The Debonair Duke (3 page)

There was also a stack of invitations that had grown considerably since the news of his successful find of the missing jewelry. Most likely these were from people who hoped to obtain his advice on foiling thieves. He didn’t mind, actually. It was a challenge to thwart criminals, using his brains and nothing more. The Earl of Gresham was a case in point. Fellow had owned a safe a child could break into hidden behind an oil painting in the study. Robert smiled to himself; no thief would be likely to locate the new concealment, or easily figure out how to gain entry should he be so lucky to find it.

Robert had enjoyed that challenge, but also felt it well worth the present efforts of bringing paperwork up-to-date. He sighed and applied himself to checking the report of estimated crop yields, the list of repairs needing attention, and the problem of poachers.

There was a faint sound of footsteps in the hall. His butler rapped gently, then entered with a missive on a silver salver. “This was just delivered, Your Grace. Boy said it was most urgent.”

The note was not scented, nor was it written on florid pink paper. Rather, crisp white paper of respectable quality was sealed with a modest brown wafer. Robert broke the seal, then unfolded the brief letter, frowning as he read the carefully written words. The black letters flowed over the paper, quite legible and sensible, only he could scarce believe them. He read the words again.

He glanced at Bently, asking, “Did you say a boy delivered this? No livery?”

“Correct, Your Grace. Handed me the letter and said it was urgent. I looked across the street, but all I could see was a young lady holding a parasol.”

“A young lady, you say?” Robert considered the message again, then dismissed his butler with a wave of his hand.

He noted that she had addressed him most properly, then pleaded for him to meet with her to discuss a particular problem. A case of a misdelivered package? Now, why would a misdelivered package create such an enormous predicament? Surely, the contents would not be so reprehensible that she could not seek help from her parents? Or…perhaps it was? “Valuable contents” to him spelled jewelry, or something of that nature. If that were the case, he could understand why a proper young lady might be hesitant to ask help from her parents. Parents had a way of assuming the worst, or at the very least asking strange and bothersome questions.

And, he admitted, he had acquired a reputation for solving seemingly impossible problems. The child did not give him a clue as to how they might meet. But she did sign her name and give her direction. That, more than anything, convinced him that the note was genuine.

He would investigate the young woman, inquire around to see what it might be that troubled her so before he stuck his head in a noose. He hadn’t met the girl, at least he didn’t think he had. Pamela was a common enough name, and no face came to mind when he considered it. Fashionable address, however, and it was familiar to him. It was where Gresham lived. However, he hadn’t seen any daughter around at that time.

Opening a desk drawer, he consulted his calendar to note his acceptance of an invitation to the Cotterell Venetian breakfast this afternoon. Perhaps he might discover something of interest while there? The party would be a huge gathering of the
ton,
for Lady Cotterell was much liked and her parties always a
succès fou.

He returned to his work for the time being, setting aside the intriguing letter and its contents.

* * * *

Upon arrival at the Cotterell’s party, the duke joined a group of fashionable young people he saw frequently while in London. About half were single, the remainder were young married couples whose company he enjoyed. In particular, the Radcliffes were there and he hoped to ask Lady Anne if she had heard of Lady Pamela Taylor.

When members of the group began to wander off in various directions, he found the opportunity he sought.

Lady Anne proved a fount of information concerning Lady Pamela. “I cannot see what there might be of interest about a young girl who is finally making her come-out. Should have last year, I believe, but there was a delay of some sort. She is the only child of the Earl and Countess of Gresham. Attended her court presentation the last time the queen held a drawing room and behaved quite beautifully, so I thought. You know how exquisitely dull those affairs are, and she gave not the slightest indication she was bored to flinders. She is a modest little thing, certainly not the sort to attract
your
notice, Your Grace.”

“Her parents?” Robert remembered assisting the earl, but actually knew little about the man
—other than he was a member of White’s and had no scandal linked to his family name that could be recalled.

“Both incredibly stuffy and proper, particularly the mother. Lady Gresham is one of those who offer advice to Lady de Clifford regarding the education of Her Royal Highness, the Princess Charlotte.” Lady Anne wrinkled her nose at the thought of education of any sort.

“Good advice, as far as you know?” Robert asked lazily, while scanning the throng of people who drifted across the great lawn of the Cotterell country house. The weather was pleasant. People tall and short wearing a mélange of color and summer styles wandered here and there, admiring the gardens while gossiping. The fluttering of multicolored parasols were as so many giant butterflies hovering over the guests. Games were offered around to the side of the home, and he could hear the thunk of an arrow as it hit its target.

“Quite proper. Although in my humble opinion
,
Lady Gresham would be better off tending to her own lamb instead of poking her nose into the Princess Charlotte’s education. It seems to me that there is quite enough of that already.” Lady Anne wafted her pretty ruffled fan back and forth while eyeing her good friend, the Duke of Wexford. “If you are seeking a proper connection, you could scarcely find one more qualified
—daughter of an earl with an enormous dowry, so I’ve heard, and passable in looks.”

“Only passable?” The duke shook his head, giving the wife of his old friend an amused look. “Cecil ought to curb your tongue. You give voice to far too many opinions.”

“I heard that, my good friend,” Sir Cecil piped up from Anne’s side after quietly joining the pair. “She voices what I think as well; that it is high time you find yourself a proper wife and settle down. There is more to a good wife than looks. I’m fortunate to have it all.”

“That is the only thing that annoys me about you two
—you are so blissfully happy that I believe it impossible to duplicate. Is Lady Pamela here?” he asked abruptly, quickly changing the topic.

“I believe I saw her trailing her mother awhile ago. There she is…over by that net hammock and looking as though she would rather be elsewhere.”

The duke stared across the great lawn, trying to make something of a graceful figure in a simple jonquil yellow gown. On her head she wore a deep bonnet that had but a neat cluster of ribands to one side for decoration, and in her hands she carried a parasol that matched her gown. She was quite the harmonious blend of yellows. Evidently, the mother did not believe in over-ornamentation of her one lamb. He could see nothing of the girl’s face. Before he sought an introduction, he believed he would do a little more investigation.

He did agree with Lady Anne that Lady Pamela did not look at ease. That might he because she had no friends in attendance. And why did she not? Surely, her mother would have introduced her to other girls her age. Curious, he decided to mull it over while engaging in a pleasant activity. He sauntered down the lawn toward the river, catching Algernon Thynne by the elbow as he walked.

“Shall we take one of those boats, Algie? I would avoid people for the nonce.”

“By all means,” the obliging Algie responded.

“Good. I believe this one will do well enough.” The duke set about removing the rope from the mooring, then climbed to the seat where the oars rested in their locks. Within minutes, they had shoved off and were moving upstream at a desultory pace.

“Any woman in particular, or just women in general?” Algie inquired with a knowing look at his childhood chum.

“Ever meet a young woman named Lady Pamela Taylor?”

“Know who she is
—an heiress.” Algie made a face at his friend. “Deuced difficult to meet her. Mama is a dragon, you know. I tried to ‘accidentally’ cross her path on her morning ride in the park, but her groom is most zealous. Her mama must have picked him out. Couldn’t exchange so much as a hello with her.” Algie tilted his head and gave the duke a shrewd look. “Why? If I may ask.”

“Curious. Something came up and she is involved. Nothing improper, mind you.” The duke smiled at his old friend’s reaction to his words.

“I believe you there.
Most
proper girl,” Algie said with a shake of his head. “Heiresses tend to be that way, or so I have found.”

“Dun territory creeping up on you again?”

“I’ll find my way out of the River Tic on my own, one way or another.” Algie had never been one to borrow or beg from his friends, no matter how deeply in debt he might be.

“You are never thinking of succumbing to one of the heiresses! I notice you were quite aware of Lady Pamela’s status. There must be another way out of your dilemma?” Robert leaned on the oars a moment, allowing the little boat to drift back downstream.

“Come to think it ain’t all bad, being leg-shackled. Look at Cecil and Anne. Ain’t a nicer pair around.” Algie leaned forward, resting his chin on his arms, which he had crossed atop his bony knees. His gaze was direct. “I could like that.”

“And how many women exist who have Anne’s sense of humor or her loyalty to Cecil?”

Algie murmured something that might have been assent. “Must be another around somewhere.”

“Look, over there. Lady Pamela wanders along the river, twirling her parasol. Pretty as a picture, is she?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Algie admitted.

“Has a squint and mousy hair, then?”

“Not so,” Algie declared in affront. “Fad is, she has pretty blue eyes
—very open and trusting-like. Might have plain brown hair, but there’s bouncy little curls all over her head. Don’t think
she’d
have to use curl-papers at night like my sisters. Of course, she does have a determined little chin, which might indicate an obstinate person beneath all those curls. Still, she looks right pretty, if you ask me.”

“I just did, I believe,” Robert said mildly. “So the lady is pretty. Scarcely a diamond of the first water.”

“Been my experience that most of those so-called diamonds are a trifle too hard for my taste. Seems like they all are missing common sense in the brain box. And spoiled? Never seen anything beat the pampering most of these darlings receive. Not for me, thank you very much.”

“No need to take umbrage. Do you think I care who you marry…within reason, of course.” The duke’s grin took any sting from his words to his good friend.

Algie flushed a shade of pink that clashed with his gingery brown hair. Light blue eyes flashed a rueful acknowledgment that Robert teased with good cause.

* * * *

Pamela glanced at the little boat that carried His Grace and his friend. Suddenly, she heard her name called. But it was not her mother, as she had expected. A pleasant young woman of the group that had been clustered around the Duke of Wexford approached, seeming to skim across the lawn in an effortless glide.

“Lovely day, is it not?” the woman demanded with a smile and a charming chuckle. “I suppose you have heard nothing but that comment since you arrived.”

“Indeed,” Pamela responded with a smile to match. “I believe everyone is so glad to have a day of sunshine after that long and dull spring we’ve had that they cannot help but remark on it.”

“I am Lady Anne Radcliffe,” the woman announced, holding out an exquisitely gloved hand. “You are Lady Pamela Taylor, are you not? I was at the queen’s drawing room when you were presented. I am so pleased to meet you. Your mother is around, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Pamela said with a sigh. “I believe she is in conversation with Lady Brock regarding the music that ought to be taught to the princess.”

“Poor girl. What a pity the prince was not permitted to marry where he pleased. It would have saved a great deal of trouble. We can but hope his daughter will be allowed to marry where she pleases. So much depends upon her.”

Lady Anne tucked her arm into Pamela’s and proceeded to guide her over to a bed of early-blooming roses, admiring the riot of colors to be seen.

“You must enjoy flowers, for you seem to know far more about them than I do,” Lady Anne concluded after a few minutes of conversation.

“When one lives in the country, it is easy to become familiar with roses, particularly if one’s gardener is fond of them.” Pamela bent over to sniff a rose she knew to be extremely fragrant.

“Ah, yes, gardeners…what would one do without them?” Lady Anne responded lightly. “You are enjoying your Season?”

“So far, it has been lovely.”

“And Almack’s?” Lady Anne gently quizzed.

Not about to criticize that temple of society where young aspirants to
le beau monde
worshiped, Pamela made a vague murmur that could have meant anything one wished.

“Quite proper,” Lady Anne said with a delighted grin. “You shall do admirably,” she concluded with an air of satisfaction that totally mystified Pamela.

Just then a squawking was heard along the riverbanks, and the two young women whirled around in time to see the ducks literally attacking the boat in which the duke and his friend now sat most uneasily.

“Oh, dear, the duke is going to endure a thorough soaking unless someone does something, and quickly,” Lady Anne exclaimed as she pulled Pamela along with her to the river’s edge.

“They have dropped one of the oars trying to fend off the birds. Those ducks are impossible! What is the matter with them?” Pamela cried.

“I suspect they’ve become pests what with people feeding them. The boat drifts close to shore. See if you can extend your parasol to Algernon or the duke,” Lady Anne commanded.