The Duke's Downfall (4 page)

“Nothing, I swear,” Teddy declared, innocently flattening one palm against his chest.

“I know you too well, halfling.” Charles cocked a dubious brow. “It’s obvious you’re up to your shirt-points in mischief, and it occurs to me how much easier it would be for you if Mother hasn’t a clue where she is—let alone where you are supposed to be. Which, I believe, is upstairs studying your Latin.”

“Have a heart, Chas,” Teddy begged, looking woebegone. “She will be there this evening. So will Smithers and Forbes—and if I am not they’ll steal a march on me.”

“She?” Charles’s eyebrow notched further.

“Yes.” Teddy sighed. “The goddess Aphrodite.”

More likely a fresh-from-the-schoolroom miss with overlarge blue eyes. The Parkinsons, Charles seemed to recall from his mother’s prattling about marriageable females, had two (or was it three?) daughters.

He also seemed to recollect that blue eyes were all the rage just now. It occurred to him to point out that it was not the color of the eyes but what lay behind them—or, perhaps, what did not—that was important, but as he opened his mouth to say so, Teddy pleadingly caught hold of his arms.

“Charles, please ... She is truly wondrous. Newly come to town and already declared a Beauty and an Original. At your age such things must seem somewhat remote, but—”

“My age?" he cut in frostily.

“You aren’t quite ancient,” Teddy assured him, though the tone of his voice suggested old age might overwhelm him at any second. “But you are—well—”

“A bit long in the tooth?” Charles put in helpfully. “So decrepit I cannot recall the thrill of romance?”

“It isn’t that, so much as it’s one thing to be widely read on a subject, yet quite another to experience it firsthand.”

“Widely read!” Charles shouted. “See here, I’ll have you know that I—”

But in the nick of time, he saw the telltale gleam of mischief in Teddy’s green eyes and clamped his mouth shut. Though his mother and Lesley were completely taken in by His Dottiness, Charles had long suspected that sharp-witted Teddy was not.

“Yes, Charles?” he prodded avidly.

Which confirmed that indeed he was not fooled by the blustering Charles feigned on the subject of women in order to keep his affairs private. Little wretch, he thought fondly, wishing Teddy would turn his mind to pursuits more worthy than ferreting out his oldest brother’s liaisons.

“Never mind. Gentlemen do not discuss such things. And I believe you said you were late.”

“You won’t tell Mother, will you? I’ll devote four hours to my Latin tomorrow evening, I swear.”

“Indeed you will, or I’ll cart you back to school myself, wedding or no wedding.”

“Thank you, Chas!” Teddy gave his shoulders a grateful clasp, then threw open the door. “You are the best of brothers!”

“Old and feeble as I am?” he replied wryly.

“Speaking of that”—halfway through the door, Teddy paused to glance over his shoulder—”the great wits of the ton have altered your nickname, you know.”

“Have they?” Charles grinned good-naturedly. “Let me guess. His Twittiness?”

“No, Charles.” Teddy shook his head soberly. “They call you His Dodderingness.”

“His what?” Charles roared, but to the closed door, for Teddy had already shut it in his face. Through the paneled wood, he heard a muffled whoop of laughter, but when he flung the door open, Teddy had vanished into the darkness.

“Little scapegrace,” Charles muttered, then slammed the door and stalked back to the library.

Chapter Four

Within the half hour, Teddy was leaning on one shoulder against a marble pillar in the Parkinsons’ ballroom gazing adoringly at Lady Elizabeth Keaton. The diamond brightness of her eyes outshone the shimmering crystal chandeliers, her hair was spun gold, the flush in her cheeks the perfect complement to the petal-pink trim of her gown.

She was the loveliest deb in the room, a fact confirmed by the dozen or so would-be suitors surrounding her. None of them, Teddy was certain, could possibly admire her more than he did, yet Lady Clymore had called him an insolent pup and given him a cuff on the ear when he’d requested an introduction. After it had taken him nearly a sennight to work up the courage.

His ear and his ego smarting, Teddy decided it would be a true pleasure to show the old besom just how insolent a pup he could be. With a devious smile he wheeled off the pillar—and froze at the sight of his mother entering the ballroom with Lord and Lady Hampton. His first thought was that she must have searched his room and found her engagement book, his second to hide before she saw him.

He did quickly, in a corner screened by an artful arrangement of tropicals from the Parkinsons’ orangery. Separating the fronds of a feathery palm, he watched his mother bid good evening to her hostess, start into the room with Lady Hampton, and turn to greet—of all people—the Countess of Clymore.

“Blister it,” Teddy muttered, ducking out of sight as the dowager duchess and the dowager countess strolled toward the vacant pair of cut-velvet chairs set before his hiding place.

“Elizabeth is truly lovely, Hesper,” he heard his mother say, and shrank lower behind the palms. “To your credit—and to Lydia Parkinson’s chagrin it would appear—she has obviously taken.”

“Is that silly woman still looking daggers at her?” The belligerent tone of Lady Clymore’s voice caused Teddy’s ear to throb anew. “I told her a period would shortly be put to Betsy eclipsing her Sarah.”

“She’s made a match so soon?”

Teddy felt a stab in the region of his heart, and for several moments could hear nothing but the rustle of the ladies’ gowns as they seated themselves. Holding his breath, he strained closer, but the countess’s reply was further muffled by a nearby trill of laughter.

“But you’ve always detested the Dameron connection!” his mother declared surprisedly.

“Indeed I still do,” her ladyship confirmed heartily, “yet I cannot refuse. He can make his own way, to be sure, for no hostess will refuse the Earl of Clymore. But Julian Dameron is not, I assure you, above bruiting it about that I declined to introduce him to Society.”

“Then you’ve no choice,” replied the duchess. Teddy heard a faint tapping, which told him his mother was drumming her fan against her chin, a habit she fell into when distracted. “I’d wager he thought all along to follow you to town.”

“Though Betsy foretold it, I can scarce credit it,” the countess said bitterly. “She warned he would not overlook any opportunity to ruin her chances. And what better way than to drape himself like a millstone about her neck?”

“I’d wager further,” the duchess went on, “that he claims to have urgent business in the city.”

“Just so,” Lady Clymore retorted furiously. “How could I be so easily gulled? Though it is, I suppose, my just desserts for taking the word of a mushroom as that of a gentleman!”

“You’ve not told Elizabeth?”

“No, and I’ve no intention. His letter said he will arrive within the week. That’s soon enough to pitch her into the dismals.”

“Or see her betrothed,” the duchess replied pointedly, which sent Teddy’s heart plunging.

Chilling as it was to think of the lovely Betsy married to an odious upstart, it was even more maddening to know he could do nothing to prevent it. If he were of age, yes, but three years and two more forms of Latin—which could very well prove to be the death of him—lay between Teddy and his majority.

“A happy thought,” the dowager said, with a sigh, “but I fear ‘tis impossible in such short time.”

“Perhaps not,” the duchess said encouragingly. “According to the latest on-dit, Elizabeth is the toast of the town.”

“And I’ll tell you how long that will last,” Lady Clymore predicted sourly. “So long as Betsy can refrain from engaging an exquisite in a discussion of Plato, or until she outrides a whip on Rotten Row. It is merely a question of which will befall her first.”

“Oh, my.” Teddy heard his mother’s fan begin to tap again. “Is she often prone to such mad starts?”

“At least once a day.” Her ladyship sighed gloomily. “She has vowed to be on her best behavior, and she will try to be, I know, for she is fundamentally a good gel, but she is a Keaton through and through. The same rash impulse that overcame Edward when he sent his hunter at that impossibly high wall will sooner or later compel his daughter to an act of equal insanity. And I would not put it above Julian Dameron to purposely goad her.”

“What the circumstances call for,” the duchess replied pragmatically, “is a gentleman of similar interests.”

“Do you know of such a one among the ton?”

“Sadly,” Eugenia Earnshaw admitted over the tap tap of her fan, “I can think of no one at the moment.”

But Teddy could. The name and face sprang instantly to mind—along with a plan to save Lady Betsy from the mushroom Dameron—with a brilliance and clarity that left him grinning from ear to ear. It wasn’t a perfect match, but half the whole was better than none. And it was the next best thing to offering for her himself.

The plan was not without risks, but no plan worth its salt was. He would have to return his mother’s engagement book, but before slipping it into her morning room to be found in plain sight, he would make a few changes and additions to her schedule. Keeping her haring about town from one mythical appointment to another would make it easier to manipulate clever old Charles, who’d given him the idea in the first place. His course decided, Teddy straightened, smoothed the tails of his coat, and slipped out from behind the palms.

“Good evening to you, Mother,” he said, sweeping a deep bow. “And to you, Lady Clymore.”

“You again!” The dowager snatched up her fan to deliver a smart rap to the back of Teddy’s bowed head, but abruptly twisted sideways in her chair to inquire incredulously of the duchess. “This whelp is yours?”

“Sadly, yes,” she replied dryly. “May I present my youngest son Theodore.”

“Your servant.” Teddy bowed again. “With your ladyship’s permission, I would pay my addresses to your granddaughter. And with a nod from my mother, I would offer her marriage to save her from this despicable fortune hunter.”

Lady Clymore opened her fan and beat furiously at the sudden flush creeping up her throat. “Would you, indeed? What a fine and noble young man you've raised, Eugenia.”

The twitching of her lips made it clear she was doing her best not to laugh. Good, good, Teddy thought, shifting his attention and an appropriately pleading look to his mother. One brow was slightly arched, but otherwise her face gave nothing away.

“So it would appear,” she said, her voice as nonplussed as her expression. “What do you know of Julian Dameron?”

“Only what I heard her ladyship say,” Teddy blurted. Then added hastily, “Quite by accident, of course.”

The duchess smiled, but not pleasantly. “Of course.”

“Since I was standing directly behind you,” Teddy replied affrontedly, “I could hardly help but overhear.”

Her Grace shifted in her chair to glance over her shoulder. When she looked back at Teddy, the arch of her brow had heightened considerably. “How is it I failed to notice you among the palms?”

“A soldier’s trick, Mother,” he replied loftily. “Lesley taught it to me. Did you know he once evaded a whole Froggie regiment by making himself appear to be part of the shrubbery?”

The duchess’s eyelids took a furious leap, but Lady Clymore threw back her head and laughed. So heartily her enormous lavender turban began to tremble.

“By thunder, Eugenia. This is a boy to be proud of! Such a bag of moonshine I’ve never heard, but it’s earned you a dance with my granddaughter.” The dowager raised her closed fan and pointed it at him warningly. “Only one, mind you, Theodore. I shall be watching.”

“Teddy, ma’am, if you please.” He grinned at her, then looked imploringly at his mother. “With your permission?”

“Granted, for one dance,” she replied firmly. “Denied for anything else. If you must beg my leave, you are too young to even think it.”

“As Her Grace wishes.” Teddy bobbed another quick bow and darted off in the direction of Lady Elizabeth.

“Pity he’s such a puppy,” Lady Clymore said amusedly. “What do you suppose he’s up to?”

“I shudder to even think,” replied the duchess, her gaze narrowing speculatively as she watched Teddy thread his way across the crowded ballroom.

That her youngest son was, indeed, up to something Her Grace had every confidence. Beyond the fact that Teddy usually was, there’d been an air of surety about him when he’d made his preposterous offer to Hesper Keaton. He’d known the countess would refuse him, which meant that from the beginning he’d sought only the dance and an opportunity to speak with Lady Elizabeth.

The question, of course, was why. Certainly Teddy was of the right age to be deeply smitten, but Her Grace doubted that was the whole of it. Perhaps a portion of it, she granted, as her gaze shifted thoughtfully toward Betsy. Without question, she was lovely enough to captivate anyone she chose, and at the moment seemed to be doing quite a nice job of enthralling her circle of gallants.

Seemed to be, yes, which was a brilliant complement to her plan, but the glitter in Betsy’s eyes was not excitement—any more than the flush in her cheeks was maidenly demure. Confusion was the cause of her high color, and the gleaming pinpoints in her eyes were unshed tears of frustration.

There were names to match the eager faces ringed about her; she knew there were, for she’d been properly introduced to each gentleman. But in the subsequent whirl of waltzes and country dances, she’d been passed from one to the other in such dizzying succession that her head was fairly spinning. She couldn’t have said who was who (or was it whom?) had her very life depended on it.

If they didn’t all go away this instant and give her a chance to collect her wits she was going to scream. Or better yet, take her grandfather’s snuffbox out of her small evening reticule and help herself to a pinch. Her fingers itched to do so, but the glimpse she caught through the crowd of her grandmother, beaming beatifically at her from a chair on the sidelines, caused her instead to open her fan, wave it coquettishly, and declare, “Above all things, I believe I would like a glass of punch.”