Margaret Moore - The Dark Duke

“Elliot never says no,” the duke confirmed before standing. “I believe I shall retire to my room. I find all this talk of balls fatiguing.”

“As you wish,” the duchess replied.

The duke bowed politely. “Your Grace. Lady Hester.” He turned on his heel and strolled out of the room.

“Did anyone ever have such an infuriating relation?” the duchess demanded when he had closed the door. “Really!”

“It seems a pity you need his permission to hold a ball,” Hester said nonchalantly.

“It is! Let this be a warning to you, Lady Hester, to make sure that your husband leaves you your own money, and not in the control of his heir. It is most aggravating, I assure you.”

Hester dutifully nodded as she digested the import of the duchess’s words. The duke apparently had complete control of the estate and the money. Complain as the duchess might, it was undeniable that the duke was generous, for only last week the duchess had ordered several jewels reset, three new gowns, several hats and five pairs of shoes. The meals at Barroughby Hall were inevitably bountiful and excellent, the wine the finest and the servants well attired.

“Now, whom should we invite?” the duchess said happily, resuming her usual seat on the sofa. “I suppose we’ll have to have Sir Douglas and his daughter.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Hester replied, fetching some paper, pen and ink, ready to write down her orders. Then she realized that the duchess was giving her a rather peculiar look. “Is something the matter. Your Grace?”

“You seem a little flushed, Hester.”

“The excitement of your son’s return and the ball, Your Grace,” Hester answered, hoping that would do for an explanation.

“Sir Douglas is not a very old man to have a grown-up daughter, is he?”

“No, Your Grace.” Hester gazed at the duchess, wondering what the woman was getting at. She usually spoke of Sir Douglas with undisguised loathing; this morning she seemed disposed to be gracious. Perhaps the news of Elliot’s return ensured good spirits. Hester certainly hoped they would last!

“He seems in good health, too.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The duchess said nothing further about Sir Douglas, except to put his name on the list, which soon grew to fifty families. By the time they were finished, it was the hour to dress for dinner.

The duke did not join them at the meal, and Hester told herself she was glad to be spared the anxiety his presence would no doubt have engendered.

“He is three hours late,” the duke said, nodding at the antique German clock on the lacquered table in the drawing room. Hester followed his gesture and tried not to sigh. The barouche had been dispatched, and the weather was fine. Although it was difficult to know the. exact hour Lord Elliot might arrive, she, too, was wearying of sitting in disappointed expectation in the drawing room. “We should have our tea,” the duke continued.

Hester regarded him silently as he stood near the mantel, for he was not looking in her direction, but only at his stepmother. His attitude was one of graceful negligence, yet he was not fooling her. She could see the tension in his well-dressed body, the anger in his shoulders and the frustration in his frown.

“Nonsense!” the duchess exclaimed. “Elliot is only slightly delayed. Perhaps he had to rest awhile on the journey.”

“No doubt,” the duke remarked, and Hester knew by the tone of his deep, rich voice, that he was still not impressed. “Nevertheless, we do not want Lady Hester to perish from hunger.”

“I am quite all right,” replied the lady in question, wishing she could retire from the room. She had absolutely no desire to be drawn into a family dispute.

“But I would be remiss as a host if I did not do my best to see to your needs.”

There was something in his tone that commanded her attention, and when she looked at him, she wished she had not, for he was once more giving her a slight smile that seemed to promise that he could, and would, fulfill any and every wish she might make of a handsome man.

How many times had she sat at a ball and overheard this type of remark, and how many times had she silently replied, always mentally responding much more cleverly than the actual participants. But now she seemed to have been rendered incredibly stupid, for she could think of nothing at all to say except, “I assure you, I am in no hurry for tea.”

The duchess stalked to the window, her body visibly shaking with what seemed a combination of agitation and excitement, setting the several blue silk flounces of her dress to dancing. “I see no harm in waiting a few more minutes.”

“You must be sure to tell me if there is anything else I can provide, Lady Hester,” the duke said with a decorous bow and twinkle of knowing laughter in his eye.

“As long as it’s not too expensive,” the duchess said snidely without turning around from her vantage point.

“I appreciate your generosity, Your Grace, but I am content,” Hester said to the duke.

“You are a rare human being, then, to be content.”

“You make contentment sound boring, Your Grace.”

“Isn’t it?”

“To one of your temperament, perhaps, but it suits me well enough.”

The duke raised his black brows. “I think you do not approve of my temperament.”

“Since I hardly know you, I am not in a position to judge.”

“Then you are a rare woman, for most people have no compunction about judging me, whether they know me or not.”

“What are you two prattling on about?” the duchess demanded, glancing at them over her shoulder and reminding Hester that there was another set of ears in the room, and another mind to interpret their banter.

Which was very unfortunate, for Hester was just beginning to enjoy herself. She felt as if she was being offered a glimpse into the duke’s character, and she wanted to know more.

“You did send the best horses, did you not, Adrian?” the duchess demanded.

“My finest pair,” the duke replied. “I fear I am responsible for his tardiness,” he continued sorrowfully, “for I sent my finest carriage, best horses and a large sum of money to cover any expenses he might have incurred at the inn.”

“There’s the coach! I see it!” the duchess cried suddenly, excitement and relief in her voice as she stared down the long, winding drive leading to Barroughby Hall. “I can see Elliot! Come, Hester, look!”

Hester did as she was bid, and watched the black barouche with the ducal arms on the door, drawn by equally black horses, sweep up the drive. Inside was a tall young man wearing a hat, more than that, only a mother’s eye could discern.

The duchess watched until the carriage disappeared behind the stable wall, then turned triumphantly to her companions. “There, Adrian. I told you we should wait tea for him. He is sure to be hungry, the poor boy, after his tiring journey”. The duchess lifted her bounteous silk skirt and hurried from the room, no doubt intending to meet her darling boy at the front door.

Hester realized she was alone again with the duke, just as she noticed that the duchess had left her shawl. Mindful of the crisp autumn air and her own racing heart, she quickly decided to take it to her. She hurried to the sofa and picked up the soft wool shawl.

The duke raised one eyebrow inquiringly as he watched her. “You seem in a very great rush to meet the epitome of virtue,” he remarked, drawing a cheroot from the breast pocket of his jacket.

“I have never met a paragon before,” she retorted.

“If you do not take care, Lady Hester, I could be jealous.”

His mocking smile told her that he was merely teasing her, so she met his gaze boldly. “If he is virtuous, so you should be.”