The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (8 page)

He arched an eyebrow. “Why am I a wretch? I thought I was behaving myself.” He turned her slightly away. “Here, tilt your head a little. That’s it.” He tucked the last of her pins firmly in her hair. “You’re all put together again. Back to your prim and proper self.”

He spoke as though there was something wrong with the notion. “It’s the only way I know how to be.” However, she wasn’t really offended or even angry with Ian. He’d been wonderful to her throughout the tea. She grinned. “Except when I’m maniacally deranged, as I was in front of Lady Withnall.”

He cast her another surprisingly tender smile. “No, you’re perfect. You’re Dillie Farthingale, often sensible, sometimes scared. Always enchanting. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She hated when he was nice to her. He made her body parts tingle. More than tingle. They were on volcano-about-to-erupt alert.

He fished into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Here, I have something for you.” He handed her a slender box.

A gift? From Ian? She closed her eyes a moment to cool her overly heated senses. “What is it?”

“Open it and see. I promise, it’s no trick. Just as you were thinking of my firm and golden buns,” he teased, “I was thinking of you. I was going to stop by your residence sometime later this week, but since we’re here right now, there’s no point in waiting. Go on, open the box. I think you’ll like what’s inside.”

She nodded and smiled up at him, but was worried that he’d bought her an expensive trinket, the sort of elaborate jewelry that a man would purchase for his mistress. She could never wear something like that. Nor would she accept it. And what would her family say? “You don’t owe me anything, Ian. I’m glad you’ve recovered and look so fit. I—oh, Ian! It’s beautiful!” She gazed up at him and laughed. He’d bought her a silver brooch fashioned in the shape of an elephant gun. It wasn’t fancy at all, didn’t even have any precious gemstones worked into it. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

“Am I forgiven for teasing you?”

She nodded. “You’re forgiven for everything.”

He arched an eyebrow in confusion. “What else have I done wrong?”

“Nothing.” And that was the problem. As far as she could tell, he had no faults, except for his desire never to marry.

That counted as a fault, didn’t it?

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER,
Ian was comfortably ensconced in one of the overstuffed leather chairs in the larger club room at White’s, nursing a finely aged Madeira port and contemplating his latest problem. The mahogany wood-paneled male sanctuary smelled of finely cured cigars, worn leather, oil polish, and newsprint.

He’d just ordered another glass of port when Graelem and Gabriel strode in. If Graelem was back in town, then the entire Farthingale clan could not be far behind. Cousins, aunts, and uncles from Oxfordshire, Yorkshire, Derbyshire, and heaven knows where else would all descend on the Farthingale residence on Chipping Way, eager to celebrate the start of this year’s season.

He knew Dillie would not mind the noise or be dismayed by the lack of privacy, for she loved every single member of her unruly family. Quite a contrast between the Farthingales and his own miserable excuse for relatives.

“There you are,” Gabriel said from across the room, earning frowns from the older gentlemen hunched in their chairs, reading their newspapers. “Where have you been hiding?”

“In plain sight.” It was early April, still a little too soon for the marriage mart to fully hit its stride, but there were plenty of dinner parties, musicales, and soirees to keep those already in town entertained. He’d attended a few of those events, mostly those known to attract a faster crowd. He knew Dillie would not be permitted to attend these more risqué gatherings.

Ian set down the crystal wine glass he’d been absently twirling in his hand and rose as his friends approached.

“You weren’t at Eloise’s last night.”

He shrugged. “Something came up. I couldn’t make it.”

Gabriel arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. He’d mellowed since his marriage to Daisy, no doubt due to her influence; she was the middle Farthingale daughter and the one who always strove to keep peace in the family. Graelem had married Laurel, the hot-tempered daughter. Graelem had a bit of a temper himself and needed a strong-willed woman to keep him in check, though it was Laurel’s soft side that seemed to do the trick more often than not.

Dillie, the youngest of the Farthingale girls, although by only several minutes, seemed to have taken snippets of the best qualities from her sisters. She was as artistic as Rose, the eldest. She was spirited, but not as quick to anger as Laurel. She was as caring and loving as Daisy, and almost as clever as her twin, Lily. In truth, Lily was a freak of nature. No living being came close to her intelligence. Yet Lily always turned to Dillie first for advice.

Hell
. He was thinking of Dillie again. He hadn’t meant to, for he had bigger problems at the moment. Apparently Graelem and Gabriel were worried about something as well.

“We’ve just come from the Prince Regent. Those blackguards who tried to kill you last November weren’t Napoleon’s agents. No connection whatsoever. He’s worried about you, wants to know who else might want you dead,” Gabriel said, drawing him into a quieter corner of the club room.

Ian frowned. “I have plenty of enemies.”
Including my own family.

Graelem glanced around to make certain no one was standing close enough to overhear them. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

He’d told his two friends and the Prince Regent of the attack. Of course, he’d had to report it in full to Prinny, but hadn’t gone into quite the same detail with his friends. If they ever found out that he’d recovered in Dillie’s bed, or that she’d nursed him back to health, he would be a dead man.

He would tell them eventually. Now was not the right time.

“Forget about the incident. My only concern is that it represented a possible threat to the royal family. If it’s just some husband after me for a supposed wrong, then leave it alone. I was hurt. That ought to be enough to satisfy the old clot who sent those blackguards.”

Gabriel rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and sighed. “I still don’t like it. You’re being far too casual about the incident. You almost died.”

He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “First of all, I’m still alive. Second, no one would care if I did die.”

“We would,” Gabriel insisted.

“So would the Farthingale family,” Graelem added. “You helped to save Lily when she was abducted and they’re forever grateful.”

“I didn’t do all that much. Ewan and his Bow Street runners were the ones who saved her.”

“What you did was important,” Graelem insisted, getting that stubborn look about him. “Lily’s parents, not to mention Dillie, were in unbearable pain. Those twins practically share one heart, and when they were forced apart, Dillie felt every painful rip. You stayed beside them the entire time, gave them hope that Lily would be found alive.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Never realized I was quite that magnificent.”

Gabriel punched him on the shoulder. “You aren’t. But the Farthingales think you are.”

Ian cuffed him back with a laugh. “I’m sure I can count on both of you to assure them that I’m an utter ass.”

Several of the older members ruffled their newspapers and let out angry harrumphs.

Gabriel glanced around and caught the attention of a club steward. He pointed to the glass Ian had set down when they’d first walked in. “This is a woman’s drink. We need a bottle of fine aged whiskey. Your best. Spare no expense. And three glasses sent to the billiards room. Put it on the duke’s account.”

Ian let out a laughing groan.

“Make that two bottles,” Graelem added, but his grin faded once the ancient steward slowly shuffled off to do their bidding. “We have another matter to discuss with you. It concerns Dillie.”

Ian’s laughter faded. Had someone hurt her? He’d rip the blackguard apart with his bare hands.

“She has a suitor,” Gabriel said once they’d reached the privacy of the billiards room and shut the door behind them. “Lord Ealing’s eldest son, Charles. The Farthingales believe he’ll ask for her hand in marriage soon.”

Ian said nothing, for his body had just taken a hard slam to the ground. It was ridiculous, of course. He didn’t plan to marry. He didn’t want Dillie. So why didn’t he want anyone else to have her? He was like the dog in Aesop’s fable who didn’t want the food in the stable trough, but wouldn’t let the other animals have it either.

He ought to have been overjoyed for Dillie. Charles Ealing was a good man. A decent man. A simple man. Too bad Dillie would be bored to tears within a month of their marriage. “Give her my congratulations. I’m sure she’ll make him a fine wife.”

Graelem frowned. “She would, but he’d make her a terrible husband. We need your help to stop the wedding.”

Ian had been in ill humor all day. The news about Dillie only put him in fouler temper. Dillie in love and getting married? He couldn’t wrap his brain around it. He didn’t want to think of the girl in another man’s arms. He didn’t wish to think of the girl at all. “There’s nothing to stop. He hasn’t asked her yet. Right?”

“That’s right,” Graelem said.

Ian lifted a cue off the rack and pretended to study it. In truth, he had the violent urge to break it over Ealing’s head. Good thing the clunch wasn’t at White’s. Ian wasn’t sure he’d let him escape this stodgy establishment alive. “Why are you two so eager to meddle in Dillie’s affairs?”

“Bugger,” Graelem muttered. “It isn’t us. It’s our wives. Dillie’s sisters. They’ve got it into their heads that Dillie can’t possibly love him. They’re worried that she’s feeling lonely because they’re all married and out of the house. They don’t want her to make a mistake she’ll regret for the rest of her life.”

“She’s a clever girl, not likely to make such a blunder.” But he’d seen the way Dillie had looked at little Ivy, the way she’d lovingly held her and inhaled her baby scent. Dillie was all about love and nurturing. She must have felt terribly alone these past few months, rattling about the empty halls now that all her sisters were gone.

He understood about loneliness. He’d spent most of his life feeling as though he were entombed in a coffin, trapped in a breath-stealing nothingness while everyone around him went about with their lives.

Dillie’s sisters were busy leading their own lives, raising their own families. Dillie no longer knew how she fit in.

But how could he help? He wanted Dillie out of his life, out of his thoughts. How else would he ever regain control of his traitorous body? “There’s a simple solution. Buy her a dog.”

“Dillie needs a husband. The
right
husband,” Graelem said, “not a damn dog.”

“You’re wrong. Dillie needs something to occupy her attention. A pet will do the trick.” But Ian’s heart was a pounding, thrumming riot as they stood glowering at each other in the private gaming room. The steward chose that moment to enter with their drinks. It was about time. Why couldn’t he have come a little sooner, preferably before the conversation had turned to Dillie?

Ian was certain he heard the old man’s knees creak as he doddered in. More creaking as he set down the bottle and glasses, then ever so slowly made his way out. How much time had elapsed? Hours? Weeks? Eons?

Well, perhaps he was a bit impatient. Patience had never been one of his virtues. Not that he had any virtues. Rakehells never did. So why were his friends dragging him into a Farthingale problem?

Graelem settled into one of the soft leather chairs while Gabriel grabbed one of the cues and set the balls on the table.

“Care to place a bet?” Ian asked.

Gabriel shook his head. “No. You always win. I prefer better odds when I wager.”

Ian led off, giving his ball a sure, swift strike so that it hit the others with a precise spin. One ball rolled into the left corner pocket. Another caromed off the maroon felt backing and fell into the right corner pocket.

Ian called his next shot, made it, and then walked around the billiards table to face Gabriel. “Out with it. Why did you tell me about Dillie? And when did you two turn into a couple of old women? I’m not getting involved. I won’t meddle in a wedding that may never take place.” He turned to concentrate on his next shot, but struck his ball so hard it almost flew off the table. “Sorry. I’ve had a bad few months. Don’t need more troubles piled on.”

It wasn’t a lie. Ian had recently discovered he had a half-sister, the result of his late father’s illicit affair with “a woman of no consequence,” as his mother had put it.

He might have felt sorry for his mother were she the sweet, caring sort, but she had ice in place of a heart and had never cared for anyone but herself. His father had been little better, a cold and bitter man who’d shown little love toward his family.

A far cry from the boisterous Farthingales, who obviously adored each other.

Ian stifled a sigh. Not long after he’d learned about his sister, she had died while giving birth to a married man’s child. His friends didn’t know about Mary because she had been born on the wrong side of the sheets. Illegitimate. His father’s bastard. A scandal his mother had struggled mightily to quell, but not because she’d loved his father and been hurt by his straying. No. Celestia Markham loved only herself. She thought only of herself and hadn’t wished the image of perfection she’d created in her own mind to be tarnished.

Ian and Mary had never met. Now she was dead, leaving behind a child. He had arranged to provide for Mary’s daughter, just as his father had provided for Mary when he was alive. But seeing Dillie and the way she’d doted on Ivy had convinced him that he needed to do more. Arranging for a proper house and hiring a reputable nanny weren’t nearly enough. The child needed affection, something he was ill equipped to provide.

Yet he couldn’t turn to anyone for help.

Certainly not his family. In her typical twisted fashion, his mother blamed him for his sister’s demise. No surprise there. She managed to blame him for all the ills, real and imagined, that had befallen their family. Two siblings dead now. Both deaths blamed on him. His father was dead, too. All he had was a mother who hated him and an illegitimate six-month-old niece who needed his protection. His mother would surely turn the child against him at every opportunity.