Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness: The Baxendale Sisters Book 3 (8 page)

“You can always come and sit with me. We can compare notes and help each other.”

“How kind, thank you.” Amy gave a pleased smile. “Please take Mama’s seat. She is away speaking to friends.”

Hope sat beside her. “You have sisters already out, haven’t you? I wonder if they’ve ever mentioned the Duc du Ténèbres to you.” Unlike Winslow, the Frenchman went about without a retinue of servants. He lacked the pomp and ceremony one expected of a duke, which made him even more intriguing.

“He’s elegant, isn’t he?” Amy’s eyes grew shadowed. “Mama has been encouraging me to try and attract his attention.” She shook her head. “I’ve not had any success to date. He doesn’t seem to see me at all. I’m a little relieved to be honest. He’s so tall and broad shouldered. I find him a little unnerving.” She sighed. “And I doubt he looks for a wife.”

“Perhaps not. I’m curious about his past. I believe he is a widower.”

Amy nodded, her eyes filled with interest. She glanced at her mother, still engaged in conversation with another lady. “Mother refuses to indulge me with gossip, but I imagine I could find out.”

“If it proves difficult, please don’t worry. I confess to being a little curious, that’s all.”

“It does make one wonder.” When a conspiratorial light lit Amy’s eyes, Hope grew annoyed with herself. Had she given Amy reason to believe she viewed the Frenchman as a possible husband? Any further attempt to explain would make it worse.

“Mother beckons. I must go. Please come and find me if you want company. I shall look forward to it.” Her mother made a subtle gesture with her fan. The Duke of Winslow had walked into the ballroom. A low murmur arose amongst the assembled gathering. Hope wondered at the level of interest since he was hardly an orator of note and he didn’t appear to acknowledge those rushing to gain his notice. It seemed silly to her that wealth and standing could produce such a furor, as if it was catching.

Winslow acknowledged her with a bow of his head as she hurried back to her mother. And as soon as the next dance was called, he came to claim her.

When he escorted Hope onto the dance floor, her mother’s face lit up like a cluster of candles. Hope took a breath of smoky, overheated air. Winslow had singled her out, which was flattering, considering the bevy of beauties present. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, and she gazed over his left ear. They were so close in height they could have been almost nose to nose. If he asked her to marry him, she would be foolish to refuse, but her throat tightened at the prospect. This man offered so little of himself he was still a stranger to her. And yet, when du Ténèbres held her, she felt connected somehow. She chewed her lip. She must banish the Frenchman from her mind. Winslow had just asked her if, like he, she enjoyed Bach as the music filled the ballroom. She was able to agree with enthusiasm, glad to be on a safe topic. Although, this time, she wouldn’t be tempted to offer an opinion, even though one violinist in the gallery played a beat behind the rest.

Despite that, almost everything about Almacks was exceptional, except the food, which was horrid. The patronesses, who handed out vouchers, were very strict. Many weren’t permitted entry for some reason or other, which wasn’t always clear.

Surely, a voucher would be available to the Duc du Ténèbres. But he hadn’t come tonight. The venue wasn’t popular with everyone, and it was doubtful he’d frequent such a marriage mart as Almacks. She gazed at Winslow and searched for something that might draw her to him. Her mother had told her that these chances came only briefly in a woman’s life. As he led her around the floor in a correct, but uninspiring fashion, her gaze alighted on Lady Pamela who danced with Lord Hogg. She glowered at Hope, her eyes filled with spite. Hope merely raised her chin and allowed a small smile to lift her lips.

When Winslow led Hope from the floor, a lady of middle years put a hand on his arm. “Might I have a word, Winslow?”

The duke’s pale eyes turned stony. “You may not,” he said dismissively. “Now is not the time, my lady.”

Without bothering to introduce Hope, he left them. The lady hovered gazing after him, her face a picture of distress before she hurried away.

“Who is that lady, Mama?”

“Lady Bevan, the duke’s sister-in-law.”

“Do you know her?”

“Not personally. Why?”

“No particular reason.” Hope felt sorry for the lady. The duke had been so rude.

Chapter Seven

A companion had been engaged for Sophie, a widowed lady of middle years his housekeeper had recommended who had fallen on hard times. He didn’t take to the woman, thought her sour-faced, but he would not rush to judge her. Mrs. Crisp seemed competent to steer Sophie safely through her first introduction to society, with all that entailed.

Sophie’s pitiful amount of baggage arrived, and she and the widow were eased into his household. For the next week, Daniel left matters to his staff and saw the ladies only when he dined at home. On those evenings, he and Sophie talked late into the evening. There was an easy, light-hearted flow of discourse between them after Mrs. Crisp went to bed, for that lady’s contribution to the conversation was to point out the vilest and most heart-wrenching items she’d found in the morning’s newspaper. He and Sophie agreed on many things and enjoyed debate on many others. Sophie’s keen interest in political affairs was admirable, although somewhat distorted by her reliance on the broadsheets. In this she reminded him of Hope, which had made him smile and then grow alarmed at how often Hope entered his thoughts.

Sophie had never been to France and expressed a wish to visit. In a flush of good humor, he’d almost promised to take her with him next time but stopped before his plans for a quiet undemanding life went up in smoke.

Daniel had employed a dancing master to teach Sophie the rudimentary steps required to execute the current crop of dances.

“Your money has been well spent, Daniel,” Sophie said after dinner when they settled by the fireside in the library.

He raised his head from the newspaper, Cognac in hand. “In what manner?”

“I have mastered the difficult steps of the quadrille!” She rose and danced over the patterned rug.

“Well done,” he said with a smile of approval.

“Dance with me.” She reached out her arms to him.

Daniel rattled his newspaper and shook his head.

When she persisted, he reluctantly rose to his feet. They waltzed together, managing to avoid his desk and the sofa. She was a graceful dancer and would definitely pass muster.

“Enough!” Daniel released her and returned to his wing chair. “You are ready, Sophie. I shall take you to Almacks next Wednesday.”

“Are you sure? Mrs. Crisp doesn’t think so.” Her face clouded with uneasiness. “She says I have a lot to learn.”

“I expect Mrs. Crisp is a stickler for detail. I am confident you won’t disgrace me,” he said, his smile hiding his annoyance at Mrs. Crisp. “You have a natural understanding for how to go on.”

Almacks’ vouchers could not entirely rid the venue of fortune hunters. Some came in respectable guises. He must be alert. He couldn’t leave anything to chance, even though Sophie wasn’t a naïve, green girl.

On Wednesday evening, Daniel accompanied Sophie and Mrs. Crisp to Almacks. It was not a place he frequented—a marriage mart, in which he had no interest—but it was the perfect venue to introduce his half-sister to the beau monde.

The ladies settled in the carriage, Mrs. Crisp in black, which seemed unnecessarily somber for she’d been widowed years before, and Sophie in her glowing silks looking every inch a duke’s daughter.

“I approve of this new gown,” Daniel said, to encourage her.

“I’m relieved. It cost a small fortune.”

Mrs. Crisp tut-tutted. “Lady Sophie! One does not talk of such things.”

Sophie frowned. “The money
has
come from His Grace’s pocket.”

“Nevertheless….”

“And my banker shall deal with it. What is the color?” Daniel asked in an effort to end further argument. “It reminds me of old gold.”

Sophie acknowledged his tactic and gave him an impish smile. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter what it’s called. Yours is the perfect description.” Mrs. Crisp didn’t venture an opinion. Daniel felt sure that Lady Hope would know. He wondered if she might be there this evening, he’d suddenly been struck by an idea. The carriage stopped in King Street, St James’s, outside Almacks. “You shall be the center of attention.”

She bit her lip. “Or cause a brouhaha.”

“You must get used to being the subject of speculation, Sophie. Society will want to learn all about you. I would advise you not to answer questions about your past. Be mysterious.”

She blinked. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“I am not, but naturally people will be curious. Leave it to me to tell them as much as I feel they should know.” It would not embarrass him to claim this spirited, intelligent young woman as his half-sister, but he was deeply ashamed of his father. Daniel wished to ease her gently into society, but he didn’t fool himself that the past would remain hidden. Little did when there were those who wished to dig for it.

Mrs. Crisp fussed with Sophie’s shawl, causing her to move away with a nervous frown.

Sophie faltered at the door of the one hundred foot ballroom crammed with hundreds of people. She gazed wide-eyed at the gilt pilasters and mirrors and the cut-glass lusters lit with gas. He pressed her arm and smiled to encourage her and drew her forward into the heated, scented interior. There might be a thousand guests tonight. The well-dressed crowd swallowed them up, many agog at the lady by his side. When friends of Daniel’s came to greet him, he introduced her. Countess Esterházy, who was one of the strict Lady Patronesses who controlled Almacks so fiercely, had acknowledged their arrival with a nod of her head. Now it was up to Sophie to shine.

When she relaxed a little, her natural vivacity attracted offers to dance, but Daniel first accompanied her in the minuet. After that, there was a rush, and a young lord claimed her for a country dance. Daniel kept his eye on her as he strolled around the ballroom, chatting to acquaintances. He felt oddly proud of Sophie. From her seat, Mrs. Crisp also watched eager-eyed. The lady was too critical and humorless. She and Sophie were already clashing endlessly. Having to deal with it wearied him, as did this place, a hothouse of gossip. He’d given Almacks a wide berth after Elizabeth and Tobias died. Those who didn’t care a tinker’s cuss in the past approached him, thirsting for details while couching their inquiries in sympathetic terms.

When the dance ended, and the couples left the floor, Lady Hope appeared on the arm of the Duke of Winslow. Matters seemed to be moving forward in that quarter. Daniel swiftly buried a shaft of irrational jealousy.

When the duke left Hope with her mother, Daniel ambled over to pay his respects. It seemed a good idea to seek Lady Hope’s opinion about Sophie. A young woman would know more about how a modern lady should present herself, and what her needs were, than perhaps an aging matron who seemed locked in the past.

“Your Grace.” Hope curtseyed. He bowed to her mother and, as the next dance called was a waltz, secured it for himself before the other hopeful blades approached. Hope’s blonde beauty stood out, framed by her white gown embroidered with blue flowers.

On the dance floor, Daniel looked down into her face and found she observed him through lowered lashes.

He tightened his hand around hers, causing her to lift her chin and stare at him.

She flushed. “I wondered who the lady was who came in on your arm.”

“Sophie is my half-sister. Do you care to meet her?” Absurd how her interest pleased him.

“Yes, I would.” Her lovely mouth curved in a smile. “I thought I spied a family resemblance.”

“Did you? Apart from Sophie’s coloring, I can’t see it myself.”

“Has she just arrived from France?”

“No. It’s a long story. I’d like a moment of your time later, if you will permit me.”

She widened her eyes. “But of course.”

“Sophie is new to London. She could do with some advice.”

“I’d be happy to give it.” She seemed intrigued but was too polite to inquire further.

He gave himself up to the rhythm of the dance, enjoying the way her body moved gracefully with his. Waltzing was much like a seduction, learning the prospective lover’s body, discreetly, the first tentative steps toward lovemaking perhaps before passion is truly roused. What a fanciful, wayward thought. “I noticed you partnered Winslow again. You have piqued his interest.”

“Have I? I don’t believe that’s so.”

“Of course you have. And…has he…piqued yours?”

Lady Hope raised her golden eyebrows. “I hope you don’t think me rude if I don’t answer, Your Grace.”

“Your failure to answer tells me all I wish to know.” Daniel tightened his grip at her waist.

She drew in a breath, the swell of her bosom rising above her low neckline. “The duke has expressed nothing more than a desire to dance with me.”

“I see.” He didn’t believe that, and doubted she did either.

“He dances now with Lady Pamela.”

“Might that be because you are dancing with me?”