Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion Read online

  She remained with her uncle, not appearing to speak to anyone else, even though her uncle paused frequently to exchange a word or two here and there. Reece was nowhere in sight. Amos watched her wander near some children playing pitch-halfpenny and saw her smile at something one of them said to her. Her uncle’s attention was then taken by Mrs. Gower, and Miss Brooke was temporarily alone. Amos seized the opportunity. Excusing himself from the trader, he made his way towards her.

  “Miss Brooke,” he said. “I am so glad you decided to come.”

  “Good afternoon, Lord Amos. I told you I would be here.”

  “I thought you might have had a change of heart.”

  “Even if I had, my uncle would not have permitted me to remain behind.”

  Amos grinned. “I always knew he was a sensible fellow.”

  “Who is that lady he is in such animated conversation with? I don’t believe I have seen her before.”

  “Oh, that is Mrs. Gower. She is a Shawford girl originally but caused great problems by marrying Compton’s blacksmith.”

  “Oh, so she’s the one.” She looked more closely at Mrs. Gower. “That explains it then. I wondered why my uncle so quickly abandoned me. He was disappointed in love as a young man, you know.” She sent Amos a wistful smile. “He told me as much on the way over here. I did not realise he and the lady in question were still, how shall I put this…” She blushed beneath the scrutiny of his amusement. “Oh well, you know what I mean.”

  “Affairs of the heart have been ever thus.”

  “I would not know.”

  Amos sent her a teasing smile. “I find that very hard to believe.”

  “I think it says much for my uncle’s constancy and the intensity of his feelings that he never looked elsewhere which, obviously, he did not.” She sighed. “He must have been very much in love. It is so sad.”

  “You are very tender-hearted, Miss Brooke.”

  “On the contrary, Lord Amos, I am simply very fond of my uncle. I owe him a great deal and do not like to think of how he must have suffered.”

  “He does not look disappointed now.”

  “No, they certainly seem to have a lot to say to one another.” Miss Brooke smiled. “She is still a very handsome woman. My uncle has obviously always had an eye for beautiful things.”

  “Talking of which, if it would be convenient, my mother is waiting to thank you for designing her beautiful jewellery. She is quite delighted with it, you know.”

  “Oh well then, perhaps my uncle−”

  “I don’t believe he often gets an opportunity to speak with Mrs. Gower, what with relations between the two villages being the way they are. Let us leave them be.”

  She lowered her head, concealing panic-stricken eyes beneath the brim of her bonnet, as though afraid of what Amos might read in her expression. After a moment, she straightened her spine, took a deep breath, and lifted her chin, seemingly composed once more.

  “And you accuse me of being romantically inclined,” she said with a wry smile.

  He proffered his arm and returned her smile with a heated one of his own. It wasn’t entirely appropriate, but appropriate behaviour had a habit of deserting him when he was anywhere near the enigmatic Miss Brooke. “I do not believe your uncle and Mrs. Gower can get up to much mischief in the middle of this throng.”

  “You were about to say at their age, I believe.” She shook a finger at him as they commenced walking together towards the house. “Shame on you, Lord Amos. Love does not discriminate by age.”

  “I believe you are right. My parents seemed as devoted on the day my father died as they must have been on their wedding day.”

  “Then they were very fortunate,” she replied, her expression remote.

  “What do you make of our little gathering?” he asked, wondering what he had said to discompose her.

  “Little?” Her eyes widened and she was her lively self again. “I have never seen anything quite like it. It is remarkably generous of the duke.”

  Amos laughed. “We live in expectation of uniting the villages, being optimists by nature. Not that it will ever happen, but we do our humble best.”

  “There is absolutely nothing humble about this establishment,” she said, glancing up at the elegant façade of the enormous building as they climbed the steps to the terrace.

  “Mother is waiting inside,” Amos said. “Come this way, if you please.”

  Amos led her into the drawing room, where his mother sat with Portia. As they entered the room, so too did Annalise.

  “Oh good, I haven’t missed you. I got cornered by Miss Higgins who wanted to talk some more about that wretched Flemish lace. You must be Miss Brooke. How do you do. I am Amos’s sister, Annalise, and we are all in raptures about the beautiful jewellery you designed for Mama. You really are so very clever, I cannot think how−”

  “Anna, please!” Amos held up a hand, stopping his sister’s cheerful flow of words, aware it might well have gone on for another five minutes if he had not done so. “Give Miss Brooke a chance to acknowledge you.”

  “Lady Annalise.” Miss Brooke smiled and bobbed a curtsey.

  “Oh, I am so sorry. My tongue runs away with me sometimes.”

  Amos quirked a brow. “Sometimes?”

  “Never mind about Amos. He doesn’t understand the way we women think.” Annalise linked arms with Miss Brooke, and they walked across the room together. “Mama, here is Miss Brooke, the clever lady who designed your birthday gift. Miss Brooke, this is our mother, the Duchess of Winchester, and my sister Portia.”

  “You are very welcome, Miss Brooke,” the duchess said.

  “It’s an honour to make your acquaintance, your grace.” Miss Brooke showed remarkable composure as she curtsied to their mother and then turned to repeat the gesture to Portia. “Lady Portia.”

  “Do please come and sit beside me,” their mother said. “I must know where you learned to design so beautifully.”

  Amos would like to know that too and took a seat as soon as Miss Brooke and Annalise had done so.

  “I cannot say I was taught precisely, your grace. It is just something I seem able to do instinctively. My uncle’s eyesight is not what it once was, and I offered to help him if I could.”

  “Then it is very fortunate for me you happened to be here.”

  “I cannot draw to save my life,” Annalise said. “Portia, on the other hand, shows great talent, but then she is good at everything she does.”

  “I could not design jewellery,” Portia replied. “I should not know where to start, although I would probably enjoy the challenge.”

  “I have seen my uncle’s work often enough to have a basic idea,” Miss Brooke replied vaguely.

  “And yet I don’t recall ever seeing you here before,” the duchess said. “I am sure I would have remembered, had we met. Do you intend to remain in the district?”

  “My plans are not yet finalised. My father died recently, you see, and Uncle Charles invited me here for a change of scenery.”

  “I am very sorry to hear that, Miss Brooke,” their mother replied softly. “I am fully acquainted with the pain of loss.”

  Now was the time for Amos to ask where her sister was, and why she had not come to Shawford, too. Before he could do so, their mother spoke again, and what she had to say both surprised and delighted Amos.

  “You and your uncle must dine with us before you leave, Miss Brooke. I absolutely insist. I would like you to see me wearing your beautiful designs. I could not do so this afternoon, of course. Rubies in the afternoon would look…well, not quite the thing, but I must insist you dine. I shall arrange it very soon.”

  “Thank you, your grace, I would−”

  Miss Brooke looked decidedly relieved when Nate bounded into the room, and all heads turned in his direction instead of hers. His mysterious little vixen did not like being the centre of attention, or answering questions about herself.

  “I say, you must be Miss Brooke.” She
stood to curtsey and Nate bowed over her hand. “How do you do. I am Nathanial, and it is a pleasure to meet you. You are so very clever, but I am sure my family have already told you as much.”

  “Thank you, Lord Nathanial,” she replied resuming her seat, looking a little overwhelmed by her reception but otherwise, remarkably poised. Too poised. Miss Brooke was used to good society. The more Amos got to know her, the less he understood her.

  “I came to tell you the cricket is about to start. You and I are needed, Amos.”

  “Very well.” Amos stood, as did all the ladies. “Let’s go and give them a sound thrashing, little brother.”

  “This is the best fun imaginable,” Annalise said. “It is almost like warfare but without the bloodshed. You must sit with us, Miss Brooke. I absolutely insist. She must, must she not, Mama.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Satisfied that Miss Brooke would be in the safe hands of her family, Amos excused himself and went off with Nate to join the fray.

  Chapter Eleven

  Crista walked outside with the rest of the ladies, still reeling from the warmth of her reception by elegant people situated so far above her in the rigid social structure that governed the times. The duchess’s invitation to dine was as unexpected as it was terrifying. She recalled what she had been forced to become and knew she did not deserve such attention. However, there was nothing she could do about that now and forced herself not to think about it.

  Most people were now assembled in noisy groups around the make-shift cricket pitch immediately below the terrace. The ale had clearly cut through inhibitions and the noise level had increased by several decibels. Demarcation lines had been drawn up. This was a serious business, there were points to be proven, and gentry and villagers could no longer mingle. Instead, the majority of Shawford’s residents lined one boundary, Compton’s the other. They might be on the same team, but asking them to join forces as spectators was clearly going too far. The duke’s family and friends took the seats in the centre, dividing the two factions in case the fragile truce did not hold.

  “We have to keep the spectators from killing one another somehow,” Lady Annalise whispered to Crista, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “I hadn’t realised until today quite how vicious the feuding actually is,” Crista replied. “How did it start?”

  “It has been going on for so long no one can quite remember. You would think they’d have something better to do with their time than to constantly pick upon one another.” Lady Annalise again linked arms with Crista, shaking her head. But her wide smile told a very different story. This engaging young lady found the feuding endlessly entertaining and made a poor job of concealing the fact. “It is really quite shocking. Shall we sit here?”

  “I wonder what has become of my uncle.”

  The duchess took a seat in the shade with some of the older ladies. Crista felt rather self-conscious seated in the front row between Lady Portia and Lady Annalise. Her gown was woefully inadequate when compared to theirs, but if they noticed, it didn’t seem to bother them. She did not belong with these elegant ladies, and yet felt perfectly at home in the midst. She thought briefly of her mother, who would have been in seventh heaven to find herself thus situated. In spite of being at her ease, Crista felt she should sit with the villagers, but couldn’t suggest it without appearing impolite. She saw her uncle in conversation with some of the tradespeople she recognised from Shawford and waved to him. He smiled and waved back.

  She was still pondering upon her dilemma when all four Sheridan males appeared before them, in shirtsleeves, laughing but looking seriously intent. Their beauty took Crista’s breath away and it was very difficult for her to hide just how impressed she was by their formidable physiques−all muscle, sinew and raw power. My goodness, this was not at all like her. What had become of the sensible, level-headed woman who had no time for daydreams and unrealistic expectations?

  “Miss Brooke,” the duke said. “No, please don’t get up. I am very pleased you could come.”

  “It seems even the weather does not play you false, your grace,” she replied.

  “It wouldn’t dare,” Lord Vincent said, swinging his right arm in a circle, as though preparing to bowl the cricket ball.

  “Who is that gentleman?” Lady Annalise asked, looking directly at a tall, imposing figure who had just joined her brothers.

  “Oh, sorry, Anna, I don’t believe you know my friend, Clarence Vaughan, Earl of Romsey.”

  The duke introduced them all by name, including Crista. The earl was very handsome, with a relaxed attitude and easy charm. Crista could quite see why Lady Annalise was so impressed by his appearance. And she was impressed, she had to be, since she had barely spoken a word and actually blushed when the earl took her hand. Crista wasn’t well acquainted with the young lady, but already knew enough about her character to appreciate she was a chatterbox. According to the rumour mill in Shawford, which her uncle assured her was seldom wrong, Lady Annalise had caused quite a stir during her first season and rejected several eligible offers. That was hardly to be wondered at. She was very beautiful, so lively and full of fun, as well as being handsomely dowered. Crista felt dull and uninteresting by comparison.

  “Good heavens, Clarence, I had no idea you were back in England.”

  Lord Romsey looked towards the speaker, as did the entire party. Crista barely suppressed a gasp. One of the most beautiful women she had ever seen joined the party, dressed in the height of fashion—just not English fashion. The lady’s cream cambric-muslin gown was tight-fitting, with plain long sleeves finished with exquisite blue lace that fell over her hands. Two rows of similar lace adorned the hem. Her pelisse was sky-blue kerseymore and fit tight to her svelte form. Her bonnet, perched on top of a cascade of golden curls, was velvet, the same colour as her pelisse, with a high crown and full ostrich plume.

  “Frankie, how delightful.”

  The two shook hands like old friends. Crista noticed Lady Annalise frown at their intimacy. So, too, did the duke.

  “You two are acquainted,” the duke drawled.

  “Indeed,” the earl replied. “Frankie and her rogue of a husband lived in Paris at the same time as me.”

  Ah, Crista thought, that explained her distinctive fashion sense. Parisians knew the meaning of style. Lady Annalise looked as though she wanted to ask a question, but was unable to formulate the words. Crista felt a moment’s sympathy for her. She was similarly afflicted when attempting to say amusing things in Lord Amos’s company. His commanding presence appeared to suck her mind dry and glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth. It was most vexatious.

  “Come along, Zach,” Lord Nate said. “They are waiting for us.”

  “Do come and sit with us, Lady St. John,” Lady Annalise said as the gentlemen moved towards the pitch. “This is Miss Brooke.”

  “You must be the lady who designed the duchess’s jewellery. I have just now been admiring it. You are so very clever.”

  Crista smiled. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Well, I am entire sure,” Lady St. John replied. “Such talent is a rare and special gift. Do not allow anyone to talk you out of doing what you do so well.”

  Crista thought of her precarious finances and decided there was little chance of that happening.

  “Now then,” Lady St. John said. “Who shall win this silly game, do you suppose?”

  “Which brave soul acts as umpire?” Crista asked.

  “Oh, the vicars from each village take it turn and turn about,” Lady Portia replied.

  “That is brave,” Lady St. John said with an animated smile as she put up her parasol. Crista did not possess one, but since her face was already blighted by unsightly freckles it didn’t make much difference if the sun had its way with her complexion.

  The duke’s team was to bat first, and the openers walked out to a smattering of applause.

  “Oh my goodness,” Lady St. John said. “Look at the size of th
e man about to bowl. I should not like to face him.”

  “That is the son of Compton’s blacksmith,” Lady Portia replied.

  “Ah, that would account for all those muscles.”

  “Lady St. John!” Lady Annalise sounded shocked but looked decidedly amused.

  “Well, my dear, if they did not wish us to admire them, they would not run about in their shirtsleeves, showing themselves off, would they now? In France, I learned there is nothing wrong with open admiration for anything of beauty, albeit human or inanimate.”

  “How very sensible of the French,” Crista replied. “Were you living there during the fighting?”

  “We were never in any danger. My husband was something frightfully important in the government, our English government, that is, and we were always one step ahead of the skirmishes, thank goodness.”

  And yet Lady St. John was a widow, so something had to have gone wrong. Crista did not like to ask but was filled with curiosity.

  “What did Lord Romsey do in France?” Lady Annalise asked.

  “Oh, good shot!” The ball sailed over the boundary rope for six. “He did, and I believe still does, fill a vital role in his majesty’s government. It’s all terribly hush-hush. You can never get them to talk about what they do. I gave up trying a long time ago.” She shrugged. “I probably would not understand it even if they attempted to explain.”

  Crista could not recall a time when she had enjoyed herself more, or a time when she had felt more relaxed. She had forgotten how to relax, she realised now, because she had been living for so long under such a very great strain. But these ladies, who treated her as an equal and sought her opinion on every conceivable subject, were lively and engaging company.

  As the game went on, Crista felt rather sorry for the beleaguered clergyman acting as umpire. All his decisions were met with loud protests by either one side or the other, but at least it didn’t come to blows. Lord Amos had just gone in to bat. He stood at the crease, looking around at the field placements, and Crista was sure his gaze briefly came to rest upon her, as though he wanted to be sure she was watching him. How could she not be? In his billowing shirt and tight breeches, his hair blowing in the breeze, and his hard, unyielding muscles at work beneath that shirt, he made a fine sight. The massively-built blacksmith’s son thundered down his run and let the ball fly at a terrifying rate. Crista felt the urge to duck and couldn’t understand why Lord Amos, at whom it was aimed, didn’t take evasive action. Instead, he swung his bat in a graceful arc, timed it beautifully, and sent the ball crashing to the boundary for four runs.