Ducal Encounters 02 - With the Duke's Approval

  Ducal Encounters

  With the Duke’s Approval Copyright © Wendy Soliman 2014

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations contained are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance of actual living or dead persons, business, or events. Any similarities are coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of The Author – Wendy Soliman This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or give to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the expression permission of the author.

  ISBN: 9781483522425

  Chapter One

  London 1819

  “Do people actually take pleasure from all this…well, frivolity?” Portia looked dubiously around the overcrowded yet sumptuously appointed ballroom and wrinkled her nose.

  Annalise smothered a smile. Anyone who mattered was in attendance at the Duchess of Bexley’s ball, one of the major social occasions of the season. Those who did not matter went to extraordinary lengths to inveigle invitations. Only Portia could describe the event as frivolous. “Certainly they enjoy it,” she replied. “It is very important to be seen in the right places.”

  Portia remained unimpressed. “How ridiculous.”

  “People go to considerable trouble to cultivate the expressions of boredom you have mistaken for…well, boredom.”

  Portia rolled her eyes. “I hesitate to ask why.”

  Annalise released the smile she had valiantly been holding in check. “Those of us in danger of being left on the shelf pretend not to mind for fear of appearing desperate, hence our contrived indolence. It is extremely hard work, and very unkind of you to see through the ruse to quickly.”

  “You? Desperate?” Portia scoffed. “You are always mobbed by gentlemen keen to win your approval, or whatever it is gentlemen wish to win. And now I come to think of it…” Portia glanced around. “Where is your horde of devotees? It’s the first time I have seen you in a ballroom without at least one hopeful following behind you like a lovesick puppy.”

  Annalise slipped further behind the concealing pillar she and Portia were standing beside, grateful for the respite. “You, on the other hand,” she said, choosing to ignore her sister’s question, “ought to pretend enthusiasm. It is your first season. You are supposed to swoon from an excess of pleasure.”

  Portia made an unladylike scoffing sound at the back of her throat. “Have you ever known me to swoon?”

  “Perhaps not, but there is nothing preventing you from pretending. Goodness knows, most people in this room are putting on an act of some sort. It wouldn’t do for the Duke of Winchester’s younger sister to gain a reputation for being aloof.”

  “I’m not in the least aloof. I just don’t see the point of balls. Besides, I hate crowds, to say nothing of the heat from all these bodies and the cloying perfumes warring with one another.” Portis hid her face behind her fan and sneezed. “I never know what to say to people when they address me, and even if I could think of something amusing and enlightening, it’s so noisy my witticisms would go unappreciated.” A wry smile graced her features. “I bit like me, I suppose.”

  Anna patted her sister’s hand. “Don’t falter now. The worst is behind you. You got the ordeal of presentation out of the way and are officially launched.”

  Portia harrumphed. “You make me sound like a ship.”

  “Well, don’t sail off into the sunset quite yet. You promised Mr. Duffield the next dance.”

  “Oh Lord, I’d quite forgotten he asked me.”

  “Portia, pay attention!” Anna bit her lip, endlessly amused by her sister’s genuine disregard for society’s rules. “He is one of the catches of the season.”

  “Then why is he bothering with me?”

  Anna wanted to shake her sister. She was such a goose, always analysing every situation, suspicious of every kind word or gesture. “Why should he not? You look very pretty, and I should be quite out of charity with him if he did not notice you.”

  “Hmm.” Portia didn’t sound convinced. “What of you? Don’t tell me you are without a partner. Goodness, I think I might swoon after all.”

  “I am saving myself,” Anna replied loftily. “I have had quite enough of having my toes trampled upon for one night. I intend to waltz with Lord Romsey. I’m perfectly sure my toes won’t suffer from that experience.”

  “Ah, now I understand why you are hiding behind that pillar, but still trying to watch this seething mass of humanity.” Portia grinned. “You’re lying in wait for Lord Romsey.”

  “You understand nothing. Lord Romsey is our brother’s friend and a close neighbour. It would be unpardonably rude if he did not dance with us both.”

  “He hasn’t asked me, which rather proves my point, I think.”

  “He hasn’t asked me either, but I’m sure he intends to. All of our brothers are still angry with him, and so he would be sensible to recover his position by behaving agreeably towards us.”

  Amos, Annalise and Portia’s second brother, the duke’s named heir, was the first of the six siblings to marry. That auspicious event had taken place the previous autumn at Winchester Cathedral, followed by a magnificent reception at the ducal seat of Winchester Park. Amos had delighted the family by introducing Miss Cristobel Brooke to its ranks. She and Amos had met under peculiar circumstances involving a plot against the government. It was Lord Romsey’s task to unravel that plot, but he inadvertently left Crista exposed to danger, earning ducal disapproval. Amos had to be persuaded against calling Romsey out over the matter.

  Annalise came out a year ahead of Portia and had been inundated with attention. The duke, her brother Zachary, had entertained several advantageous offers for her hand, all of which she declined. None of her suitors had stirred her passions. Having seen the deep and abiding love that had bound her parent’s marriage, she was determined only to marry when she found a gentleman who moved her heart in a similar fashion.

  The moment she laid eyes on the glamorous earl at Winchester Park the previous summer, she knew she had found such a man: Portia had got that part exactly right. But Romsey had not shown her any particular attention. He always appeared to be occupied by some crisis or other pertaining to his position as a member of his majesty’s diplomatic service. That was all well and good, but Anna wasn’t prepared to sit back like some wilting violet and wait for him to notice her. Some other lady might catch his attention in the meantime. Unprepared to take that risk, it was time to take matters into her own hands.

  “Oh look. There’s Frankie.”

  Portia waved, Lady St. John acknowledged the gesture and joined the girls.

  “What a crush,” she said by way of greeting.

  “I was just saying as much to Anna,” Portia replied.

  “You look as fresh as a daisy, so it cannot be so very crowded,” Anna told their neighbour. “That gown is a sensation.”

  “Oh, this old thing.” Frankie laughed. “Don’t look like that, Anna. It really is old. I had it made when I was still in France, two years ago now.”

  “It’s positively ancient then,” Portia agreed, grinning.

  “Besides, both of you look adorable. And, as to remaining cool, be advised by me and
take advantage of the terrace and all that lovely fresh air.”

  “But it’s freezing out there!” Portia cried. “There’s frost on the ground, and it wouldn’t surprise me if it snowed.”

  “I have a very thick shawl,” Frankie told them in a theatrical whisper. “Hidden behind the red leather chair in the library. Feel free to make use of it if you feel inclined to step outside. You can’t miss it. It’s rather extravagantly coloured.” She shrugged. “Well, you know me. I do so like to make a statement. Anyway, it’s exceedingly warm, which is all that really matters.”

  “How clever to think of that,” Anna replied. “How…ah, but of course, you are residing here with the duchess, which allows you the freedom to scatter your possession about the place.”

  “Exactly. I don’t plan to stay in town for long, and so it seems pointless to go to the expense of renting a house; especially since my friend was happy to accommodate me.”

  The crowd appeared to swell, the noise and heat levels rose, and Portia fanned herself rather violently.

  “My sister finds all this rather pointless,” Anna said.

  Frankie smiled. “Jaded already, Portia?”

  Portia bit her lip. “There must be something wrong with me.”

  “Actually,” Frankie said, “I agree with you, but one is expected to be seen.”

  “So Anna tells me.” Portia blinked, and looked rather startled. “Mrs. Anderson is holding you in a death glare from across the room, Anna.”

  “Oh no, not again.”

  “What have you done to displease Mrs. Anderson?” Frankie asked.

  “Nothing to my knowledge.” Anna shrugged. “Miss Anderson has an extremely handsome dowry, and her Mama is ambitious for her to make a good marriage. I understand Miss Anderson has quite set her heart upon Lord Roker.” A giggle slipped past Anna’s guard. “Unfortunately that gentlemen seems besotted with me. I don’t give him the least encouragement, but Mrs. Anderson appears to hold me responsible for his defection.”

  “Oh dear.” Frankie looked amused. “How unfortunate.”

  “Who is that, making such a grand entrance?” Anna asked.

  The three ladies looked towards the archway leading into the ballroom. “Ah, that’s Count von Hessel,” Frankie said.

  “He’s very good looking,” Anna said, “but I suspect he knows it.”

  “Oh, he does,” Frankie replied, wrinkling her nose.

  “Do you know him?” Portia asked.

  “Yes, we met a few times after the war.”

  “Von Hessel is Prussian, is he not?” Anna asked. “I seem to recall he distinguished himself at Waterloo.”

  “Once the Prussians decided whose side they were on,” Frankie said. “That’s Miriam Outwood on his arm, looking fit to burst with pride.”

  “Ah, we came out together,” Anna said. “I heard the count had offered for her.”

  “They made their announcement at Lady Trumper’s ball last week, but you were not there to congratulate the happy couple.”

  Anna shook her head. “No, Mama had a cold, and so we all stayed at home.”

  “Presumably Miss Outwood has a sizeable dowry,” Portia mused. “I hear the count is short of blunt and, without wishing to be unkind, Miss Outwood isn’t especially pretty.”

  “How do you know so much about the count?” Anna demanded to know.

  Portia shrugged. “I keep my ears open.”

  “We ought to be shocked by such pragmatic observations falling from the lips of one so young,” Frankie said with an engaging grin. “But we can hardly scold you for telling the truth. Still, if Miss Outwood is content with the situation, who are we to judge?”

  The ladies watched the count as he looked around, nodding haughtily to acquaintances. When he appeared satisfied enough attention was focused on him, he swaggered into the ballroom and finally remembered to pay his respects to his hostess.

  “I don’t envy Miss Outwood,” Anna said. “I think she will live to regret her decision.”

  “I am sure you’re right about that,” Frankie replied.

  The count walked in their direction, noticed Frankie, scowled, and inclined his head with the minimum of civility. Frankie did not acknowledge him at all, but Anna saw anger flit through her eyes and wondered why the two disliked one another quite so intently. Presumably, the count had tried to court Frankie after the death of her husband and had been rebuffed. His gaze drifted to Anna and remained fixed upon her long enough to make Anna feel uncomfortable. He only removed it when Miss Outwood addressed a remark to him.

  “I wonder what has become of Mama,” Anna said.

  “I saw her just now in deep conversation with Lady Markham,” Frankie replied.

  “Oh dear, poor Vince.” Anna clapped a hand over her mouth. “Now Mama finally has the satisfaction of seeing one of her sons married, she is quite determined the other three will follow his example. Vince made the mistake of dancing twice with Miss Markham last week and now…well, I think Mama and Lady Markham must be making wedding plans.”

  “What of the duke?” Frankie asked, suspiciously casually. “Whom does the duchess have in mind for him?”

  “I don’t think even Mama would dare to make any suggestions to Zach,” Anne said, sharing a glance with Portia. “Zach will only do what Zach wishes to do.”

  “How very sensible.”

  Frankie sounded as though she was speaking from bitter experience. And yet, when she spoke of her late husband, also a member of the diplomatic service and, like Lord Romsey, prominently involved in the peace negotiations following Napoleon’s defeat, she never said anything to his detriment. Frankie was a beautiful, complex, and mysterious woman, far cleverer than she allowed people to know and, in Anna’s biased opinion, absolutely perfect for Zach.

  “Ah, the quadrille,” Anna said. “And here comes Mr. Duffield to claim you, Portia.”

  Portia grinned. “And Lord Roker is hard on his heels.”

  “Oh lord, walk with me, Frankie.” Anna linked her arm through Frankie’s, pausing only to see her sister safely delivered to Mr. Duffield’s care before turning away from the rapidly approaching Lord Roker. “He simply will not leave me alone.”

  Frankie raised a brow in evident amusement. “He is a nice looking young man, from a good family. You could do worse.”

  “Frankie!” Anna stopped walking and fixed her friend with an accusatory glower. “Fie, shame on you! You claim it is commendable for Zach to please himself, and yet I may not do the same thing?”

  Frankie seemed perfectly unperturbed by Anna’s rebuke. “I was simply pointing out that Lord Roker is one of the catches of the season. Half the girls in this room sigh if he so much as passes their position, and yet he neglects them all in favour of you. Several people have remarked upon it and taken offence. I wasn’t suggesting you should encourage him, but merely feel the compliment.”

  Anna grinned, her fit of pique forgotten. “Very well then, I shall consider myself duly complimented, but if we could turn in this direction, we shall avoid encountering Lord Roker.”

  Frankie laughed. “I am entirely at your disposal.”

  “When do you return to Winchester?”

  “I shall stay in town for another few weeks, then return to the country for the hunting.”

  “You should speak with Amos. He and Crista remained in the country, as you know, and if you need a decent mount, I’m sure Amos will be able to help.”

  “Thank you. I might well do that. I have yet to purchase my own horses, and Lord Amos is so knowledgeable on the subject.” Frankie looked up and smiled. “Ah, here is the duke and Clarence.”

  Anna looked up, too and saw Zach and Lord Romsey approaching them. Zach was deep in conversation with Lord Romsey, the man Anna firmly intended to waltz with. Her heart did a strange little flip as she observed thick, dark blond hair falling in sleek waves across deep blue eyes that gleamed with unsettling intelligence. His graceful movements caused more than one female eye to be drawn
towards him, Anna noticed, feeling an irrational stab of jealousy. It was tempered when it occurred to her those female eyes could just as easily have been drawn to Zach. He looked every part the suave, eligible duke, all the more desirable because of the air of detached politeness he had cultivated, discouraging all but the most determined from approaching him. Their attention probably was for her brother, Anna decided, since he was a man of greater consequence in terms of both status and wealth.

  Lord Romsey was something of an enigma—a very fascinating enigma. He had spent all his adult years as a diplomat. Frankie and her husband had frequently encountered Lord Romsey in France and Belgium during and after the war, which is why they were on such intimate terms. He had only returned to England fairly recently, following the death of his father, to assume the earldom and take control of his estate close to Southampton. But he was still kept fully occupied with his duties as a diplomat. She wondered if he ever put his own interests first and took the time to enjoy himself. He was here, at a ball. That much was true. But she very much doubted if his intention was to dance. Everyone knew all manner of important matters of state were settled at social occasions.

  “It must be very lonely for Lord Romsey,” she said speculatively, watching as the gentlemen’s approach was delayed for the third time by yet another determined matron. “Zach tells me he has no siblings, and now both of his parents are dead. He must rattle around in Romsey House and wonder what to do with himself.”

  Frankie laughed. “Clarence always knows precisely what to do with himself.”

  “I am sure he never wants for occupation, but that is not what I meant to imply. As one of six children, and part of such a close and loving family, I can’t imagine ever being truly alone.”

  “You are very fortunate, Anna. Most large families of my acquaintance fight like cats and dogs and cannot abide the sight of one another, but—” Frankie’s face came alight with comprehension. “Ah, I see. Your interest is not speculative.”

  “You are as bad as Portia. I was merely making an observation. Besides, judging by the way people are reacting to Lord Romsey in this ballroom, he need not be alone if he would prefer not to be.”