The Duke Dilemma (5 page)

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Brent.” A lovely light-haired creature dipped a curtsy before Frederick, whose graceless expression almost outright embarrassed Edward.

“Have you met my father, the Duke of Faraday?” Frederick stepped back, allowing her to see past him.

“Miss Julia Shrope, Your Grace.” Miss Shrope’s curtsy was a fraction lower and lasted a bit longer than the one performed for Frederick.

Quite apparent to Edward was Miss Shrope’s ability to recognize that his son had not remembered her.

“We met last year, was it not?” Frederick said.

“Yes, my lord, at the Rushworth party. It was a musical evening, I believe.”

“Rushworth’s? Are you certain it was not at the Devonshire party?”

“I do not believe so.” Miss Shrope’s gaze dropped to her small clasped hands.

“Shrope?” Frederick closed his eyes, making more of an effort to bring some long-lost recollection to mind. “I believe there was a Sir Douglas Shrope at Eton; any relation to you by chance?”

“He is my younger brother.” By Miss Shrope’s pale pink gown adorned with small pink rosebuds, Edward understood that this was not her first Season. It must have been her second. She appeared too young for it to be her third. He wondered what
had happened that she would not have made a match last year. She was truly very lovely.

“As I recall he came into his baronetcy at the age of seven.” How could Frederick not recall something as simple as her name? Where he had come up with these details about her family was completely unknown.

“Yes, sir. He was very young when we lost our father, a hardship on the entire family, but it has been many years and we have quite recovered.” Something, or someone, caught Miss Shrope’s eye, and she waved.

Why Frederick could recall such unpleasantness as the demise of a parent, Edward could not guess. He did not think it was an appropriate topic for conversation, at least not a savory one for such an informal social gathering.

“Your Grace, Lord Brent, may I present my mother, Lady Shrope.” Miss Shrope stepped back, allowing the newcomer to step before the two gentlemen.

“How do you do, Lady Shrope?” Frederick greeted her with the same, if not more reverence as he had her daughter minutes before.

Dressed in a handsome green gown edged with lace, Lady Shrope looked to be a young widow. Still attractive, she had what Edward called a
matured beauty
and could have easily been Miss Shrope’s elder sister instead of her parent.

“How do you do, my lady?” The Duke bowed over her hand. “Do you and your daughter enjoy the opera this evening?”

“Yes, Your Grace, we both find it vastly entertaining. The music is—”

The sound of the gong brought a halt to their conversation and announced the end of the intermission. Frederick followed Miss Shrope, who returned to her mother’s side.

“How I regret that we must return to our box,” Frederick lamented. “Do you attend Almack’s tomorrow?”

“We do,” she said, encouraging him.

And it appeared he allowed himself to be encouraged. “Excellent. May I bespeak the first quadrille?” From the look of him, he was not about to take no for an answer. Edward hoped his son would not make a cake of himself by asking for a second dance right here before a roomful of people.

“You may, my lord.” Miss Shrope glanced from him to the Duke.

“I will look forward to our dance.” Bestowing upon her the smile that was known to charm females without fail, Frederick bowed.

“As shall I.” She colored a most becoming shade of pink, nearly matching that of her gown. How could the shy smile she offered Frederick not have captivated him to the ends of his dancing slippers?

“Come, Julia, we must return to our box,” her mother gently urged, touching the tip of her fan to her daughter’s shoulder.

“Yes, Maman.” Miss Shrope turned to Frederick and eased into a shallow curtsy. “Until tomorrow, Lord Brent.”

Frederick inclined his head. It surprised Edward that his son seemed so taken with her. While obviously pretty, Miss Shrope was no diamond of the first water.

“Our time is always so limited with the ladies.” Frederick stared after her. “One must make the most of every moment in their presence. One does not go about searching for a bride as one would a new hack.”

Edward wondered where his son had gained this wisdom and commented, “That, Frederick, is good to hear.”

CHAPTER THREE

Wednesday morning Edward headed belowstairs for a late breakfast. He never enjoyed the late up-at-noon-and-to-bed-at-four-a.m. Town hours; this was not the manner in which he cared to run his life. The easier up-after-the-sun-rose-and-retire-at-dark was more to his taste.

Upon passing by his library on the ground floor, he noticed his secretary, Abernathy, sitting next to the desk. He stood upon seeing the Duke. There was something about attending afternoon outings and keeping late nights that made Edward forget about keeping to his schedule. It was as if he lost track of the days that passed. He’d completely forgotten about this early-morning appointment.

“Have coffee brought into the library,” the Duke instructed a footman who stood at the breakfast room portal farther down the corridor. The footman pivoted away to carry out the request.

Edward altered his path and entered the library. “Good morning, Abernathy.”

“Good day, Your Grace.” He unfastened the clasp holding his stack of papers, readying himself.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.” Edward walked around the front of the massive wooden desk and eased into the seat behind it.

“Not at all, sir.” The secretary pulled a handful of papers from his satchel sitting on a side table.

Edward tapped several sheets of paper together before setting them out of the way, and then placed two books to one side, clearing the desktop before him. “What do you have for me?” He moved his blotter closer, knowing its use was imminent.

Abernathy laid several sheets of paper before the Duke. “These are the copies of your letter regarding revision of the statute book, ready for your signature.” He handed Edward the draft, written by the Duke’s own hand. “The original, sir.”

Edward glanced at the copies, scanning the top neatly written missive, making certain all was in order. He glanced over the other two before signing and handing each to his secretary. The Duke trusted Abernathy, who had assumed the post from his father, Ronald, at the conclusion of his education. Edward expected Reginald Abernathy, and in turn his son, Robert, might dutifully serve Frederick when his time came to succeed to the dukedom.

“Very good, sir. I shall send these out at once.” Abernathy handled each with care, cautious to avoid smudging the recent signature.

“Frederick and I would like to attend Almack’s.” Edward replaced his quill onto the standish, pushed back a bit from the desk, and leaned back in his chair. “I trust we shall have vouchers at our disposal.”

“You may depend upon it, Your Grace.” Abernathy would apply to the Patronesses on the Duke’s behalf if need be. “This morning’s correspondences include: various communications from members of the house”—Abernathy placed several letters before the Duke—“communication from Mr. Tierney regarding the civil list accounts”—a thick packet was then laid next to the first stack—“a multitude of social invitations”—the secretary set at least a half dozen smaller correspondences, using higher quality paper, next to the packet—“and the accounts from your
steward at Fletchling Green.” A final, and the largest, bundle was placed on the desk.

“Mr. Kittredge’s recommendations for repairs before winter’s arrival, no doubt,” Edward mused aloud. Kittredge was a good man and kept the village and its tenants happy. Perhaps exposing Frederick to estate business might be in order. He must, especially if he were to marry soon, take on the responsibility of running his own lands and households.

“I would assume so, sir.” Abernathy placed a sealed missive before the Duke. “The final item, I believe, is from one of your daughters.” After delivering this last, the secretary wordlessly withdrew, leaving the Duke to enjoy his correspondence.

At this last, Edward brightened. Charlotte’s handwriting immediately bought a smile to him. After breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment, the Duke relaxed into his chair, indulging in the comfort of her correspondence.

Dearest Papa,

I hope my letter finds you well. Truly I need not ask you to relay how you are going on, for I have the most wonderful news. I shall be in Town and will see for myself. Since I have not had the opportunity to visit London, as have Gusta or Moo, I look forward to attending some parties, balls, making new acquaintances, and seeing a few of the sights in the city.

I credit my dear husband for this opportunity. He has convinced me to accompany him on his way to visiting some of his nearby estates and plans to escort me safely to the Danbury family townhouse on Queen Anne Street where I may reside until such time as he completes his business and returns to my side for the remainder of the Season.

Our family is well and thrives in the country. Little Phippa is the sweetest of girls and grows to resemble her papa in her manner and grandpapa in her appearance. She is nearly walking and I am
certain when that circumstance occurs our house will no longer know any semblance of calm.

We have only begun our preparations to depart. If all goes as planned, you may expect my arrival within a week after the receipt of this letter.

Your loving daughter,

Charlotte

Charlotte coming to Town? Edward could hardly believe this delightful turn. He set the letter on the desk before him and drew in a breath. A few days ago he thought himself alone. At present his son, and now a daughter, were to keep him company; it seemed that any designs the Duke had regarding peace and solitude, as yet unrealized, were truly about to come to an end even before they had begun.

Dowager Baroness Louise Vernon refused the offer of a breakfast tray in her room the next morning. Her current staff had more than enough to keep them occupied. The four women together could handle what needed to be done until the return of the rest of the staff from their holidays. From what Louise had seen, the two maids who remained managed very well indeed.

Rebecca sat in the breakfast room when Louise entered. The holland covers had been removed from the table and sideboard, which gleamed from their recent polishing. The curtains were drawn but the grayness outside did not look promising.

“I must commend Betty and Dora for their efforts. They had our bedchambers aired and the hearths lit by the time we retired and relit to warm the room this morning.” Rebecca sipped from
her teacup. “And just look at what Dora’s managed to make for breakfast.”

Louise glanced at the sideboard with its plentiful offering of eggs, muffins, and gammon. “I must agree. This is above anything I would have expected on such short notice.” Louise helped herself to a plate and set a bit of each onto it. “Are you still planning to go out today, Becca? I have a missive to my brother that needs to be franked.”

George, Earl Lambert, Louise’s brother, needed to know of her return to Town. Lord Lambert looked after her financial affairs, supplementing her allowance from her nephew, the current Baron Vernon, and it was through the Earl’s largesse that Louise resided in the Conduit Street townhouse.

“I promised I would accompany Betty and Dora on a shopping expedition.” Rebecca dabbed at the sides of her mouth and laid her napkin next to her plate. “Only one letter? What of Sir Samuel and Lady Augusta?”

“There is no hurry since my nephew is on his wedding trip. The receipt of any correspondence I send would be delayed for some time yet.” Louise sat next to her lady’s maid and set her plate on the table. “As for Lady Augusta, I believe if I can manage to put pen to paper this evening, or even tomorrow, it will be soon enough.”

“I suppose you are right. Allow me to pour you some tea.” Rebecca stood to retrieve a cup and saucer. “I will drop off at-home cards for Lady Gelsthorpe, Lady Ashton, Mrs. Dumfries, and Mrs. Templeton, if you like. I know how you long to return to your garden.”