Daring To Love The Duke's Heir

Unbidden, yet again, an image of Liberty Lovejoy surfaced. She had not been undone by a mere thunderstorm. He could not imagine Lady Caroline standing under a dripping umbrella, nor dodging around a determined footman. He bit back a smile at the memory and he couldn’t resist a gentle challenge.

‘But there is something delightfully elemental about a good storm, is there not?’

He raised an eyebrow at Caroline, whose serene expression did not waver.

‘Of course, my lord. You are so right—a good storm can be most exciting.’

Lady Druffield nodded in approval at her daughter’s response, but impatience already plagued Dominic. He was so easily bored by this sort of dance with words...talking about nothing...being polite and mannerly...and females who hung upon and agreed with every word he uttered. But it was the game they all played, him included. And it was not Caroline’s fault—she had been raised to be the perfect lady and that was what he wanted. Wasn’t it?

‘It is an age since we last met, sir,’ Caroline said. ‘Was it at...?’

She hesitated, her head tipped to one side, a smile hovering around her lips and her fine brows arched. Dominic complied readily with her hint...it would be unladylike for Caroline to admit she recalled their last meeting but he, as a gentleman, was expected to remember the exact place and circumstances.

‘It was at Lord Silverdale’s house party in February, if memory serves me correctly, my lady.’

‘Ah, yes, indeed.’ Caroline settled her dark brown gaze on his face.

‘I am delighted to renew our acquaintance,’ said Dominic.

Caroline smiled and her lashes swept low as she cast her gaze to her lap, where her hands rested in tranquil repose. ‘As am I.’

He might as well begin his campaign. ‘Would you care to take a turn around the Park in my curricle, Lady Caroline? With your mother’s permission, of course.’

Another gracious smile. Not once had she revealed her teeth. Nor had any of those smiles reached her eyes. He wondered if she might show a little more life out of earshot of Lady Druffield. Dominic directed his most charming smile at that lady.

‘But of course. It will be perfectly proper with the groom up behind, Caroline. And I can trust His Lordship to remain in the Park...he will take every care of you, I make no doubt.’

Dominic tied off the reins while Ted ran to the horses’ heads, enabling Dominic to climb from the curricle and assist Lady Caroline from the barouche and into his curricle. Then he leapt aboard.

‘I will deliver her back to you safe and sound, my lady.’ He gave Beau and Buck the office to proceed and they set off at a trot, the vehicle dipping as Ted sprang up behind.

The first person Dominic saw was Liberty Lovejoy. From the direction of her purposeful stride he could only surmise she had been heading straight for him, presumably with the intention of interrupting him despite the fact he was already engaged in conversation. He did not slow his horses. He had nothing to tell her, in any case, because—and guilt coiled in his gut—he had been putting off his promise to speak to Alex. He hadn’t forgotten it—he hadn’t been able to forget it because, since she had erupted precipitously into his life yesterday, he had been quite unable to banish Miss Liberty Lovejoy from his mind.

Liberty’s accusing gaze pierced him as the curricle drew level with her and she raised her hand, as though to stop them. Dominic tipped his hat to her, but did not slow. There was nothing to say and he did not want to say it in front of Caroline.

‘That lady looked as though she wanted to speak with you,’ said Caroline, looking over her shoulder at Liberty. ‘I do not believe I have made her acquaintance...is she someone?’

Someone. Dominic held back his snort. What did that even mean? Well, he knew what it meant, but it did not stop him disliking that too widely held presumption that only ‘their’ sort of people were anyone.

‘She is the new Earl of Wendover’s sister.’

‘Oh. I see.’ Those three words were sufficient to convey Caroline’s opinion. ‘Mama warned me to be wary of his sisters. She said they are not really our sort of people. How do you know her?’

‘I do not know her.’ Officially, her visit to Beauchamp House had never taken place and Dominic had never met either Liberty or her sister. Their transgression of the rules would not become common knowledge through him. ‘I know her identity because my brother is friendly with Wendover.’

‘I see.’ Caroline folded her hands on her lap. ‘I wonder what she wanted to speak to you about.’

‘I doubt very much she wanted to speak to me. I am certain you are mistaken.’

‘Yes, of course. That must be it.’

As luck would have it, two of the other ladies whose names were on Dominic’s list—Lady Amelia Carstairs and Lady Georgiana Buckleigh—were promenading that afternoon so, after delivering Caroline back to her mother, he endured two further circuits of the Park. Not one of the three put a foot wrong or spoke a word out of place. He should be thrilled. Any one of them would be the perfect wife for him. There was little to distinguish between them so far and once he had also renewed his acquaintance with Lady Sarah Patcham and Lady Sybilla Gratton, he would decide which one of them to concentrate on. Then, as soon as his father arrived in London, Dominic would make his offer.

* * *

Two days later Liberty stood to one side of the Trents’ crowded salon with Mrs Mount, and plied her fan, sipping from the wine glass in her other hand. Although the weather was chilly the number of people packed into the modestly sized room for the rout party, combined with the heat from dozens of candles, made the room insufferably hot and stuffy. And the tightness of her corset wasn’t helping, she silently admitted. When she had dressed for the rout in the least outmoded of her evening gowns, it had proved a touch too snug across the bosom, and so she had donned her sturdiest corset and ordered Lizzie—the maid she shared with Hope and Verity—to lace it as tightly as she possibly could in order to ease the fit of the dress. Now the disadvantage of that was becoming clear as her breathing grew shallower.

To distract herself from her increasing discomfort, she focused her attention on her sisters—so charming and pretty, their golden hair shining with health—and she watched with pleasure as young gentlemen vied with one another for their attention. They weren’t bad girls, just a little thoughtless at times, and she knew her tendency to take charge made it easy for them to leave any difficult or awkward matters to her.

Gideon, of course, had declined to escort them and his valet, Rudge, had confirmed his master’s intention to visit the Sans Pareil Theatre once again, causing dismay to ripple through Liberty. She feared she knew the attraction of that particular theatre, recalling how Gideon had waxed lyrical over a certain actress called Camilla Trace.

She leaned towards their chaperon.

‘I am hopeful the girls will both attract offers before the Season is out, Mrs Mount.’

‘Dear Hope and Verity...their popularity is unmistakable,’ said Mrs Mount, ‘but I must implore you not to risk a scandal with any more ill-advised visits, Liberty. I saw Lord Avon a few minutes ago and it seemed to me that, when he noticed you, he deliberately avoided this area of the room.’

‘Avon is here?’

Her pulse kicked—surely just at the prospect of finding out if he had kept his promise? She’d spied him only once since her visit to Beauchamp House, in Hyde Park. She’d tried to catch his eye but, although he acknowledged her, he had driven his curricle straight past her.

‘I wonder if he has spoken to his brother yet?’ She craned her neck to try to see over the throng of people, but it was impossible. ‘I shall go and ask—’

‘No!’ Mrs Mount caught hold of Liberty’s hand, restraining her. ‘Did you not hear what I said? Or perhaps you misunderstand the meaning of his action? He turned away when he saw you. You cannot approach him. He is the most eligible bachelor in the ton. Eyes follow him wherever he goes and tongues will always find stories to spread about him. Merely to approach him is unthinkable and if he were to cut you...oh, my dear, the tales would spread like wildfire and they would scorch your sisters’ reputations in the telling. The gossip columns in the newssheets would not spare your blushes—the upstart twin of the new Earl of Wendover making an overt play for the Marquess of Avon...oh, heavens!’ She plied her own fan vigorously to ruddy cheeks. ‘Do you not understand? Your situation renders it even more imperative that your conduct is above reproach.’

Anger smouldered inside Liberty, heating her still further, and she felt as though she had a furnace inside her. She drank more wine and then tugged discreetly at her neckline in a vain attempt to allow some cooling air to reach her skin. Each breath she drew seemed shallower than the one before.

‘But I am not interested in Lord Avon in the way you imply,’ she said. ‘You know I am not. I am concerned only about Gideon and I wish to know if Avon has spoken to his rascally brother yet.’

‘I know, my dear.’ Mrs Mount patted Liberty’s hand without loosening her grip upon it. ‘But you can do nothing about it until he decides to tell you. And he will not do so here—he will no more risk awakening speculation by singling out an unattached female than he would strip off his jacket and cavort about in his shirtsleeves. Proper conduct is everything to His Lordship, particularly this Season, if that rumour is true.’

‘Rumour? What rumour?’ Despite her dire need for fresh air, or a chair to sit on, or both, Liberty was distracted by this titbit.

‘It is said that he has compiled a shortlist of eligible young ladies who meet the standards he has set—breeding, upbringing, ladylike conduct—and that he will make his selection before the end of the Season.’

The hushed awe of Mrs Mount’s words stirred resentment inside Liberty. No wonder Avon was so top-lofty with people hanging upon his every word and treating him like some kind of god.

‘A shortlist? I presume you mean for a wife. Why on earth does he need a shortlist?’

‘Avon’s bride must possess the very best bloodlines, perfect manners and be of exemplary character. Only the best will do for a man in his position and to be the mother of a future duke.’

The suppressed excitement in Mrs Mount’s voice irritated Liberty even more.

‘You make the poor girl sound like a glorified brood mare,’ she muttered.

Really! Had people nothing more to worry about? What about all the poverty in London? Children in rags living on the street while their so-called betters lived in luxury. People like Avon were in a position to help and yet, instead of helping those worse off than him, he put his time and effort into making pathetic lists in order that any bride he might choose was worthy of him.

‘So you do see why it is imperative that you do not put a foot wrong in any further contact with His Lordship, do you not, Liberty?’ Mrs Mount’s anxious enquiry brought Liberty’s attention back to her. ‘Not so much for your sake, but for Hope and for Verity.’