The Seduction of a Duke (3 page)

He chuckled to himself while William plummeted into deep mortification. The heat in his face would well be mixing with the aforementioned green to render a shade only his artist brother could fathom.

“Wait till I tell the missus,” Twiddlebody prattled. “London’s most eligible catch o’ the day is hunting for a fat purse in America. Hearts will be breakin’ back home, you can bank on that.” He issued a hearty laugh as William lamented that his upholstered chair wasn’t deep enough to swallow him whole. “You always were the responsible one. I had thought to present my markers to that younger brother of yours, but I’ll take them to your solicitors first thing upon return.” Twiddlebody stood to take his leave, then shook his head. “Wait till I tell the missus.”

William scowled at the thought of their father’s debts being presented to Nicholas. Wouldn’t he enjoy that? After all the years William had preached about obligation and responsibility to his black sheep brother, it would be more than humiliating to have men of Twiddlebody’s ilk chasing after Nicholas in pursuit of payment for debts their father had incurred. Obviously William should have spent those years preaching to his father instead of Nicholas. Now that his brother had found his muse in that schoolteacher, his successes mocked William’s competence as the head of the family. William’s scowl deepened, just another item on a long list of his own shortcomings.

Not that he wasn’t happy for his brother. Wasn’t it William’s actions that directly led to the discovery of Nicholas as a great artist? Of course his brother did not exactly appreciate his methods, nor did he appreciate his overtures to the schoolteacher. William grimaced. Naturally, he would not have suggested the things he had if he’d known about their relationship.

Still, Nicholas appeared quite content with his new respectable life, while maintaining a similar degree of respectability, in the face of his father’s defaults, was costing William a small fortune. Only the threat of insolvency could have forced him to take this drastic measure. He had sworn never to remarry after his previous wife’s death. However, thanks to the old Duke’s lack of control, severe and even hurtful remedies had been required.

His fingers reached to rub a spot on his shoulder, a reminder of one of those hurtful remedies. If Deerfeld Abbey went on the auction block, proof of his family’s ruination would be rampant. Even Nicholas would be drawn into the fray. William’s pride as the oldest would not withstand that blow.

Thus he’d marry the woman suggested by his solicitors and keep the beggars from running off to Nicholas. After all, what did Twiddlebody call him? The responsible one? Was he being responsible marrying a stranger for the sake of her money, or was he merely being lazy? Was it honorable to sacrifice one’s future happiness for the sake of the family, or was it foolish and lacking in respect? At one time, marriages arranged to enhance the family fortune were commonplace. Why then did this very circumstance make him feel lower than . . . a Twiddlebody?

The steamer mercifully docked before William could slip further into his maudlin thoughts. Although loathe to navigate the slightly swaying deck without benefit of a handrail, the lure of stationary dry land proved too much to ignore. He joined the crowd of men, women, and children funneling down the gangplank.

In the crush, one young lad in short pants with tears rolling down his cheeks pressed his tiny body up against the thin wooden wall that channeled the departing passengers like sheep down a chute. William quickly surveyed the open ground at the base of the ramp and noticed a frantic woman calling someone’s name. Without regard to his rebellious stomach, William swooped the lost lad up and tucked him under his arm like a folded copy of the
Times
. The child screamed and kicked, earning William the glare of many of the departing passengers, but he carried the boy down the ramp and deposited him at the feet of the mother. He barely heard the woman’s words of gratitude while he searched the landscape before him. In New York, a gnarled old attorney had met him at the gangplank of the
Britannic
and rushed him to the Fall River steamer for the second leg of his voyage. Now, however, there didn’t appear to be anyone—

“Your Grace?”

William turned sharply, a bit too sharply for his poor stomach to reconnoiter. He had a brief glimpse of a tall man in a white linen suit before he felt the blood rush from his head down to his toes.

“Whoa, steady there.” The man grabbed his arm. “Take a moment to find your land legs.”

It wasn’t his legs that presented the problem, William thought glumly. Still, he preferred the stranger believe that misconception.

“Promise me that you aren’t here to take me to another boat,” William gasped.

The man laughed. “I have a rig tied up across the way. Once we collect your luggage—”

“I have no luggage,” William interrupted, starting to feel human once again. “That is to say, I haven’t any luggage here. There was some difficulty with unloading my trunk off the
Britannic
. My man stayed behind to ensure its safe arrival in Newport.”

The man nodded. Now that William could focus on something other than his own discomfort, he could see the stranger wasn’t much older than a student still at a university. He looked gangly, but comfortable in his white linen, far more comfortable than William felt in his frock coat and tails.

The stranger presented his hand. “Stephen Young, esquire. I’ve been sent by Whitby and Essex to welcome you to Newport, Your Grace.”

William accepted the eager handshake, but grimaced. “ ‘Your Grace’ reminds me of my father.” He neglected to add that the address reminded him as well of the unpleasant and dishonorable circumstances his father had left for William to resolve. “Perhaps we can dispatch with that particular address while I’m here? Perhaps we can pretend I’m just another American during my stay.”

Stephen’s glance suggested it would take more than a dropped title to allow him to pass as American; still the loss of the formalities felt good. As if all his difficulties could be so easily dispensed if he just declined the title. Life didn’t work that way, but for a brief period of time he could pretend.

“I saw what you did for that little boy,” Stephen said. “That was very considerate of you.”

William, feeling stronger by the minute, took a good look at his surroundings. A bustling little seaport this was, though not with the industrial shipping that fouled the Cheapside of the Thames. If anything this port trafficked in people of various classes judging from their attire. The air held a wholesome freshness to it, more attune to the countryside than his familiar London. Indeed the hills and the trees reminded him of his brother’s home in Yorkshire. Nicholas would approve of this place.

“The little boy lost his way,” William said, still studying the tiny city of Newport. “It can be frightening to suddenly discover that everything you knew is lost.” He glanced back at Stephen Young, esquire, who stared at him in a most peculiar fashion. “Shall we go?”

“This way, Your . . . sir.”

William followed the young man to a simple one-horse rig and climbed aboard.

“Tell me, young squire,” William teased, coaxing a smile to the boy’s serious face. “How did you recognize me amongst all the other passengers?”

“Your clothes, sir.”

“Ah yes,” he frowned down at his trousers, “I suppose I do look a bit worse for wear. My man stayed behind in New York to escort my trunk once unloaded.”

Confusion passed over the young man’s face for a moment before it cleared. “No, sir, you look fine. A bit too fine, if I may say, for Newport, sir.”

“Oh,” William murmured, glancing about. Indeed, with the exception of the obvious laborers, the few men that passed by, and his young escort, all wore light linen suits better suited for the July heat than his frock coat and tails. He must stand out like a mule on a racetrack. “Then let’s be off. And perhaps you can point out a suitable haberdashery along the way?”

The ride was short. Looking back toward the water, William felt he could have just as easily have walked the short distance, if it had not been all uphill. His guide pulled the rig to the front of a grand hotel with a wide veranda on busy Belle vue Avenue. A sign proclaimed the establishment to be named the Ocean View.

Mr. Young prepared to hop out of the rig when William restrained him with a hand to his arm. “Tell me, squire, before you go, are you familiar with the purpose of my trip to Newport?”

The young man’s smile lit up his fair features. “Of course, Whitby and Essex are handling the negotiations.”

“I see . . .” William said, contemplating his next question. It really shouldn’t matter. He would do his best by the wealthy American, as any honorable man might, and yet . . . He leaned forward, lowering his voice as befitting a discreet conversation.

“And do you know of the young woman to whom I find myself engaged?”

A wide smile blossomed on the younger man’s face as he gazed beyond the horse’s ears. “Frosty Franny? Everyone knows her and her honey.”

The smile collapsed once he glimpsed William’s scowl. A deep red darkened his features.

“I’m sorry, sir. That’s just how the local papers refer to her. She’s not really . . .” He cleared his throat. “Miss Winthrop, yes, sir, I know of her.”

William nodded, his scowl still firmly in place. It was most disconcerting not knowing what his fiancée looked like. Alva Winthrop’s letter advising of her daughter’s availability had arrived at a most fortuitous moment. There had been no time for the exchange of photographs. Yet, this man’s odious reference to her, attached to what he hoped was not some reference to her feminine virtues, made him wonder if he should not have waited a bit before embarking on this venture. The need for money was great, but great enough to be tied forever to a . . . a laughingstock? A woman had made a fool of him before. Once in a lifetime was enough.

“Everyone in Newport knows of Miss Winthrop,” the man repeated, his tone sufficiently apologetic. “You are a lucky man to have secured her, sir.”

He averted his gaze, thus William couldn’t quite judge the honesty of that last proclamation. But as he studied Stephen’s profile, the man squinted. “If I’m not mistaken”—he tilted his chin toward the opposite side of the street—“I believe there’s your fiancée now.”

“Where?” If William hadn’t been raised on decorum in the way other young lads were raised on porridge, he would have pushed his escort aside to better view the women strolling beneath the elms that shaded the storefronts across the avenue. He bent forward, much to the protest of his still queasy stomach. “Which one?”

Stephen hopped from the rig, giving William a better view. He proceeded to tie the horse to the hotel’s post.

“She’s heading up the avenue toward the shops.”

A tiny peal of a bell pulled William’s glance across the avenue to the fancy gold lettering advertising a series of commercial establishments. A swaying bustle disappeared into the interior of one, while two other ladies approached the grouping.

“Which one?” William asked, wishing the two ladies would turn so he could see more than their profiles. Not receiving an answer, William slid across the seat and lowered himself to the street. Dodging the fashionable carriages, he dashed across the avenue in pursuit of the woman who would soon be his bride. If only he knew which woman that would be.

 

 

SILENTLY CURSING THE TINY BELL AND AWKWARD GLANCES that announced her presence, Fran quickly slipped to the side of the tobacconist’s front display of gaily painted cigar boxes so she could view the street without being seen. Ever since she had balked at her mother’s proposal two days ago, spies in the form of her mother’s matronly friends had watched her every move and hovered always within earshot. Fortunately she had anticipated such a turn of events and had taken measures to arrange for transport on the Fall River steamer without her mother’s consent. Still, she needed to lose the two bloodhounds on her trail if her plan to reunite with Randolph was to succeed.

Mary, her maid, should have already secreted a bit of luggage with a few travel garments to the steamer’s boarding ramp. If Fran could make it to the steamer undetected, she stood a chance of purchasing transatlantic passage to Germany without interference. From there she’d find Randolph. She wasn’t sure how, but she felt confident that the love in her heart would lead to his door. They would marry and be forever free of her mother and her purchased Duke.

First, however, Mrs. Kravitz and her annoying daughter needed to continue up the boulevard, so she could exit unnoticed from this aromatic sanctuary. Fran inhaled the rich masculine scent of tobacco, letting a smile tease her lips. They would never think to look for her in this male bastion. If anything, Mrs. Kravitz would search for her in the millinery shop next door. Or better yet, continue down the avenue believing they would spot her around the next corner. Fran risked a glance toward the window.

Mrs. Kravitz hesitated outside the shop, near the painted wooden Indian, glancing up and down the street. Her daughter, Phoebe, cupped her hands on the glass window itself and peered in. Fran quickly pressed her spine to the wall to escape notice, holding her breath that they would continue on their way.

“Miss Winthrop, what a surprise to find you here. Are you purchasing something for your father, perhaps?”

Fran nearly jumped out of her corset. The gravelly voiced proprietor stood close to her elbow. Too close, Fran thought, squelching the panic that such close proximity generated. However, with her own back pressed to the wall, there was no place to retreat. She placed a gloved finger to her lips, silencing the inquisitive man, then slowly shook her head.

He glanced toward the front window, his face relaxed into a smug expression. “I see. Is it Mrs. Kravitz you wish to avoid?” His lips twitched in a suppressed smile. “Or the unusually dressed gentleman?”