The Infamous Duchess Page 9

  But to do so would ruin everything. So he tightened his jaw, expelled a deep breath and pulled himself back, adding distance. “As my note explained, the flowers were for the hospital.” He’d known it was the only way he could give them without her refusing the gesture.

  “Nevertheless,” she said, still trying to fight him on it. When he raised an eyebrow, challenging her to continue, she relented and eventually smiled. “It was actually very thoughtful of you. I know my apothecary will be especially grateful.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” And then, to add a bit more amusement, he told her slyly, “The alternative was a basket filled with colorful bandages and hand-blown bottles for tincture.”

  She laughed and covered her mouth to stifle the sound, her bright eyes peeking out from behind the tips of her fingers. Lowering them slowly, she dared to ask, “Really?”

  Henry nodded and grinned while savoring how pretty she was when happiness shone in her eyes. If only there was a way to make this moment last forever. But then his gaze dropped to her lips and his chest contracted, leaving him short of breath and tightly strung with the uncanny need to claim her.

  She must have noticed, because she turned away quickly and went to join her friends, whose expressions were marked by frank curiosity. Chastising himself for allowing desire to show when he knew it would work to his disadvantage, Henry muttered a curse before schooling his features.

  “Ladies,” he said, crossing the floor with the purpose of a man who refused to give up. “I would like to invite you and your husbands to dine with me tomorrow evening at my club.” To ensure there was no misunderstanding, he addressed Viola directly, “You are welcome as well, Duchess. Indeed, I fervently hope you accept.”

  Before too much weight could be placed on this remark, he gave his attention to Amelia and Gabriella as if their attendance was just as important to him as Viola’s. He held his breath and waited expectantly for them to reply, hoping it would be in the affirmative. If he was going to stand the smallest chance of securing Viola’s attendance, he would need their agreement.

  “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Gabriella said. Henry exhaled a sigh of relief. “Raphe has been talking about visiting your club for a while now. Tomorrow is as good an opportunity as any.”

  “Thomas and I have no other plans. Dining out at The Red Rose sounds like a lovely diversion,” Amelia added.

  Everyone looked at Viola in anticipation of her response. She hesitated, and Henry’s heart proceeded to pound. Say yes. Please say yes. He needed this—some way to see her in a more intimate setting—the means by which to romance her.

  “I’m sorry,” she began, “but I—”

  “Oh, come on, Viola,” Amelia said. “All you ever do is work, which can’t be very healthy.”

  “Amelia’s right,” Gabriella said. “You never go anywhere or do anything.”

  “That’s not true,” Viola told them. “I take Rex for a walk once a day.”

  “That doesn’t count,” Gabriella said. “And what do we tell Florian if he returns to find you’ve collapsed from overexertion? He wouldn’t forgive us.”

  “That would never happen,” Viola told her friends with a frown.

  “Not as long as we prevent it,” Amelia agreed.

  “But I . . . I . . .” Viola looked at them each in turn and finally said, “I have nothing to wear!”

  “Oh. Is that all that’s troubling you.” Amelia came up on Viola’s other side. “Gabriella and I have plenty of gowns between us. We’ll have a selection of dresses delivered in the morning and you can take your pick.”

  “I don’t know.” Viola glanced at Henry.

  She appeared to be struggling with her decision so he decided to make one last attempt at winning her over before allowing her to decline. “We can play billiards after dinner.”

  Interest sparked to life in her eyes just as he’d hoped it would. “I don’t know how to play,” she hedged, still unsure, it would seem.

  Henry met her gaze and held it while aiming for the friendliest smile he could muster. “I can teach you. It will be fun, Viola. I promise.”

  To his immense satisfaction she refrained from looking away, her eyes locked with his while she made her decision. Henry could scarcely breathe on account of the pure intensity of the moment, for he knew how defining it was. She would either trust him or she wouldn’t.

  Eventually, after what felt like a torturous eternity, she nodded. Her lips slowly lifted to form an enthusiastic smile. “Very well. I shall join you.”

  Henry’s heart soared while his body sagged with relief. It did not matter that she wasn’t looking at him anymore but rather discussing tomorrow’s dinner plans with the duchesses. All that mattered was she would be there, and he would be ready for the next phase of his courtship.

  Chapter 7

  Giving himself one last look in the wide mirror that hung above the chest of drawers beside his desk, Henry straightened his jacket, gave the sleeves a slight tug and faced his steward.

  “Is everything ready, Mr. Faulkner?”

  “Yes, sir. Four bottles of the 1811 Veuve Clicquot, Comet vintage have been put on ice as per your instructions. Your favorite violinist has also arrived and is prepared to commence momentarily.”

  “And Monsieur Renarde?” Henry asked, referring to the French pastry chef he’d hired before the club had even opened—when The Red Rose had been but a dream.

  “He has created the most delectable confections I have ever seen.” Mr. Faulkner smiled broadly. “Your guests will be most impressed.”

  A knock sounded and Mr. Faulkner opened the door, admitting one of the waiters. “Mr. Lowell, sir. The Earl of Yates is asking to see you. Shall I show him in?”

  “Right away,” Henry said. “Thank you.”

  The waiter left to convey the message. “I should return to my duties,” Faulkner said. He paused in the doorway to look back at Henry. “Don’t worry. We have done this hundreds of times before. Whoever it is you’re trying to impress will be dazzled this evening. Mark my word.”

  And then he was gone, replaced seconds later by Yates and denying Henry the chance to consider his nerves. Which was just as well. He could do with a distraction from his concerns about whether Viola would have a nice evening.

  “I came to see if you’re still in one piece,” Yates said as he crossed the floor to shake Henry’s hand. “You look remarkably well, all things considered.”

  “My brother stitched me up before leaving for Paris. After that, I received excellent care from one of the nurses.”

  Yates responded with a wide grin. “One of the pretty ones, I hope?”

  “The prettiest of all,” Henry assured him. He gestured toward a chair, offering Yates a seat. “I hear you’ve been rather busy lately. Are the rumors about you courting a young lady true?”

  Yates sat and stretched out his legs. “To some degree. That is, I have been spending a fair amount of time with my sister’s friend, Miss Evelyn Harlow. The fact that I have plans to marry her, however, is entirely false.”

  “Oh?”

  “The idea is to get other gentlemen to take notice. If they wonder what an earl might see in an untitled woman like her with seemingly few prospects, they may be eager to console her when I break things off.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow. “I take it your sister invented this scheme?”

  Yates grinned. “She is indeed the creative one.”

  “You’re a good man, Yates. One of the best, in fact, which is why I’ll even share my best brandy with you while we talk.”

  “The 1776?”

  Henry poured them each a glass. “Precisely.” He offered one to his friend, who took it with thanks. “I would advise you to take care regarding Miss Harlow, however. It would be a pity were she to get hurt.”

  Yates looked a bit perplexed. “Hurt? Why on earth would she get hurt?”

  Henry gave him the frankest look he could manage. “Because you are romancing her.
It may not be real, but it is certainly real enough for the papers to wonder when you will officially announce your betrothal.”

  “That is the point,” Yates said, and took a sip of his drink.

  “I realize that, but what if she gets carried away with the allure of marrying an earl.”

  Concern flickered in Yates’s eyes. “I had not considered it, Lowell.” He frowned. “She is an agreeable woman with whom I enjoy spending time or this would not have worked at all, but I can’t really marry her.”

  “Why not?”

  Yates stared back at Henry with eyes the size of saucers. “I—”

  A hard knock interrupted their conversation. “Enter!” Henry shouted.

  The door opened and Mr. Faulkner looked in. “The Duke of Tremaine would like to see you, sir. Shall I show him in or would you rather I ask him to wait?”

  Uncertainty born from Viola’s reaction to Robert surfaced for a second. He buried it quickly, however, intent on making his own assessment of the man he’d once called a friend. “By all means, show him in,” Henry said. He met Yates’s gaze while Faulkner went to fetch the duke. “It will give us a chance to make up for lost time.”

  “I wasn’t even aware he was back,” Yates murmured right before the door opened again and Robert entered the room.

  He looked weatherworn, Henry decided. As if too much salty sea air had dimmed his luster. And flecks of gray were now starting to show on both sides of his dark brown hair. “Gentlemen,” he announced, striding to shake first Yates’s hand and then Henry’s. “It is good to see the two of you again.” He glanced around. “I have to say I’m surprised, Lowell. When I went to call on you at your house, your butler said I’d find you here instead. From what I gather, you own this place?”

  “Bought the building three years ago and opened it to the public eight months later. I’ve been running it ever since.” Henry snatched up an empty glass and tilted it slightly. “Brandy?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Robert said. He lowered himself to the last remaining chair. “It’s impressive, Lowell. I’m glad to see one of us has had some success.” He glanced at Yates. “Though I’m sure you’ve had your fair share as well. You always were the lucky one.”

  “I’m afraid my luck may have run its course,” Yates said. Henry handed Robert his drink. “Debutantes flocked to my side when I wasn’t interested, and now that I’m thinking of finding a wife there’s hardly any to be found. Everyone’s getting married in quick succession.”

  “Surely not,” Robert said.

  “Well, Lady Gabriella is off the market and so are her husband’s sisters, Lady Amelia and Lady Juliette.”

  Robert frowned. “They don’t sound familiar. Do I know them?”

  “You wouldn’t. They entered Society two years ago when their brother inherited the title after the old Duke of Huntley and his sons all died.” Yates expelled a tired breath and leaned back further in his seat. “It’s a long story, which I’ll happily share with you some other time.”

  “How intriguing,” Robert muttered. “According to what I read in the gossip column this morning, you’re supposed to be off to the altar soon with a certain Miss Harlow?”

  “That’s just what people are supposed to think,” Yates muttered. “I’m only helping her get noticed while I wait for the woman I intend to marry. It’s taking longer than I would have hoped, however.”

  Cradling his glass between his hands, Robert tilted his head as if in contemplation. “You shouldn’t feel too disheartened, Yates. Marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. In fact, it can be a bloody nuisance. Especially when you have the sort of wife for whom the world is ending if she can’t have her afternoon tea. Lord help me, I don’t know what I was thinking, getting myself leg-shackled to a woman who refused to eat from a plate that wasn’t made from bone china. She didn’t even leave the house for a year after arriving in Anguilla because she found the road too bumpy for comfortable travel.”

  “It doesn’t sound as though she was cut out for life in the Colonies,” Henry said.

  Robert grunted and took a large gulp of his brandy. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Must be nice for her to be back in England,” Yates said.

  “Oh, she died a few days after agreeing to leave the house,” Robert said. “Stepped on a snake in our driveway.” He snorted. “Bloody ironic if you ask me.”

  Shocked by his friend’s blasé manner, Henry shared a brief look with Yates, who appeared equally dumbfounded. “I take it you don’t mourn the loss of her,” Henry muttered.

  Robert stilled. His brow puckered. “Ours was a marriage of convenience. I didn’t know when I’d be coming back, so I wanted to settle my future before I left. Meanwhile, I believe the idea of leaving England excited Beatrice. She called it her grand adventure. But then she ended up seasick for most of the journey, and her romanticized view of traveling fell apart quickly. After that, there was nothing Anguilla could offer to make her happy.”

  “You make an excellent argument for pursuing a love match, Tremaine,” Yates said. His voice was pensive. “Had you and your wife cared for each other, I believe the experience would have been altogether different.”

  Robert snorted. “You’re too idealistic for your own good. True love is almost impossible to find. Especially amid the aristocracy.”

  “I’ll grant you it won’t be easy,” Yates said, “but I am determined to try.”

  “Then I wish you luck,” Robert said, “for I can assure you that you will need it.”

  “Have you always been this cynical?” Henry asked. The man who’d returned from Anguilla bore little resemblance to the boy Henry had known in his youth. His character had hardened during his absence. The heartless manner in which he’d conveyed the details of his wife’s death made Henry very aware of this fact. Or perhaps he’d always been like this, and Henry just hadn’t wanted to face it. Like at Cambridge when the rumors about Robert’s violent tendencies started to spread. What if they’d all been true?

  Robert shrugged one shoulder. “Experience has opened my eyes and shown me how cold, calculating and selfish women can be.” His expression cooled. “Take my stepmother, for instance.” Henry straightened in his seat while apprehension thickened in his veins. “She had the gall to marry an ailing man more than fifty years her senior.”

  “Perhaps she cared for him,” Henry suggested. Having met Viola, he couldn’t imagine her being the scheming sort.

  Yates made a strangled sound while Robert glared. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said. “That woman was nothing before she married my father. She’s still nothing as far as I am concerned, but now she’s a nothing with a bloody title to her name. My title!”

  “You’re clearly distraught over this,” Yates said, stating the obvious while looking increasingly uncomfortable with the negative turn of their conversation.

  “Of course I am, and why shouldn’t I be?” Robert’s chest rose and fell with increased agitation. His mouth twisted and his eyes hardened. “That little conniving harlot stole from me!”

  “What?” Henry couldn’t believe it. “You are speaking of Viola Cartwright, are you not?”

  “Have you met her?” Robert asked. He grinned without humor. “Don’t be fooled by her plain appearance or by her pleasant demeanor. She took advantage of the confused state my father was in before he died.”

  “You’re saying she tricked him?” Henry asked.

  Robert nodded. “She made him rewrite his will the same day they married. He left everything to her—his entire fortune, save the entailed properties which weren’t his to give.”

  “Bloody hell,” Yates murmured.

  Henry seconded that notion without comment. What had happened to Robert was incredibly unfair. And yet he still couldn’t imagine Viola had plotted to claim a title and steal Robert’s rightful inheritance on purpose. There had to be another explanation.

  “I don’t intend to let her get away with it, though,” Robert said
after a brief moment of silence. He looked at his friends in turn. “I’m contesting the will. By the time I’m done, Viola will have to seek refuge in the poorhouse.”

  “Have you informed her of this?” Henry asked as casually as he could manage.

  “I took the pleasure of doing so a few days ago. As soon as I hired a barrister and confirmed I have a case I can win.”

  Henry drummed his fingers lightly against his armrest. “You do realize this can drag on for years. The court loves nothing better than to grease its wheels with a client’s money. Your barrister won’t be in any hurry to close this case, Tremaine, and by the time he does, you could find yourself in debt.”

  “Maybe. But letting the matter rest isn’t an option.” Robert stood and went to the sideboard, where he poured himself another measure of brandy. He downed it swiftly and set his glass aside. “There’s a lesson to be taught and an example to be made. Once I’m through, hell will freeze over before another woman dares to do something similar.”

  “Then we owe you a debt of gratitude,” Yates remarked. He tilted his glass to salute Robert before finishing off his own brandy. He stood. “I have to go now. Wilmington and Hawthorne expect me to join them at White’s.”

  “I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind,” Robert said.

  “If you expect them to be the rakish fellows they were before you left, you’ll be sorely disappointed,” Yates said. “Both have married and settled down into domestic lifestyles.”

  Robert sighed. “I swear, women have no purpose in this world but to destroy us.” He went to shake Henry’s hand. “Thank you for the drink, Lowell. I hope to see you again soon.”

  Yates said his farewells too, and then both men were off, their conversation fading as they rounded a corner at the end of the hallway. Henry rubbed the palm of his hand across his jaw. He and Robert had always gotten along in the past, even if his personality had slowly started to clash with Henry’s.