. “My Lord Duke, I would be pleased if you might meet with me to discuss a particular problem. ‘Tis a mystery, a rather unusual one, I think. A package has been misdelivered, and I have no clue as to the sender and little help as to the intended recipient. As I suspect the contents are enormously valuable, I should like your assistance in solving the puzzle. Yours, sincerely”
—and she signed her name with a modest flourish, for she had a very good hand. In an afterthought, she added her direction, for she had no illusion that he knew who she was or that Lady Pamela Taylor was the daughter of the Earl of Gresham.

After sanding the letter, she studied it as a stranger might. Would it capture his interest, pique his curiosity? Above all, would he be inclined to arrange a meeting with her to discuss her little riddle?

The mere thought of a meeting with such a debonair gentleman made her shiver with delicious anticipation. However, she thought ruefully, while she might have the proper credentials to be a duchess, she was such an
ordinary
creature. How could such a man as he be attracted to a quiet, proper girl such as she with plain blue eyes and common brown curls? While her figure was pleasing and her bosom quite respectable, she was yet ordinary.

Then the thought occurred to her that having a possibly stolen necklace in her possession was scarcely proper, was it? And it certainly was not ordinary in the least. Perhaps she might learn to be a trifle out of the common in this way? With that little hope tucked in the back of her mind, she sallied forth, dressed for a walk in the park
—chaperoned, naturally.

“Oh, Rose,” she exclaimed to her maid when they had reached a spot close to where the duke resided, “I have forgotten my handkerchief, and I fear my nose threatens to require one. Would you be so kind? I shall wait right here, for this seems a highly respectable neighborhood.”

Once the maid had scurried off to the Gresham home, Pamela beckoned a lad to her side. Offering a sizable coin and the note in one hand and clutching her reticule and parasol in her other, she said, “Please deliver this note for me to the house across the street. Number 56.”

Looking at her as though she was daft, the lad eagerly accepted the coin and the note, and dashed off to pound on the door of Number 56 with the enthusiasm of one who has been overpaid.

Pamela watched from behind the protection of her parasol as the door opened and an exceedingly proper butler accepted the note, glanced about the area, then firmly shut the door behind him.

She had done it. The note had been written as best she knew how, then delivered under her watchful eyes. All she might do now is wait. It would be a suspenseful, almost intolerable period until she knew whether or not the duke would assist her.

Where could she begin if he refused her his aid?

For one thing, she might hunt for a Lady Pamela, although the very notion of how such a search could be conducted daunted her. And if she found the woman, what then? Could she march up to her and offer a queen’s ransom in jewels just like that? Or even worse, might a constable have to be summoned?

Deciding such speculation was fruitless, Pamela welcomed Rose, accepted the handkerchief, and daintily blew her nose after offering fervent thanks to the maid.

“We had best continue on if we are to enjoy the flowers before it is time for me to go to Lady Cotterell’s Venetian breakfast.” Privately, Pamela thought it rather silly to have a breakfast in the middle of the afternoon, but that was when the social event occurred. She wondered if the debonair duke would attend the breakfast. While Pamela would not be so bold as to approach him, she might study the man and see if he would be the sort to accept a blind request such as she had made.

Since she had accomplished her true reason for her outing, she made a cursory inspection of the few beds of flowers to be seen, then announced she had best return to dress for the party.

* * * *

On the way to the breakfast, Pamela relished the trip along the Thames. It wasn’t often she had the pleasure of gliding along the river, with time to view the splendid gardens on the banks along the way.

She examined the faces of those of her fellow passengers on the barge, realizing a sense of disappointment when she found the duke was not among them. But then, what had she actually expected?

“Come along, Pamela, dear,” her mother ordered when the barge gently nudged the landing. “We must make ourselves known to Lady Cotterell before we may enjoy the tranquillity of the day.”

“Yes
,
Mama,” Pamela said dutifully while casting her gaze about the area, unconsciously searching for the duke.

They strolled along the well-scythed lawn past beds of flowers of every hue until they discovered their hostess. Pamela did the proper, then drifted away from her mother, still in conversation with Lady Cotterell. Pamela watched several young girls at archery and beyond them she viewed two young things swatting a shuttlecock back and forth with their battledores.

There was a hammock made of netting that hung rather limply between two trees. Were she not among company, she would love to relax there, fasten her gaze on the puffy clouds, let her mind wander as she swung gently to and fro.

One didn’t do such a thing in a setting like this, she decided. At least if one were a proper miss with the most proper mother in the world a few feet away.

And then she spied him. The duke was in the midst of a cluster of fashionable young men and women on the far side of the grounds. There was no mistaking him, for he stood out from the others. She had been correct when she dubbed him debonair, for he was all that and more.

Rather than seek an introduction, she decided to simply watch him from afar. As a highly eligible peer, he must be besieged with young women making their come-outs. Pamela had never liked being one of a crowd. Perhaps that was why she failed to flirt at Almack’s. Not that her Mama wished her to bat her lashes or lure a gentleman on with her wiles
—of which Pamela suspected she had none.

He chatted amiably with the group clustered about him, then the gathering slowly began to disperse, drifting off to the various entertainments offered.

The duke chatted with a couple she had seen often in society but did not know, the Radcliffes. They glanced in her direction, and she was careful to look away, off to the river where some ducks swam noisily about.

When she peeked again, it was to see the duke strolling toward the river, hailing a gentleman along the way.

He had a good friend, it seemed, for the thin fellow left the admiration of some girls with a jaunty step. Pamela watched as they discussed something, then in short order climbed into one of the flat-bottomed boats tied to a post near the landing. The duke took the oars and began to row along the shore. She rather envied them their freedom to do as they pleased. Who was going to deny a young, handsome, and eligible duke what he wished? Not Lady Cotterell.

Pamela hoped that the duke would help her. He looked enormously capable now that she had actually seen him and observed him herself. If he failed her, it didn’t bear thinking about. She’d feel uneasy keeping the jewels, knowing they belonged to someone else and were possibly stolen property.

In her room, serenely reposing between a couple of rather ordinary books, a necklace worth a small fortune waited. What the future held for it, and Pamela as well, was in the hands of the handsome gentleman rowing a boat along the Thames. Would he reply to her note?

And then she had a most worrisome thought. Where could they meet and how, should he accept?

Chapter Two

Early that afternoon, the Duke of Wexford, known more familiarly as Robert to his closest friends, was seated at his superb mahogany desk in his book-lined study going over some reports. He did not seem to notice the pleasing aroma of leather, old hooks, and a hint of apple wood from the low fire burning quietly in the grate. It was not a pleasant occupation, but he had neglected his affairs a bit, what with the recent investigations he had conducted. His agent had sent accounts from one of his country estates that required prompt action.