Chapter 5

 

 

 

It was half-past four, and already Christian was late for his weekly afternoon tea with his mother. Hurrying past Huntington, his butler, he cringed seeing the man standing outside the door to the parlor, which meant his mother was already inside waiting to pour.

“There you are, Christian, the tea is growing cold. Take a seat,” his mother gently admonished.

“Apologies, Mother. I had errands to run.”

Thanks to a contact at Scotland Yard, he was able to ascertain that the agency had a good reputation. Most of the clients were women because many men scoffed at the idea of using young ladies for such a task. One, in their closed minds, that was too arduous and indelicate for any woman.

Christian never held such misogynistic beliefs, due in part to the lady sitting opposite. The Duchess of Allenby lived life on her terms, speaking her mind regardless of what society thought, and she had brought Christian up to do the same.

The duchess was married at eighteen, a mother at nineteen, and a widow at twenty-seven. She had traveled, had taken the occasional lover, and found time to be an affectionate mother when the mood struck her.

She smiled as she passed him a cup and saucer. “Have a scone; I know how much you love them.”

“I will.”

“I have a couple of serious subjects to broach with you, my dear. Perhaps you wish Huntington to bring the decanter so you can add a splash of whiskey to the Darjeeling.”

Christian groaned teasingly. “Oh, God. As grave as all that?”

“You turned thirty last month; you are not getting any younger. Surely you will not wait until you are fifty-six to set up your nursery as your father did,” she murmured, biting into a treacle biscuit.

His father: a man he had barely known. Like most aristocratic marriages, his parents made an alliance; it was not a love match. Once his mother became pregnant, she retired to the country estate while his father had stayed in London.

When his father deemed to make an obligatory visit, Christian had been trotted out for a shake of the hands and a pat on the head only to be summarily dismissed if he tried to speak. By the time Christian turned nine, his father was gone. A sudden stroke.

The happy country life with his mother came to an end shortly thereafter. The next year he was sent off to school while his mother traveled. Lonely—and in his young brain—abandoned, he sought company with like-minded lads. Hence his little exclusive group. Christian, Damon, Warren, Merritt, and Asher, had met at school. They had been more of a family to him than anyone.

Men of the peerage often referred to each other by their title names, but since he had known most of the rakes since childhood, they used first names, when alone.

Sipping his tea, he glanced at his mother. That was not fair about being abandoned. Being who he was in society, he would have been sent off to school regardless.

Such was expected. Necessary, even.

But he hadn’t liked it.

Christian couldn’t fault his mother for wanting to enjoy life. She had been young and beautiful. At forty-nine, she was still striking. They had spent time together through the years, but to him, it was never enough.

Damn it all for still being a needy schoolboy.

There was no denying it; he craved affection, the touch of another. Always had, no doubt, always would.

“Ah, the nursery. No, Mother. I will not wait until I am decrepit, but give me another year or two before I’m shackled.”

Sighing, she sipped her tea. “I do not want you to marry as I did. I want you to find a woman who will love you completely and give you all the attention you deserve. Thinking back, I could have done more. As a widow, I had more autonomy than even a married duchess. It was selfish of me to swan off so often. I do apologize.”

The words were emotionally spoken, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. His mother was sincere, and it touched him.

“I would have been away at school at any rate. We had holidays and summers together,” he demurred, “They are wonderful memories I shall cherish. If you are feeling alone, you may move back in here if you like.”

What was he doing? Giving up his freedom?

Or perhaps he craved company in this cavernous residence beyond his servants. That uncomfortable—and not unfamiliar—feeling of loneliness crept in, and he immediately dismissed it.

“Alone? My dear. I am not alone. That is the next subject I wish to tackle. But first, promise me you will try and find a woman worthy of your love. You have plenty to give. Do not let it founder. In order to meet such a young lady, you must attend more social events.”

“I’m attending the Earl of Pembroke’s soiree,” he replied.

Perhaps he should start looking for an appropriate candidate for duchess instead of waiting another year or two. It was his duty, after all. Something that had been pounded into his head on the rare occasion he was in his late father’s company.

He was made never to forget his obligation to the title, family, queen, and country. His mother had also expounded on his ducal commission—as she was doing now.

“I will make a serious inspection of the young ladies in attendance,” Christian added.

She beamed at him, and he basked in the warmth of it. “Excellent. It is a start. Now, I know emotions can be tedious. Outside of my love for you, I never experienced a deep love. Nor any romantic feeling.”

Christian raised an eyebrow as he reached for a cheese and cucumber sandwich.

“I may not have had as many lovers as you think,” his mother continued. “You know the gossips exaggerate. But I’m involved with a man now, and drat it all, it’s turning serious.”

“How serious?”

“He has asked me to marry him.”

Christian blinked rapidly, the shock causing him momentarily to lose his ability to speak.

Good God.

“Marriage? What about this freedom you revel in? You will give it all up once you agree to matrimony. Who is it? A young, sensitive painter? A bespectacled, somber barrister? An aged and rich marquess?” he teased good-naturedly.

But inside, that feeling of loneliness insidiously made an appearance once again. How pathetic at his age to want to be the only recipient of his mother’s affection.

Good God indeed.

His mother waved her hand dismissively. “I would never give up my freedom. Nor would I give up my position in society. After all, I married a duke. My son is a duke.”

Christian chuckled. “You have been seeing a duke? Who?”

There weren’t that many. Christian’s mind rapidly conjured up the names of various dukes as if he were flipping through the pages of Debrett’s Peerage.

“Gerard Linton. The Duke of Coldbridge. He mentioned that you had spoken once during one of your rare appearances at parliament.”

Yes, something else that must change, time to take his responsibilities in the House of Lords more seriously.

Coldbridge.

Right, he remembered him now. The man was tall, distinguished-looking with an abundance of silver hair. Mid-fifties, handsome in his way. Also, chilly and standoffish. The title name fit.

“My impression of him at that one meeting was not entirely a good one,” he said.

His mother smiled as she sipped her tea. “Funny, he says the same about you.”

Christian bristled at the statement. “And what did His Grace say?”

“That you showed no interest in the matters before the house. That your attendance was sporadic at best. Gerard takes his duty seriously.”

“How could you consider giving any sort of affection to such a cold fish?” None of his business, but he didn’t want his mother to enter into another loveless arrangement. She deserved so much more.

The duchess’s back straightened, her mouth pulled into a taut line. “I assure you he is not a cold fish. Once you break down that outer barrier…” Her look turned reflective; her features softened.

So, she was in love with him.

“Will you marry?” Christian asked.

“I’m considering it. Even if I do not, I am through with the restless traveling. If I decide to accept, I will be the Duchess of Coldbridge. Gerard has his heir and a spare; he has been a widower for eleven years. He claims that he never intended to marry again. Neither had I. Falling in love is exciting and frightening all at once. I need a little time to adjust. Oh, Christian, I believe I do love him, most desperately.”

Christian set his cup and saucer on the table beside him, sat forward, and gently grasped his mother’s hands. They were trembling, which caused his heart to swell with emotion.

“Then marry him at once, and be happy.”

She smiled tremulously. “I do so want the same for you, Christian.”

Kissing her hands, he released them and sat back in his chair. Happiness with another was something that lay beyond his reach.

Or so he believed.

Never experienced any tender feeling of romance toward another. Duty demanded that he make an alliance to carry on the name. Ensure the title. What a cold outlook and future. But it must be the path he traveled, and he had been procrastinating long enough.

But he would make an effort at the ball and socialize with marriageable young ladies. There wasn’t any likelihood he would meet someone at the ball that would be interesting enough to catch his interest.

None at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eleanora glided into the ballroom of the Earl of Pembroke’s massive townhouse, nodding to those who acknowledged her.

Tonight, she was Constance Baxendale, widowed niece of Sir Reginald Ramsay.

She had already passed the gauntlet of the earl and his countess, sending her uncle’s regrets.

Eleanora had worn this persona before, and her excuse for her lengthy absences between social events? Traveling to far-flung areas of the world. Posing as a young widow allowed her not to be subject to closer scrutiny. It granted a certain freedom within society.

The room had fancy gaslight sconces, along with candelabras circling the perimeter, causing the gold wallpaper to shimmer with a life of its own. Large mirrors and portraits of dead ancestors took up most of the wall space, along with silk cream curtains covering the windows. No electric light in this room, though there had been in the front hall.

The ceiling had fancy gold leaf trim and crystal chandeliers. Eleanora silently reminded herself to jut out her chin, hold back her shoulders, and take care with walking. She was not used to satin slippers and polished marble floors.

“Miss Baxendale!”

Eleanora turned toward the direction of the high-pitched screech. Lady Lillian Castle, second daughter of the Earl of Windham. Chatty young woman, she would be perfect for extracting certain facts.

“Lady Lillian, how delightful to see you,” Eleanora said, using her well-practiced posh-snobbish tone.

“What a glorious gown, it matches the beautiful shade of your hair. I recently stopped by Sir Reginald’s, but he stated that you were journeying in Canada. What an adventure! All those wretched moose and fur trappers. How rugged it must have been!” The words tumbled out of the high-strung heiress without her taking a breath.

The Canada story was one she and Sir Reginald had agreed to use, though he’d never mentioned someone had stopped by. Eleanora would have to bring that point up at their next meeting. As far as Canada was concerned, she managed to pry snippets of general information from Corbett Buchanan on the geography and what not.

“My dear, only part of Canada is wilderness. I visited the cities exclusively. Montreal, Toronto. Halifax, on the East Coast, and Saint John, also a port city, and Canada’s first city, don’t you know.” She tapped Miss Castle’s arm lightly with her gold fan. Corbett was from Saint John, so she had a few facts tucked away. “Delightful society. Canadians are so polite and welcoming.”

“I had no inkling. I thought those pioneers lived in log cabins and hunted for their supper,” Lady Lillian stated. “Great Britain’s untamed colony.”

It took all Eleanora’s self-control not to roll her eyes. Unfortunately, ladies of the upper classes did not receive the same education as the young men. It was not right. In her few dealings with these elites of society, she had often been shocked at the lack of not only imagination but the disdain for facts and curiosity about anything that lay outside their protected sphere.

“Saint John is called ‘The Loyalist City.’ All those who stayed loyal to crown during the Revolutionary War had a place to go and live once it ended. I attended the Loyalist Ball in a room much bigger than this one. Wonderful food. And Canada is a country, it has been since eighteen sixty-seven, it is not a colony.”

“How astonishing,” Lady Lillian replied, her eyes glazing over with boredom.

Time to change the subject.

“What have I missed in my absence? A friend wrote to me of some scandalous doings, usually involving the Marquess of Brookton.” Eleanora picked who, at a glance, she surmised was the most scandalous of The Rakes club. The blond Adonis fit the bill.

Lady Lillian brightened immediately. “Oh my, so much to catch you up on. You mentioned the most notorious rake of them all. Brookton and his friends are wild, to be certain!”

Eleanora edged Lady Lillian toward the far wall next to a massive potted fern to ensure a little privacy.

“Do tell, my lady,” Eleanora murmured. “How wild?”

“Well, it is said Brookton haunts the East End, attending every debauched club and musical hall he can find. It is no wonder he’s referred to as ‘Dorian Gray,’ you know, after that scandalous book by the equally scandalous author. Is the writer still in prison? I cannot remember.” Lady Lillian’s cheeks flushed; her voice was excited.

Eleanora had read The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde and found the gothic tale fascinating. The author was currently in prison serving time for gross indecency, but she did not want to interrupt her ladyship and steer her off-topic.

“Nevertheless, regarding Brookton, there is talk of an illicit affair with an infamous actress,” Lady Lillian leaned in closer, glancing about to ensure no one could overhear. “And her twin brother! Both at the same time!” She smiled victoriously at revealing her salacious gossip.

Eleanora gasped, placing her gloved hand over her mouth in counterfeit shock. “How scandalous indeed. No decent young lady of society would give him any consideration.”

Lady Lillian arched her eyebrows. “My dear, this makes him even more of a catch. Alas, he rarely attends social events such as this. None of them do.”

This salient fact of an immoral peer being more appealing than one who lived an honorable life was something Eleanora could not wrap her head around. God above, she could use a drink. Anything to get her through this tedium. Or better yet, a cigarette. Imagine the scandal if she lit up one in the middle of this affluent gathering.

“And what of the dark-haired one with the pretty blue eyes, I cannot recall his name,” she whispered to her ladyship. “Is he disreputable as well?”

“Well, a few of them are dark-haired. Do you mean one of the dukes?”

“Yes, the younger of the two.”

“Ah, Allenby. I haven’t heard anything of late, but he is nearly as scurrilous as the marquess. He certainly is unapproachable. So cold in his countenance, one could catch a chill standing next to him. When he deems to attend an event, he stands about looking down his nose at us all. Although he is handsome and a duke, he will be looking for a suitable bride soon enough. The man can hardly avoid it. All the young ladies await his entrance into the marriage mart with bated breath.”

Eleanora had surmised most of this at the first meeting. Allenby was composed, aloof, every inch a duke.

“They must have left many enemies in their wake, considering their disreputable behavior,” Eleanora ventured.

“I’m not certain about enemies, though there is resentment in certain circles…” her voice trailed off. “Well, I am all astonishment. The Duke of Allenby just walked through the door wearing his usual expression of remoteness.”

Eleanora straightened. Sweet Mother, she did not expect this at all. He could expose her disguise. Inspecting her surroundings, she located the balcony doors. Blast it, just as she was close to discovering a relevant bit of information. How to slink unnoticed toward the exit?

“Miss Baxendale, he is heading this way!” Lady Lillian cried excitedly.

Oh, damn.