Nine Days to go.
Naomi might well think him blind to love, but even Monsale could see the sweet looks that Lady Euphemia Marshall and Viscount Walsall exchanged whenever they thought no one else was looking. The idea of his prospective future bride already being in love with someone else sent a cold shiver down his spine.
But he was getting desperate. The letter from the Prince of Wales had been clear in its instructions. In nine days, he and his wife had to go on bended knee before the prince and swear their allegiance to the crown. For a man not used to being on his knees, Monsale was beginning to worry that it might become an uncomfortable habit.
He had stupidly thought for a moment, that the kiss he and Naomi had shared in the carriage might have changed things between them, but she steadfastly refused to come to heel.
Bloody hell. What am I going to do?
Another night, and another potential wife to meet. Monsale was down to the last girl on the list, his options rapidly shrinking. And from where he stood, across the other side of the ballroom, watching Lady Euphemia and the viscount, he had the sinking feeling that he may shortly be putting a line through her name too.
He dared not risk another evening with guests in his home. After the hasty departure of the Shadbolt family from Monsale House, and the food which had been left abandoned in the dining room, he was loathed to ask his chef to create another sumptuous meal. The current story from below stairs was that the man had taken to his bed and not stirred since.
At least he had learned some lessons from his previous encounters with the families of prospective brides. Determined not to make the same mistake he had with the Harforde’s, Monsale was keen to seek out Lord and Lady Marshall as soon as he arrived. He wished to make certain of a smooth introduction to their daughter.
“Your grace.”
Monsale turned as Euphemia’s mother, Lady Marshall arrived at his side. She dipped into a curtsy, and he responded with a deep bow. He might well be the more senior noble, but Kitty had been clear in her instructions as to how he should behave when it came to his first meeting with Earl Marshall’s wife. She was not only the daughter of a duke but had European royalty in her blood. While she was a true blueblood, to many people in London high society, he was little more than a jumped-up colonial.
Lady Marshall nodded in the direction of her daughter. “I see Euphemia has already caught your eye. She is a delightful girl. Not a beauty of the classic kind mind you, but she has an enthralling look all of her own. Always stands out in a crowd. Born to be a duchess if I do say so myself.”
His gaze lingered on Lady Euphemia. She had an interesting way about her. A man would likely never tire of such a woman.
But is she the one I should marry? And what about Viscount Walsall, I am not having any starry-eyed lover sniffing around my wife’s skirts.
He had to marry, but it didn’t mean he was about to lower his standards. The woman he made his duchess was going to have to understand the rules of their marriage. Fidelity between him and his wife was non-negotiable.
And what about affection? Are you really going to go through with marrying someone who may just tolerate you? Or who will never freely offer you, her heart?
Tearing his gaze from Lady Euphemia, Monsale quickly scanned the room. Naomi was nowhere to be seen. She might well be content to continue playing games, but she wasn’t to know how pressing time had become. And if push did finally come to shove, he wasn’t going to let Prinny win.
Naomi or no, he was determined to thwart the prince regent’s plans to get his hands on the Monsale title and lands.
Where are you, Naomi?
He longed to see her. To know she was alright. Her words of pain in the carriage kept rolling around in his mind. Had he pushed things too far and actually hurt her?
No. She is playing the game. The first to yield loses.
She was here somewhere; when he had spoken to Harry at the RR Coaching Company offices this afternoon, his friend had expressly told him that his sister was coming to the ball.
Monsale was counting on it. After the passionate embrace the two of them had shared in the Duke of Redditch’s town carriage, tonight would be the perfect opportunity to make her jealous. If she saw him sharing sweet words with Lady Euphemia, Naomi might finally realize that the game was over.
And then I will win.
“Do you dance your grace?”
Monsale stirred from his machinations. He had almost forgotten Lady Marshall was standing next to him.
“I don’t normally make a habit of it. A bit of a clod on the dance floor. But I can make a turn or two about the room,” he replied.
Lady Marshall placed her hand gently on the sleeve of his evening jacket. She nodded in the direction of her daughter and Viscount Walsall. “Euphemia loves to dance; she is quite accomplished.”
“And what about her gentleman friend? The viscount seems somewhat taken with her,” he replied.
If there was going to have to be an awkward conversation about the obvious attraction between his potential bride and another man, it may as well be now.
Lady Marshall softly sighed. “If you make an offer of marriage to my daughter, rest assured I shall take care of Viscount Walsall. Euphemia will be made to come around. Her being a duchess is far more preferable to ever becoming a viscountess.”
Preferable to whom?
He could only wish that Lady Naomi saw things the same way as the countess.
“Well then, I shall be pleased to make your daughter’s acquaintance,” he replied.
Her maid had barely finished lacing up her gown before Naomi was hurrying out of her bedroom and down the stairs. Reaching the foyer, she came to a sudden halt, and quickly rummaged in her reticule. The final notes on Lady Euphemia Marshall were nowhere to be seen.
“Blast,” she whispered.
“Hurry up Naomi. We are already late.” Her father appeared in the front door, motioning to the carriage which stood outside. “Your mother is waiting.”
With no time to head back upstairs and collect her papers, Naomi was left scrambling to remember what she had written about lady number three on Monsale’s list. Lady Euphemia Marshall.
What did I write?
Pleasant. Good family. Well-bred and socially connected.
I was certain there was something about her that rendered her unsuitable.
Half an hour later, she was still trying to recall the exact details as she followed her parents into the grand house on Silver Street. But the moment she set eyes on Lady Euphemia and Viscount Walsall huddled close to one another, a soft smile came to her lips.
That’s it. Euphemia already has an admirer. Her heart is set on the viscount.
Monsale may well be prepared to set his pride aside in order to save his title and lands, but he most certainly wouldn’t stand for a wife who might have it in mind to make him a cuckold. Even he had his limits.
Her grin quickly faded the moment Monsale, and Lady Marshall joined them. Instead of giving Viscount Walsall the cold shoulder, Monsale offered him his hand. Lady Euphemia dipped into an elegant curtsy and smiled.
That looks far too friendly and cozy.
She gritted her teeth at the worrying sight. Her jaw clenching tight when polite laughter was exchanged within the gathering.
When a smiling Monsale escorted the earl’s daughter out onto the dance floor and slipped his hand about her waist, Naomi feared she might be physically ill.
He has gone too far this time.
She stood rooted to the spot, fighting a rising tide of nausea, as Monsale twirled Lady Euphemia around the floor with effortless grace. So much for his long-held protestations of a lack of dancing skills. The swine.
“He is dancing with her? What the…”
A gentle hand on her arm had Naomi turning from watching what was fast becoming her worst nightmare. Kitty nodded at Monsale and Lady Euphemia. “Don’t they make a lovely pair? Monsale looks absolutely smitten.”
Naomi glanced back at the dance floor just in time to catch Monsale’s eye. He smiled sweetly at her as he and Lady Euphemia swept by.
Traitor.
“He needs to get this marriage business sorted and quick smart. The prince has given him a time and date for the oath ceremony. Eight days from tomorrow, Monsale and his wife have to attend Carlton House.”
It took a great deal of effort for Monsale to keep the smile he gifted Naomi to a small one. Given half the chance he would have beamed at her as he twirled by, Lady Euphemia held in his embrace.
See what you are missing dear Naomi.
As soon as his back was to her, he stopped smiling and leaned in to speak to his dance partner.
“When this waltz is over, I would like for you and me to take a stroll out into the garden. Your mother no doubt has explained that there are matters of timely importance for us to discuss.”
Lady Euphemia silently nodded. On her face sat a look of heartbreaking despair.
All of Naomi’s plans lay in disarray. The sight before her was terrible. As soon as the orchestra had finished playing the waltz, Monsale had taken Lady Euphemia by the arm and led her from the dance floor. They headed through the open doors and disappeared out into the night garden. A man didn’t escort a lady to the terrace unless he was serious about her, and his intentions honorable.
This cannot be happening.
She intercepted a passing footman, quickly helping herself to a glass of wine. Before the servant had the chance to walk away, Naomi had downed her drink, then come back for a second. But no amount of alcohol was going to numb her pain.
Somewhere she had made a mistake. A horrid miscalculated, misstep. But where? He couldn’t have given up on her after their encounter in the carriage. He must know she had been simply raising the stakes of the bet.
Didn’t he?
For the next ten minutes, she stood with her gaze fixed on the French doors. Waiting, praying for Monsale to return. When he finally did, she took heart in the fact that he was alone. But from where she stood, it was difficult to see the expression on his face. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone, instead he made his way directly across the floor to where Lady Marshall stood.
They conducted a brief conversation, at the end of which they embraced. A grinning Lady Marshall raced toward the terrace, while a more somber looking Monsale headed for the front door.
What just happened?
Something clearly had been agreed. She could only hazard a guess as to what.
The sickening sensation in her stomach threatened to overwhelm her. Making a quick dash to the ladies retiring room, Naomi found a chair in the farthest corner and dropped into it. She threw her shawl over her head and hid, not caring what anyone else would think if they saw her.
He told me to put my name on the list. I said no. I even slapped him. Oh, dear god, what have I done?
The door of the room opened and was shut firmly. The unmistakable click of a key being turned in the lock echoed in the quiet of the room. Naomi froze.
“I don’t want to marry him. I don’t love him. I love Walsall.”
“Hush now Euphemia. What has love to do with any of this? Monsale is a duke. One of the richest men in all of England. You owe it to your family, and yourself to seal this union.”
She caught the sound of skirts shuffling across the room. If she had any sense of decorum, Naomi would make her presence known. But this was the enemy, the woman who was about to steal her man. She sat silent in the chair, listening.
“I don’t want to be a duchess. I am quite content to be a viscountess. Walsall is a lovely man; he will make me happy. Monsale is, well…I have heard rumors,” replied Euphemia.
Her mother clicked her tongue. “I have it on good authority from Kitty Steele that he is kind and decent where women are concerned. That is all you need to worry about. Give it time, and you won’t even remember Viscount Walsall.”
A long period of awkward silence followed. Then Euphemia sighed. “No. I will not marry him. I love Simon. Not only that, but I have promised him my heart. You can say what you like Mama, but I am not marrying Monsale.”
The key in the door clicked once more, and it was opened.
“You will stay here and think on your words. When you are quite yourself, then you may rejoin the rest of the guests,” said Lady Marshall.
“But Mama.” Naomi flinched as Lady Marshall closed the door decisively behind her.
“You can’t make me marry that brute. He might have all the money in the world, but he will never be my darling Simon,” muttered Euphemia.
Following a silent interval, where Naomi could only surmise that Euphemia was quietly sulking, the door finally opened and closed one last time.
I like Lady Euphemia; she has a backbone. She won’t be forced into marrying Monsale.
It was now apparent that Monsale had offered for Lady Euphemia. But she in turn, wasn’t keen on the match. Unfortunately, the young woman’s opinion wasn’t the only one which counted. The main issue lay with Lady Marshall. The countess had got her sights set on being the mother-in-law of a duke.
Naomi knew enough from her own experience of being raised in a noble family, that determined society matrons were a force to be reckoned with; and once they had their minds set on something it was nigh on impossible to dissuade them. But if Euphemia continued to stand her ground, she still had a chance.
Is that what I want? He has chosen her—over me. If Euphemia says no, and won’t go through with the marriage, Monsale may have to come crawling. But even then, doesn’t that make me only the second best? The consolation prize.
After slipping the shawl from her face, Naomi quickly fixed her hair, then headed back into the party. She was badly in need of her mother’s counsel.
To her disappointment, the duchess couldn’t be found anywhere. The only family member she was able to locate was her father. The Duke of Redditch met her just inside the foyer.
“Ah, there you are, my sweet child. I have been looking everywhere for you. It’s not good form that you, an unwed young lady, cannot be easily located at a function. I’ll be having a word with your mother regarding this behavior.”
I am almost twenty-seven years of age. I am not some naïve debutante.
“Papa, I was in one of the private rooms for the ladies. I promise I wasn’t anywhere I shouldn’t be, and right this minute I am trying to find Mama. Have you seen her?”
Her father fell silent. An odd expression sat on his face. The duke was by nature a demonstrative man, not one for keeping his thoughts or feelings to himself. Naomi got many of her characteristic traits from him. A quiet Duke of Redditch was usually the portent of something bad.
“She has gone with Monsale. He wished to discuss some private matter with her.”
A worried Naomi met his gaze. “What sort of matter?” she pressed.
The duke shook his head. “I think he believes that the list is not working. Or some such thing. The first two candidates for his duchess were from all reports most unsuitable. And while he thinks this third one might do the job admirably; she is apparently unwilling to accept his proposal.”
Which leaves me.
There were eight days until Monsale, and his new bride had to swear their oath of fealty before the Prince of Wales. Time was counting down fast.
If Monsale felt the need to urgently speak with the duchess, that could only mean good news. Right this minute, her mother was likely giving her future son-in-law pointers on how he could successfully woo her daughter.
Naomi could almost taste victory. If not tonight, then early tomorrow, Monsale would be on the doorstep of Redditch House requesting a private audience with her father.
How do I play this if he does ask for my hand?
He would have to declare himself. Offer up his heart. Make all the promises he rightly should have made a long time ago. He had kept her waiting all these years, it was only fair that some groveling was involved.
I just want him to say he loves me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I can deal with the rest.
She wiped a single tear away, determined to maintain her composure.
“When do you expect Mama to return?”
“I have no idea, but she asked that I take you home. From the sound of things, she and Monsale have much to discuss.”
Naomi adjusted her shawl, making ready to step out into the cool of the evening. She could only hope that her mother and Monsale settled their plans quickly. Until Kitty returned home, she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink.
A wedding here in London or at Monsale Castle? The town of Deal, Kent wasn’t too far, and she could have her things packed in no time.
That pale green evening gown with the white broderie anglaise on the bodice would be perfect for a wedding dress. Elegant and understated, but still befitting a bride about to become a duchess. I must ask Papa to borrow the family tiara. Or perhaps I should go with the gold gown. Yes, that is a statement piece. Lady Naomi McNeal, Duchess of Monsale.
The gold gown it was.
Naomi gave one last glance around the room, before taking her father’s arm. As they headed toward the front door, she caught a glimpse of Lady Marshall and her daughter talking to one another. She couldn’t quite catch what they were saying, but the angry look on the countess’s face was enough to inform her, that it was a heated conversation.
Well, done, Euphemia, stand up for your heart’s desire. I hope you and Viscount Walsall will be happy together.
Now all Naomi had to do was wait for Monsale to pay her a visit and finally concede defeat. Victory was surely hers for the taking.