Duke of Arrogance, page 10
Thistle’s brows arched, an innocent look on his face. “Stop what, Your Grace?”
“You know what.”
The butler stood silently but bit back a smile.
“Yes, I am interested in the woman,” Jon blurted out.
A grin spread across Thistle’s face. “That’s very good to hear, Your Grace. It’s about time you considered taking on a wife and providing an heir. Winspeth agrees.”
“Winspeth? What are you doing gossiping with my valet?”
A sage look appeared upon Thistle’s face. “Gossip is the lifeblood of a household, Your Grace. Surely, you realize we have your best interests at heart.”
“Then do let me know if Lady Arabella passes muster,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Thistle smiled sunnily, obviously ignoring it. “Very well, Your Grace.” He left the room.
Jon glanced down at the letter in his hand and broke the seal.
Your Grace –
I am writing to inform you of the dire condition of your uncle, Ambrose Sutton. Colonel Sutton has been in poor health for a good number of years but his condition has taken a turn for the worse. He is not expected to live beyond this week, according to his doctor.
While the colonel realizes his long estrangement from your father, the previous Duke of Blackmore, may have colored your opinion of him, he would like to inform you that he has had legal documents drawn up giving you guardianship of his son, Arthur, upon the colonel’s death.
I realize the Season has begun and you may have social obligations to fulfill, but I urge you to come and see your uncle at your earliest convenience and take custody of your young cousin upon the colonel’s death.
I have enclosed directions to Mr. Sutton’s residence. You may also call directly at my office, which is in the same village and can easily be pointed out by anyone since we are a small community.
Your faithful servant,
Milford Milligan, Esq.
Jon placed the letter on his desk. He only had a vague recollection of Uncle Ambrose from his childhood. He and Arch couldn’t have been more than six or seven when the man had appeared at Blackstone Manor, resplendent in his military uniform. Jon remembered lurking outside the door as his uncle and father talked, their voices raised. Arch had quickly become bored and left, preferring to get into some mischief rather than linger to see what the result of the conversation was between their father and a relative they had never seen before.
Finally, the door had swung open and Uncle Ambrose appeared. He’d looked down and ruffled Jon’s hair and told him to always be a good boy, especially since he was a second son. The words that had stuck in Jon’s head were, “You are meant for the army, Jonathan. Don’t wish your life away wanting to be the duke. That’s for your brother.”
Little did Uncle Ambrose know a little more than a decade later Jon would murder his twin and quickly become the duke when his father passed. As he pushed aside his ever-present guilt, Jon wondered what had become of Ambrose during all these years. His uncle would have been kept busy with Bonaparte making a run here and there, trying his best to grab power. Jon wondered what role his uncle had played in the war. When he’d married. How old this cousin Jon was supposed to take under his wing might be.
Leaving London to go to Suffolk to take care of this matter was the last thing he wished to do, especially now that he’d met Arabella. He decided to put off leaving for a couple of days. It didn’t matter if he reached Uncle Ambrose before he died. If he were truly so bad off, he might not even be conscious, much less be able to carry on a conversation with his nephew. Jon would leave at the end of the week. He only wished he knew how old his cousin was. If he were away at school, surely this Milford Milligan would have sent for the boy in order for Arthur to tell his father goodbye. Besides, any funeral would wait until the Duke of Blackmore arrived. No event, even a funeral, would be held without its most esteemed mourner present.
Jon dashed off a quick note to Milligan, informing him he would leave London early Friday morning and should arrive by late Saturday evening. Any decisions that needed to be made could take place after his arrival. He signed and sealed the letter and rang for Thistle.
“See this is posted at once.”
“Yes, Your Grace. And your guests should be arriving within the next five minutes.”
“Very well. I’ll make my way to the drawing room now.”
Jon rose and went upstairs, eager to see if Lady Arabella Jennings held as much fascination for him this afternoon as she had the previous evening.
*
Arabella took her father’s hand and alighted from the carriage. She saw another carriage pull up behind theirs and the Duke of Colebourne bounded out, handing down his wife. The two women spied one another and went to greet each other.
“I am so glad to see you again, Lady Arabella,” the Duchess of Colebourne said, looking a bit wan. “We will have a better chance to become acquainted in a quiet drawing room versus a noisy ballroom.”
“I think so, too, Your Grace. May I present my father, the Earl of Barrington? Father, this is the Duke and Duchess of Colebourne.”
The duke offered his hand. “Glad to make your acquaintance, Lord Barrington. I hear you are quite the card player.”
Arabella’s father laughed. “I am afraid no one will want to play with me anymore, Your Grace. I had a run of luck last night. That’s all. Who knows if or when Fortune might smile upon me again?” He turned to the duchess and took her hand. “Your Grace. My daughter has told me very good things about you.”
“Lady Arabella is a delight,” the duchess said. “I haven’t been to London for several years and am eager to make new friends.” She smiled warmly at Arabella. “I know we are going to enjoy getting to know one another.”
“Shall we go inside? I see Thistle hanging about the door, eager to get us in off the pavement,” Colebourne said.
The duchess slipped her hand through Arabella’s arm and they entered the townhouse. Her jaw dropped at the opulence of the foyer alone. She had thought their Wiltshire estate lovely and had been surprised at the elegance of the London townhouse Papa had inherited, but this was astounding. The art on the walls alone were worth hundreds—no, thousands—of pounds.
“If you’ll follow me,” the butler said.
They went up a grand staircase. Arabella found her heart hammering. This was the home of the man who wished to court her. She could actually live here one day. Shaking her head, she tried to bring herself back to reality. She was not going to marry Blackmore. She still believed he played some game with her. She was different from his other conquests, a quiet country mouse who had book smarts but knew very little of the ways of the world. Because she was so unlike the other women he mingled with—and bedded—she had merely caught his eye for the moment. It would be a passing interest. She should think nothing of it. Instead, she would concentrate on other gentlemen she’d become newly-acquainted with, including several from their Oxford days. She’d had seven stop by this afternoon, two whom had been unexpected guests. Arabella had insisted that Papa be present in the drawing room as she entertained their company. She had suspected most of their guests came to visit with him but found that she garnered most of the attention. Two gentlemen had seemed to particularly favor her. It would definitely be worth getting to know those two better and see if they might make for her future husband.
They reached the drawing room and the butler announced them. As they entered, he gave her a warm smile.
And then winked.
Startled by such a cheeky move, especially by a servant, she stumbled a moment and then found her footing. She and the duchess crossed the room to where Lady Elizabeth and the Duke of Blackmore awaited them. She tried to ignore how immaculate his clothes were. How his buckskin breeches clung to muscular legs and the bottle green jacket made his shoulders look broader than any other man’s.
They exchanged greetings and she introduced Papa to Lady Elizabeth, who put everyone at ease with her gracious manner.
“Shall we sit?” their hostess asked. “Lord Barrington, I am sure you would favor this chair. My father called it the most comfortable in the room.”
“Why, thank you, my lady.”
As they all began taking a seat in the grouping of furniture, she realized she would be sitting next to Blackmore. Arabella perched upon the settee, which had seemed large enough when she first seated herself. It then miraculously shrank in size once the duke sat next to her. He took up an inordinate amount of space, thanks to his large frame. She glanced down because their thighs pressed against one another’s, causing her to go hot inside. His long, elegant fingers rested upon his thigh. She remembered they’d taken her chin in hand, bringing a rush of . . .
She told herself to stop it. At once. She would not sit here and fantasize about the Duke of Arrogance. Or moon over him. He would like that far too much. He already thought he was incredibly special merely because he was a duke. She didn’t need him to know how jumbled her thoughts were whenever he came near. Drat! Even when he wasn’t near. She’d thought off and on about him all day long and had looked forward to attending tea with him. This wouldn’t do. Arabella decided to pay him scant attention and focus on the others present.
Lady Elizabeth poured out and handed the duchess the first cup and then Arabella the second one.
“Shall I fix you a plate?” the duke asked. “I think I did a rather good job of it last night.”
“Of course,” she said breezily, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel.
“I hear you enjoy the taste of cinnamon,” Lady Elizabeth said.
“How did you know?”
“My brother told me. In fact, I believe our cook has included a few items with cinnamon in them.”
She watched Blackmore fill a plate for her. He moved with a catlike grace. He placed a sticky bun on her plate and handed it to her.
“I hope you’ll find everything to your liking,” he said, smiling at her.
The smile caused her belly to flip several times over and made her heart race. “Don’t look at me like that,” she murmured quietly as the others began filling their plates.
“How?” he asked innocently.
“Like I am a biscuit to be gobbled up,” she retorted.
He laughed. She liked his laugh. It came from deep within his chest and bubbled forth. His eyes crinkled up and his beautiful mouth looked even more irresistible. She’d heard the Oxford students talking about a schoolboy crush. Well, she seemed to have a schoolgirl one on His Grace. She had better keep it quiet, else he’d puff up larger than a cloud and float away.
“I already have a biscuit on my plate, my lady,” he said jovially. “However, I am more than willing to sample whatever you offer.”
She felt her cheeks singe with heat and quickly looked down at her teacup. Bringing it to her lips, she decided to keep to her original plan and ignore him.
Turning to the other duke present, she asked, “The duchess said you were newly wed. How did you meet, Your Grace?”
Colebourne flashed a tender smile at his wife. “Sam was my neighbor growing up. I was best friends with her brother, Weston. You remember meeting Treadwell last night?”
“Yes, I do. Please, go on.”
“Sam—Samantha, that is—used to follow us around, thinking she could do everything we could.”
“I could,” the duchess proclaimed. “Thanks to you. My husband taught me how to ride and fish. I was quite the tomboy in my youth.”
“Unfortunately, I am an idiot of the first order,” the duke continued. “I let her get away, ignorant of the fact she had blossomed into a beautiful, caring young woman. She married and moved to the far north.”
The duchess took up the story. “I was widowed and decided after a few years not to remain with my husband’s family. I longed to come home to the south of England.” She glanced to her husband, her eyes glowing with love. “This time, George noticed me. We wed rather quickly, last October, after having become reacquainted at a house party held in September by the Duke and Duchess of Windham. Windham is friends with my husband and brother and with Blackmore.”
“The Eton Three—Windham, Colebourne, and Treadwell—all attended school together,” Blackmore said. “At Cambridge, they allowed me and the Marquess of Marbury, currently Colonel Marbury, to enter their circle. We are fairly inseparable.” He chuckled. “At least we were until the women came along. The Duchess of Windham is set to give birth any day now to their first child and she and Windham remained in the country instead of coming to London for the Season.”
Arabella wondered if there were some unwritten rule that dukes only associated with other dukes. She’d thought it was the case and here was another duke being mentioned and the marquess would at some point become a duke himself. It made her feel very small and insignificant, wondering why she was truly here.
“Where do the Windhams reside?” she asked politely, trying to carry on the conversation as she looked at the Duke of Colebourne.
“Windowmere is in Devon. Colebourne Hall is about thirty miles from them. Treadwell Manor, my wife’s childhood home, is but two miles from her current one.”
“Where is your country seat, Your Grace?” her father asked of Blackmore.
“Blackstone Manor is located in Dorset, about three miles northwest of Dorchester. Though we’re approximately sixty miles from Windowmere, we are only ten from Hardwell Hall, where Colonel Marbury lives.”
“I assume he’s at war?” her father continued.
“He is. I can only hope our troops will defeat that mad Frenchman and lock him away for good this time,” Blackmore said. “I am longing to see my friend and have him safely back in England once more.”
They spent a pleasant hour at tea. Arabella did her best to avoid looking at or speaking to the man next to her.
Finally, he asked, “Do you have an engagement this evening, Lady Arabella?”
“No, it will be a quiet one for us. Papa and I did receive several invitations in this morning’s post, however, and we will be attending a ball tomorrow night.”
“Ah, my sister and I will be at that ball. Perhaps you would do me the honor of dancing the supper dance with me again. I so enjoyed your company last evening.”
“Oh, do so, Lady Arabella,” encouraged Lady Elizabeth. “And let’s make plans for us all to sup together.”
She gazed into the dark blue eyes that seemed to cast some spell over her. “Yes,” she said faintly. “I will reserve the dance for you, Your Grace.”
“We must be going,” the Duke of Colebourne said and rose, signaling to the others present, who followed his lead. “We have a musicale to attend this evening.” He smiled at her and her father. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night, Lord Barrington, Lady Arabella. Perhaps I might even try to play a hand or two with you in the card room.”
“Let us walk out with you,” Blackmore said, offering Arabella his arm.
She took it and that jolt attacked her again, like a lightning bolt that raced through her each time he touched her. The spice of his cologne made her grow lightheaded and she gripped his arm more tightly than she wished to do.
As they descended the staircase, he asked, “Did you have many callers this afternoon?”
“Yes, quite a few,” she said. “Seven, to be exact.”
He placed his free hand over the one that held his arm. His thumb languidly stroked it, causing a frisson of pleasure to ripple through her.
“I see the number of rivals for your hand grows.”
“I am not some prize to be won, you know,” she snapped.
He paused as they reached the foyer, ahead of the others. “No, Arabella. You are a treasure. Someone to be admired. Cherished.”
His low voice—and what he said—made her knees grow weak. She licked her lips and could think of no retort.
“May I call upon you after teatime tomorrow?” he asked. “I’d like to take you riding in the park.”
“I don’t know how to ride,” she admitted, embarrassed at not possessing a common social skill of a typical London lady.
“Then we will go driving in the park. I will call for you at five.”
“All right,” she said faintly and he led her across the foyer and out the front door to their waiting carriage.
Before the footman could clamor down, Blackmore opened the door and his hands clasped her waist, causing her to grow faint. He swung her up.
“I will see you tomorrow, my lady.”
Arabella fell back against the seat, swallowing. Her father climbed inside and sat across from her. Blackmore closed the door and signaled their driver and the vehicle started up.
“Your friends are very nice, Arabella,” Papa said. “I thought dukes were quite stuffy but both Blackmore and Colebourne seem like decent chaps. And Her Grace and Lady Elizabeth are lovely women.”
She looked out the window as the streets of London passed by. So many conflicting emotions ran through her. She didn’t want to like Blackmore. She still didn’t trust him.
But she was afraid she might be in danger of losing her heart to him.
Chapter Thirteen
Jon didn’t want to waste his time going to tonight’s musicale since Arabella wouldn’t be there. It was an exclusive event, with a very limited guest list. George and Samantha would be there and he’d learned from George that Weston and Elise would also attend. Jon had a feeling Weston might actually offer for Elise tonight. He’d been like a caged tiger last night, pacing about and glowering as Elise danced with numerous men. Jon would nudge his friend to do that very thing when he saw him tonight. Weston, known as the Duke of Disrepute, was actually one of the most decent men Jon knew. He was also impressed by Elise Blakeney and thought they would make for an excellent couple. Elise was kind but she seemed to have a spine of steel. She would not let Weston push her about—and in fact, might do a little pushing of her own. Just the thing to keep Disrepute in line.
The carriage slowed and he prepared himself for the evening. He wished he were in a position where he would not have to accept future invitations unless Arabella and her father would also be in attendance. He’d gone to ton events for almost a decade now. They had all become the same.
