Lady Saves the Duke Read online

  But she did not wish to think about that now. Turning to Penelope, she smiled enthusiastically. A garden party would be lovely! Despite feeling gauche and somewhat frumpy, Abigail determined to enjoy herself. Planned or not, she would have a pleasant summer with her cousin.

  ****

  Alex Cross, the Duke of Monfort, had not expected to attend any house parties this summer. In fact, he never attended house parties. As a rule, he’d normally consider them to be a complete waste of time, filled with insipid conversation and banal entertainments. He’d only accepted the invitation when the Earl of Ravensdale promised a tour of his estate, which boasted one of the most modern irrigation and canal systems in Great Britain. Impulsively, the duke had made an exception.

  And the inspection of the canals, which was completed the previous day, had been enlightening. He was inclined to consider some of the innovations for his own estates—there were nine, to be exact. The Monfort ducal seat, Brooke’s Abbey, had been modernized most recently. It would not require any renovations. Looking out the window of the Ravensdales’ elaborate library, Alex contemplated when he could express his regrets and abandon the party earlier than planned. For it was becoming apparent that the Earl of Ravensdale had other motives behind his invitation. In a thoroughly undignified manner, the earl had pushed his daughter into the duke’s presence at every opportunity. He’d obviously not abandoned his ambitions for her to become a duchess.

  And while Alex considered her a pretty little thing, he was not inclined to take another wife any time soon. He had done so once, with tragic consequences, and would delay the inevitable for as long as he possibly could. He would eventually need to beget another heir. The son his now-deceased wife had produced for him had been killed in a freak accident at the tender age of three. And although any reasonable person could surmise it was unlikely to happen again, Alex was reluctant to put it to the test.

  He snapped his attention back to the present in time to glance out the window at the sounds of an approaching carriage, rather ancient by the inordinate amount of clattering it made. Late guests, Alex thought in an abstract manner, not the least bit curious as to whom they might be. He would leave tomorrow.

  But he was not committed to it. Contrarily, the thought of returning to any of his properties was not as satisfying as it ought to be.

  While in London this past spring, he made the decision to release the mistress he had kept for nearly two years. He’d been forced to do this because as the latest season had progressed, the beautiful Mrs. Elise Gormley had increasingly become somewhat possessive and, even more worrisome, emotionally attached. The widow’s disturbing and passionate displays had not only irritated and embarrassed Alex, but they’d led to a premature end to what ought to have been a long and satisfying physical relationship. Whereas in the beginning, their time together had been filled with giving and receiving sensual pleasures, tears and reprimands took over during the latter stages. A man did not engage a mistress so she could treat him like a recalcitrant husband. And although Elise had been an exceptional beauty and had known how to please him in bed, Alex had not been willing to allow their arrangement to evolve from that of mistress and client to anything else. In releasing her, he gifted her with a rather expensive set of ruby earbobs, bracelet, and necklace, and informed her of his decision in no uncertain terms.

  He was right to end it, he’d decided, when she’d protested with sobbing and pleas, which quickly evolved into various curses and a pair of her slippers being flung at his head.

  Not inclined to avail himself of whores, he’d also been unwilling to complicate his life with any of the more willing ladies of his own ilk.

  He’d remained celibate since that occasion, nearly six months ago.

  Even so, Lady Natalie, the earl’s daughter, tempted him not in the least. She was very young and a lady of quality. Not at all the type of situation he wished to contemplate. What he ought to do was return to London and seek out a new mistress. Perhaps he would do just that in the fall, during the Little Season. He would curtail his urges for now.

  His attention was caught again, outside, as he realized the new guests were not elderly at all. In fact, the women appeared younger than he had assumed—although not young enough to appeal.

  Ah, delightful, a pair of spinsters. One of them was tall, thin, and gangly—somewhat familiar, in fact. Oh, yes, Riverton’s daughter. She was known to be a bluestocking and something of a liberal. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a tight knot behind her head, and her dress fell colorless and wrinkled.

  The other woman appeared, perhaps, to be even more of an antidote. Much shorter, she wore a wrinkled gown over an unfashionably plump figure. She had mousy brown hair, but her eyes stood out large and expressive. The two women were quite a study in contrasts. Whereas Miss Crone was tightlipped and looked bored, the shorter woman’s heart-shaped face sparkled with enjoyment. What she found so enjoyable about life, Alex could not imagine. He dismissed them from his mind and turned away from the window.

  He paced a few times and then stepped outside of the large library doors. The excitement of the new arrivals carried indoors. He had no wish to become a part of it. Turning on his heels, he stalked in the opposite direction and made his way to the billiards room. Dignified quiet settled around him once again.

  He then proceeded to rack the balls and play a rousing game of billiards against himself.

  ****

  Oh, how could she? How could she? Abigail wanted to wail as she began unpacking the slightly familiar dresses from her trunk. These were not the dresses she had packed herself. No, they were the dresses she had worn years earlier, while having her season in London. Although less worn than what she had initially intended to bring, they were not at all modern. Worse than that, they were not quite the proper size. She could kill her mother! She did not wail, but she did moan, drawing Penelope’s attention to the dresses.

  “Oh, Lord, Abby!” Penelope declared, holding up one of the pale-colored day dresses. “Why on earth would you pack these old things?”

  Abigail merely looked at the dresses forlornly. “I did not. This is the work of my mother. She must have ordered Betty to do it.” Lifting the dress all the way out, she pressed it to her face and moaned again. It reeked of mildew. “Oh, Penelope, this is horrible! These were made up ages ago! I’d be surprised if any of them even fit me. Most likely, now, they are all too small.”

  Penelope pondered the dresses and then began sorting through them. “Surely not. We will merely cinch up your stays a little tighter than normal.” Raising the dress to her own face, she sniffed suspiciously. “Wipe them with a lavender-soaked cloth and allow them to air.” She gave Abigail a rueful smile. “Unfortunately, my dresses would not work, or you know I would gladly share them with you—not that they are any more fashionable than these.” And then she allowed a giggle to escape. “Can you imagine you wearing one of my dresses?”

  In spite of her present predicament, Abigail could not help but to laugh at such a notion. The mere thought of cramming her much rounder curves into a dress made for Penelope’s tall, slim form brought back a little of her good humor.

  With grim determination, Abigail searched for a dress that might be the most forgiving, opened the window to allow in some fresh air, and then went in search of a housemaid. She would not allow this most recent calamity to ruin her visit.

  ****

  It required a considerable amount of tugging and pulling, but Penelope miraculously managed to tighten Abigail’s stays just enough so she could fit into a pale green muslin day dress that had been one of her favorites the year of her come-out. The restricting garment, however, pushed Abigail’s bosoms up prominently, causing them to bountifully spill over the top of her stays. Unable to remedy the situation, both of the girls agreed the bodice was stretched too inappropriately taut to be seen in public. Abigail would have to keep herself covered with a wrap. If the garden party were scheduled just a bit later, Abigail could have let o
ut a few seams and resewn the garment for a better fit, but it was not. She hadn’t enough time to complete such a task. Abigail would keep her shawl snugged up closely about her at all times. If only the heat could have held off a few more days. Drat, but this would not be a comfortable afternoon.

  Feeling not just a little self-conscious, Abigail, with Penelope, found her way outside where the two girls claimed iron chairs conveniently placed in the shade near the lake. A nearby jetty anchored a few rowing boats that had been cleaned and set out for guests to use. It would be lovely to go out for a ride, but Abigail had no expectations of doing any such thing. Her sigh was overheard by her cousin.

  Penelope caught Abigail’s gaze and gestured with her fan farther along the shore.

  In rolled-up shirtsleeves and tightly fitted breeches, three men, nearly identical in coloring and mannerisms shuffled about in a leisurely fashion. Ah, they must be the unobtainable Ravensdale brothers.

  “The nearest one is Peter Spencer.” Penelope pointed out. “And then there is Stone and of course Darlington.”

  Although similar in looks, each gentleman exhibited subtle differences. Peter wasn’t as brawny as his older brothers, and the oldest, the viscount, stood slightly taller than his siblings. They joked and jostled with one another in a familiar, easy manner.

  A fourth gentleman, however, one who had not removed his jacket, kept himself apart from the younger men. He held a cane and wore a top hat. With feet planted firmly on the ground, shoulder’s width apart, he gazed out at the lake.

  “Who is that?” Abigail asked Penelope. Penelope travelled to London each year to participate in the season, even though she wasn’t actively seeking a husband, and so she knew almost every notable person.

  Penelope turned her head to identify who Abigail referred to. “Oh, Abby, he is the Duke of Ice, quite a tragic figure.” At Abigail’s questioning glance, she continued, “Well, he is not really the Duke of Ice, he is the Duke of Monfort, but it is the moniker he has been given by much of the ton. He is not friendly or sociable but, from what I understand, has due cause.”

  “What happened?” Abigail tried not to inhale too deeply, her bodice becoming more uncomfortable the longer she sat.

  “I believe it occurred three years ago,” Penelope began earnestly, lowering her voice. “The duke and his wife had returned to his ducal seat just before Christmas, a bit north of Bristol. I believe it is called Brooke’s Abbey. Anyhow, the duchess took the children out onto the lake to skate, and the ice broke through. From what I understand, the duke saw it happen but could not reach them in time.” With a pointed glance toward the man in question, she finished her story by adding, “His son was three and his daughter five. Before the bodies could be recovered, the temperature dropped and the lake froze over. So sad and ironic, really. Had they waited even a few hours, the ice would not have broken through.”

  A lump formed in Abigail’s throat. Nobody, she thought, nobody ought ever to have to endure the loss of a child. It was surely the most horrible thing to befall a person. “If he is so unsociable, why do you think he is here?”

  Penelope shrugged. “It is not that he is never seen out in society. It is rather his manner, his address. He seems to lack any warmth whatsoever.”

  Abby looked back at the lone man. “Hmmm…” was all she could say. Dreadful. Truly dreadful. And then the man, as though he sensed their attention, turned and looked over where they were seated. He raised a quizzing glass to one eye and regarded them for just a moment. A moment in which he quickly perceived the two ladies to be of no interest to him whatsoever. He dropped the glass and turned back to regard the lake.

  Well.

  It would have been common courtesy to at least acknowledge them in some way. A nod, even, would have done the trick. It was not as though the lawn was teaming with guests yet. Abigail pulled her shawl more tightly about her and a droplet of sweat trickled between her breasts. This situation with her wardrobe really was beyond the pale. Her mother deserved to be strangled. Abigail dismissed such thoughts, however, and forced another smile as Lady Natalie crossed the lawn toward them from the house.

  Penelope laughed softly, and Abigail raised her brows. In a missish dress made up of pink muslin and an abundance of lace, the earl’s daughter wore her hair in tight golden ringlets. For some reason she’d shed the elegance of earlier in favor of less sophistication. How was it that she still carried herself with such dignity and confidence?

  “It’s a lovely afternoon, is it not?” Her blue eyes sparkled, and her smile was sincere.

  But Penelope could not be contained. “Oh, my lady, what on earth are you doing dressed in…pink, of all colors?”

  More guests were drifting onto the well-kept lawn. Abigail looked about anxiously, hoping Lady Natalie did not take offense. Abigail loved her cousin, absolutely adored her, but in moments like this, she wished Penelope didn’t have to behave so very contrary to proper decorum.

  Luckily, Lady Natalie remained unfazed. “My maid is having one over on me.” She did not even pretend not to know what Penelope meant by her uncomplimentary question. “But what of you, couldn’t you spare even the barest nod toward fashion in your attire? You are not a matron after all, and,” she said with a glimmer of audacity in her eyes, “not all of the men here are married and over fifty.”

  In unison, three feminine gazes turned in the direction of the dashing Ravensdale men as they casually set the posts for a game of horseshoes. Penelope sighed again, this time with theatrical appreciation. “They do present an abundance of manhood, at that.”

  Abigail stifled a giggle. Penelope did not often admit herself smitten by any man whatsoever. Indicating her fan, which was ironically clutched in the same hand in which she was holding her shawl about her tightly, Abigail imitated Penelope’s tone of voice. “Dear cousin. Fan yourself, my dear, lest you faint from palpitations.”

  All three allowed their laughter to bubble over at the hilarity, but Abigail quickly reined hers in with an inward wince. Drat. Double drat and fiddlesticks! Her bodice had loosened slightly when a couple of stiches gave way with a barely perceptible rrrip.

  Best not to test those that remained. She was going to kill her mother!

  ****

  The duke stood staring out at the water. This wasn’t the first time he’d caught persons whispering as they gawked at him. It happened all the time. Before the accident, he had been gazed upon with a sense of wonder and awe. As a peer of very high rank, men often had looked upon him with respect and envy, women with romantic sighs and sometimes an all too obvious hunger.

  Now they all regarded him with a somewhat morbid fascination. He knew society referred to him as the Duke of Ice. He was not an idiot, after all. But life was too short to suffer fools gladly. And many of those who mingled in the ton could aptly be referred to as fools. Why should he make an effort to make them feel more important than they already were?

  Giving in to the pull of curious stares, the duke turned to his left and looked across the lawn. The shorter of the two spinsters quite unabashedly inspected his person. With a not very kind need to make her uncomfortable for doing so, he fingered his quizzing glass and slowly raised it to his left eye. Oh, heavens, but she was plain, even if her eyes were rather large and expressive. Alex allowed his glass to drop and turned away.

  He really must take his leave of this party soon. Except…except he had promised his hostess he would remain for the entire two weeks, and as a gentleman he was not comfortable breaking his word—without a sufficient reason, that is.

  A quartet of strings tuned their instruments in the distance, and servants scurried to and from the house. A banquet of savory and sweet delicacies had been set out along with lemonade, tea, and champagne. The Earl and Countess of Ravensdale did not throw a garden party in half measures—even if local gentry made up most of the guests. He was quite certain he would find himself surreptitiously spied upon by many who would never have the courage to meet him face to face.<
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  He would instruct his valet to prepare for an early morning departure. Surely there must be some urgent need for which he must return to Brooke’s Abbey immediately. He would sort through the mail he had received to see if he could find a matter requiring his attention. He had no desire to fabricate a completely untrue excuse.

  Just as he made his decision, a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder. “Monfort, what are you doing over here when there is a bevy of young ladies unattended in such a pretty setting?” The earl’s voice rang hearty and cheerful. Where business matters were concerned, Ravensdale had proved to be a serious and sober man. It was unusual for the earl to dabble in such a feminine pursuit as matchmaking.

  He would not be rude to his host, the duke decided. Even if it meant he must give a scant amount of attention to the daughter. “What indeed?” he responded, allowing the earl to lead him toward the tree where the spinsters were now seated with Lady Natalie and another gentleman. Just as he might have guessed, three rowboats bobbed along the nearby jetty. And yes, Ravensdale intended Alex to row his daughter about the lake. He did not mind rowing.

  In fact, he did not mind lakes. Although many people assumed that he did—since the accident.

  It was just that Lady Natalie was looking very feminine and very young, elaborately dressed in pink lace with an abundance of ringlets dancing on her head. Far too young. When he did eventually remarry, he would find a sophisticated widow, perhaps, one who would present him with an heir and possibly a spare, and then be content with living her own life. He would be crystal clear from the beginning as to what type of an arrangement he would expect.

  The duke had no inclination toward seeking great affection within marriage. He had attempted to do so once and found it to be a messy situation indeed. It would be nice if he could find satisfaction in bed within his marriage, however. For he did believe in fidelity. He did not wish to make any vows before God and mankind that he did not intend to keep.