The Debonair Duke (23 page)

Robert followed her progress with a narrowed gaze. Covered nicely? Certainly that, perhaps splendidly, or magnificently? He shook himself from his mood and sought out his friends, asking them to do as Pamela requested. They agreed with a promptness that warmed the duke’s heart—until his suspicions were raised about Algernon. Did he seem a trifle too eager to watch Pamela?

It was after the sixth dance concluded that it happened. He met Pamela, intending to escort her to the refreshment room, when they were confronted in the hallway by Lord Chudleigh and his plump, overbearing wife, Eudora. She glared at Pamela as though she had sprouted Medusa-like snakes.

“I knew it,” the woman snarled in a thankfully low voice. “When I heard of that necklace, I suspected it would match the one described on this slip, and it does.” She pulled a piece of paper from her reticule to wave beneath Pamela’s nose. “You are beneath contempt! And you pretend to be so proper.”

Thank heavens Lady Chudleigh’s tones were modulated befitting their public position. While she might accuse Pamela, she hardly wished to jeopardize her standing—not to mention Chudleigh’s—in society.

Pamela stood her ground, refusing to give an inch to the obnoxious woman who towered over her meek husband. “And what am I supposed to have done, my lady,” she said, her soft voice frozen with anger. This was a very serious accusation to be made in public at a society ball.

“Do not take me for a fool, my girl.
You
were the recipient of the necklace my husband bought not long ago.
You
are the mistress Lord Chudleigh has lavished his fortune on these past months!”

Pamela was not certain whether she should take such a ridiculous charge in jest or seriously. Heavens! The image of the meek and mild Lord Chudleigh lavishing a fortune on a mistress was a trifle difficult to grasp.

“You are most frightfully mistaken, madam,” the duke vowed in his most intimidating manner. He turned to look at the timid lord. “You purchased this necklace?” the duke demanded of the little man who looked as though he’d rather be hiding.

Lord Chudleigh squared his sagging shoulders and said, “Never,” in a voice that was barely audible.

“I am innocent of any such accusation,” Pamela declared, reaching up to place a protective hand over the beautiful necklace.

The duke looked narrowly at the pair that confronted them, then said. “Lord Chudleigh, did you or did you not present this necklace as a gift to Lady Pamela?”

Without glancing at his wife, his lordship shook his head and uttered one syllable. “No.”

Turning to the by-now, apoplectic Lady Chudleigh, the duke said, “I know Lady Pamela to be of the highest
ton
with impeccable behavior, not to mention lineage. Her character is of the finest, and were more women to share her values, this would be a better world.” Then he studied his lordship, suspecting he had more than a little to do with the necklace, but doubted the man would reveal anything, particularly with his dragon wife present.

The meek little man flashed them a look, then said, “I believe you have said quite enough, Eudora.” With that, he clasped his wife by the arm and pulled her after him
,
surprising both Pamela and the duke—and most likely Lady Chudleigh—by his decisive action.

The situation had been handled discreetly, drawing scant attention from the few who traversed the hallway.

“That was most unpleasant,” Pamela said even as she trembled with rage that she should be accosted in so horrid a manner.

“Your excellent breeding shines through, my dear. You handled that nasty woman’s charges with considerable aplomb,” the duke said with great admiration. “But I’d give a monkey to know who he bought that necklace for. You may be sure I will see him later about it.”

“You believe he lied? That he gave it to his mistress and won’t admit it now? But of course, how could he?” she concluded, glancing after the Chudleighs. “I wish this dreadful evening were over.”

“If it is any consolation, the mystery can only become clearer,” he said, taking a couple of filled plates to a nearby table. When they faced each other over the delicacies offered by Lady Chetwynd-Talbot, he added, “It is fortunate that all involved kept their voices lowered and that others saw nothing greatly amiss in our little conversation. For all the world knows, Lady Chudleigh was merely admiring your necklace. Everyone knows Chudleigh lives under the cat’s paw, and wouldn’t expect much from him. I believe we scraped through without disaster.”

“I have never been so humiliated in my life—to think that anyone could believe a thing like that about me!” She raised her gaze to reveal eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“Steady on, my dear.” Robert found he wanted to gather this precious girl in his arms—to comfort her, nothing else. “You know that only the poisoned mind of that woman could possibly think ill of you. Were she in her right mind, even she must admit your sterling qualities.”

With a cry, Pamela rose from her chair and walked from the room, leaving the duke staring after her in total confusion.

Chapter Thirteen

The most uncharacteristic behavior of Lady Pamela spurred the duke’s decision to mend his fences soon if possible. This might best be accomplished by returning with the family to Gresham House following the ball. He resigned himself to a long wait. That young woman he’d once considered so unassuming had acquired a respectable court.

He’d returned to the ballroom to find Pamela romping through a country-dance with Algie. Lady Pamela was besieged with partners and as resplendent as she was, would most likely remain so until the very last.

He bowed to Lady Gresham. “Your daughter is making quite a splash this evening.”

“I do believe she is. I suspect that she will wish to remain until the last dance,” her ladyship concluded, seeming overcome by the mere thought. Catching sight of his questioning frown, she added—most impulsively for her ladyship—“I have the most dreadful headache, and I’ll not spoil her evening because of it. But, Your Grace, I do wonder if I can survive that long.” Realizing what she had revealed, she gave him a stricken look. “That is,” she murmured, taking a deep sniff from her lavender-scented handkerchief, “I may persuade her to go home early.”

“That seems a pity,” he replied, whilst watching Pamela swing about in the measure of a cotillion. “She appears to be enjoying herself immensely.”

“That she does,” the countess agreed in faint tones, looking as though a wave of pain had washed over her.

“My mother always reclines with a lavender cloth on her forehead and takes an infusion of feverfew for her headache. Says it is like a miracle,” he offered in the hope it might help the lady he could see suffered silently.

“Really?” Lady Gresham brightened for a moment, then sat watching her daughter, obviously torn between wishing to try the remedy praised by the dowager duchess and remaining at the ball as propriety decreed.

“I am aware it is not what you might wish, but were you to go home now, I feel certain that Lady Anne Radcliffe would be pleased to stand in your place for the remainder of the evening. And I would make certain that Lady Pamela is returned to your home safe and sound,” he said in the most languid of manners.

It said much for the state of Lady Gresham’s distress that she did not question this suggestion in the least.

“Would you speak to Lady Anne for me?” the countess said as the sound of laughter made her wince.

“Of course. You need to be in a quiet, dark room with your feet up and the herbal to soothe you,” he counseled.

Lady Gresham looked at his departing figure as though he had just acquired a halo—a bright, shining one.

* * * *

Shortly thereafter
,
Lady Anne hurried to Lady Gresham’s side with flattering concern. “Dear Lady Gresham,” she said in her pretty voice, “you must go home immediately. I will be delighted to stand guard on your darling daughter. She is so dear to me—like a sister. Please, ma’am, do go.”

Lady Gresham needed no additional urging. She collected her things and was whisked from the room by the duke. In minutes she had settled in the carriage he’d thought to summon for her and was on her way home to peace and quiet.

* * * *

Pamela knew nothing of these events until the end of the cotillion when Mr. Phillpot brought her to the seat vacated by her mother and she found Lady Anne in her place. Lady Anne explained the situation in a trice.

“Grandmama says it is all a hum, but I believe Mama suffers dreadfully,” Pamela said. “Dear Mama, it is like her to not want me to miss this ball. I really ought to go home,” she concluded.

“Nonsense,” the duke found himself saying, to his surprise.

“There is nothing you can do for her that her abigail cannot do better, most likely. I suggested she try a remedy that my mother uses with effect.”

Expecting she might be called to account for her hasty flit from his side earlier, Pamela was wary of the duke. How could she explain that he made her sound utterly boring with his talk about her sterling qualities?

The strains of a waltz floated over the room. The duke gave her that debonair smile that had so appealed to Pamela when first she saw him and said, “I believe this is our dance, my lady.”

She was not quite so sure about that, but as no other gentleman claimed her, she willingly went off with the handsomest man in the room to share the waltz they had practiced at Lady Anne’s. Although Pamela had danced it a few times with other partners, she was certain no other man could come close to His Grace’s fluid elegance. And wherever he touched her, she felt tingly. The dark blue velvet of his coat harmonized with the blue in her gown and had she not been sensible, she’d have thought he did it on purpose. She hoped her feigned coolness masked her true feelings for the duke; she would not have him think she languished over him.

“I am pleased your mother confided her state of health to me,” the duke said while circling Pamela about the room. “She was concerned for you, that your evening not be ruined. Lady Anne convinced her that she would watch over you. I shall as well.”

“How tedious for you,” Pamela said, unable to forget the sharp words spoken earlier at the table. She was not a paragon of all virtues, she was simply a girl who had been properly reared and didn’t know how to behave otherwise. To act in a seemly fashion was ingrained in her. That is, except when she was around the duke. Then all those admonitions drummed into her head all too often appeared to slip away, only to haunt her later.

“Piqued, are you?” he said in the most odiously patronizing manner.

“Not at all,” she sweetly replied. “I simply dote on having my life arranged for me.”

“One of these days your parents will inform you of the husband they’ve selected for you. What will you say then?”

“I do not know,” Pamela said, quite horrified at the notion of walking down the aisle with a virtual stranger. She had not met a gentleman with whom she would willingly spend the remainder of her life. The duke didn’t count because he was beyond her reach and she knew it.

“No? But you must expect it before long. Is there no gentleman who has caught your fancy?” He whirled her about while watching her expressive face with an intentness not missed by anyone looking on except Pamela, who was busy staring at his neck cloth.

Her pause, along with that wild rose blush and lowered lashes, would make anyone think she had found precisely the man she desired. The duke waited for the name, wondering who the chap might be and if he’d be worthy of her.

“No, not that I could mention,” she finally replied, looking anywhere but at the duke.

Quite certain she was not telling the truth of the matter, he reluctantly escorted her back to Lady Anne, who now looked like a drooping pansy.

“Dear Lady Anne, what is the matter?” Pamela cried, unaccustomed to seeing her friend looking other than perky. Sir Cecil stood at her side, looking decidedly anxious.

“Did I not know better, I should think the headache can be catching. I hate to disappoint you, my dear, but I fear I must also go home.” She looked so woeful that Pamela would not have had the heart to look sad at the thought of leaving the ball.

“To tell the truth, my lady, I am feeling a trifle weary, myself,” Pamela politely lied. “We had best leave at once before Lady Chetwynd-Talbot thinks her ball a calamity.” She smiled winsomely at her friend, then assisted her to the hall where a maid was dispatched for their cloaks.

When they came down the front steps, two carriages awaited them. First in line was the Radcliffe vehicle. Sir Cecil
assisted his wife into that one. then turned to face Pamela and the duke, a quizzical look on his face.

“I decided that it is best for you to take your ailing wife home without having to go out of your way. I shall see to it that Lady Pamela safely returns to Gresham House,” the duke informed him.

Sir Cecil nodded, climbing into his carriage at once. “I’ll see you tomorrow at White’s.”

The duke waved him off, then assisted Pamela into his open carriage. Within minutes they followed the other vehicle to the corner, then turned the opposite direction.

“This is highly improper, you know,” Pamela said with a teasing smile. “I am amazed you would countenance such a thing. Although I know this is an
open
carriage, you do not have a tiger along. Why, if someone saw us
,
we could be in a bit of a pickle.”

Before the duke could reply to this saucy remark, a rider dashed up to the carriage, brandishing a pistol at them. “Stand and deliver,” the fellow growled in a husky voice, yet keeping his distance from the carriage.

It said much for London’s lack of protection that this could happen in the middle of a residential area. There was no one about, particularly none of the Charleys, although the night watchmen were more often asleep in their boxes than patrolling the streets.

“Remain covered, and slip that necklace down inside your gown,” the duke murmured. “I trust your stays will keep it in place.” While Pamela obeyed, the duke surreptitiously pulled from his pocket one of a pair of traveling pistols he always carried—primed and loaded. One never knew what a London evening might bring. He fired a shot, narrowly missing the chap whose horse danced nervously about on the ill-lit street.