Remember me, p.16
Remember Me, page 16
The thread of this conversation had somehow begun to unravel, Lucas thought.
“Unfortunately, Grandpapa,” he said, “you have a measure of control only upon me. Not upon Lady Philippa Ware or any other prospective bride who may win your approval and Grandmama’s. I promised Lady Philippa last evening that I would have a word with you today and make it clear that she is not to be harassed.”
“You promised her?” The duke grabbed his cup and downed his coffee in what looked to be a single gulp. “Did she say she felt bullied, then?”
Lucas sighed. “She actually said she could not help liking you both,” he said. “But—”
His grandfather slammed the flat of his hand down on the table, rattling the dishes and cutlery upon it.
“But nothing,” he said. “It appears to me, Lucas, that I have a poor apology for a grandson, who is afraid to court a beautiful woman when he sees one for fear she may reject his suit. Court her. Make sure she has no reason to reject you and every reason to accept. Is that harassment? Is that bullying? She will still have the freedom to say no when you make your offer. See to it that she does not say no.”
“Jenny has told me she would love to have Lady Philippa as a sister-in-law,” the duchess said, smiling at her grandson, as though she thought that would be encouragement enough for him to force his attentions upon a woman who simply would not have him. “Have you sent her flowers yet today, Luc?”
“It is only breakfast time, Grandmama,” he reminded her. His grandparents were almost always up at first cockcrow in the mornings—not that there were any roosters in close proximity to Arden House. It did not matter, though. Neither did the late night they had had after a busy evening at the ball. They were up anyway. His aunt and his sister, on the other hand, were still sensibly asleep in their beds, as doubtless were nine-tenths of everyone else who had attended last evening’s ball.
“The largest bouquet you can find,” His Grace said. “And then have it doubled in size. Every other young buck who was there last night will be sending her flowers. Make sure yours stand out.”
It was hopeless. There was no point in continuing to argue. For Lucas’s definition of harassment would never match that of his grandparents. In their minds they were conferring a great favor upon Lady Philippa Ware by making it clear they would welcome her as a bride for their grandson and heir.
“I will do my best,” he said weakly. “But even my best efforts may not induce her to say yes, you know. And if I ask her and she says no, then there will be an end of the matter. I hope, Grandmama, you have a few other names on your list of eligible brides.”
“I do,” she said. “Including Miss Thorpe, who seems a sweet enough girl and is prettily behaved. But Lady Philippa does appear to be outstanding. Now, I am to go shopping with Kitty this morning, if she should decide to get up before the clock strikes noon. According to her, all my hats are antiquated and she is embarrassed to be seen with me—not that she has said that last quite so bluntly, of course. I must go and get ready.”
The two men rose with her and watched her leave the breakfast parlor.
“I am off to the House to see to the business of the nation,” the duke announced. “Make sure you send those flowers, Luc. And get busy on that courtship. This is important to Her Grace, and Her Grace is important to me.”
A low blow indeed, Lucas thought as he tossed his napkin onto the table and followed his grandfather from the room. The duke was not above a bit of blackmail when it suited his purpose.
* * *
—
Philippa returned home that afternoon from a walk in the park with her mother and sister to the discovery that no fewer than four gentlemen with whom she had danced last evening had left their calling cards in her absence. The cards were spread upon a silver salver in the hallway beside a small pile of what looked like fresh invitations. They must have been delivered by hand after the day’s post arrived earlier.
Then, when they went into the library at the suggestion of the butler before going upstairs to divest themselves of their outdoor garments, it was to the discovery that the room looked and smelled like a particularly lavish flower garden because of all the bouquets that had been delivered since they left to add to those that had arrived during the morning. They had all been arranged in bowls and vases and even a few larger urns.
It was not the flowers that took their immediate attention, however, or accounted for the butler’s urging that they come here before they did anything else. For there, examining the floral offerings and the messages and signatures upon the cards that accompanied them, were Gwyneth and Devlin. The Earl and Countess of Stratton themselves.
“Someone,” Devlin said, turning toward the door, “is taking the ton by storm. I believe that is the correct term, is it not? Could it be you, by any chance, Pippa?”
But Stephanie had given a quite unladylike whoop of delight and hurled herself into her brother’s arms, and Mama had hurried forward with an exclamation of joy to hug Gwyneth. Philippa meanwhile stood beaming at them both, her hands clasped to her bosom, feeling a rush of pure happiness. All would be well now. She did not stop to consider how all had not been well before they came. Last night and today had been a great triumph for her, after all, though she was trying hard not to let it all go to her head. She had been launched upon society, and society, it seemed, had opened its arms to welcome her.
“You are here,” she said.
“At last,” Devlin said, releasing Stephanie and turning to hug Philippa. “I hope I am not merely dreaming it and am about to wake up to discover I am still in the carriage with a hundred miles yet to go. Having seen all these flowers, Pippa, and having read about the number of devoted servants you appear to have collected if the accompanying cards are to be believed, I feel impelled to say I told you so. Expect me to gloat.”
Stephanie had said it before him this morning.
“You must be very weary, Gwyneth,” Mama said.
“We thought you would never come,” Stephanie added, beaming from one to the other of them.
“We would have been here two days sooner, perhaps even three, if your brother had not insisted that we make the journey in very short stages, Steph,” Gwyneth said.
“Well, pardon me for being a considerate husband,” Devlin said while Gwyneth laughed at him. “Go on, then. Tell them. We had planned to keep it for tonight, after dinner, but what is wrong with this afternoon? Especially when we are surrounded by flowers and the room is looking very festive.”
“It seems I am in a delicate way,” Gwyneth said, and blushed.
Stephanie shrieked again and rushed at her sister-in-law, Philippa hugged her brother, and this time it was Mama’s turn to clasp her hands to her bosom and beam at them all.
“Oh,” she said. “My second grandchild. How very well blessed I am going to be.”
For which words Philippa loved her. For Joy was not really her grandchild. Ben was not really her son. He was the illegitimate offspring of one of Papa’s mistresses. But Mama had always behaved as though both Ben and Joy were her own.
“He or she should be putting in an appearance around or about November,” Devlin said. “Maybe sooner. Gwyneth suspected before we went to Idris’s wedding, but she did not say a word, even to me—especially to me—lest she be forbidden to travel.”
“We are very happy,” Gwyneth said. “So are Mama and Papa, as you may imagine. And so is Ben. We made a short detour to Penallen on the way here so we could let him know. He is coming here soon—ah, and now I have spoiled his surprise. Joy has outgrown all her prettiest clothes and I have promised to go shopping with him. But enough of all that. You are all looking very well indeed. You are not sorry you came to London, Steph, instead of staying at home with Miss Field?”
“I am not,” Stephanie assured her. “I have walked all around the Whispering Gallery of St. Paul’s Cathedral even though my knees were knocking, and I have watched the launch of a homemade kite in Hyde Park. I have explored every corner of Westminster Abbey and been to Hampton Court by boat. I have met a real, live duke—the Duke of Wilby—and his duchess, and they looked upon me kindly and even spoke to me. And Pippa already has so many beaux that soon she will not know what to do with all the flowers. She did not have to sit out a single set last evening at Lady Abingdon’s ball. She even danced the waltzes. Lady Jersey gave her permission. The famous Lady Jersey.”
“Yes, we have been reading the cards that came with the bouquets,” Devlin reminded her. “Including the anonymous one with the single rose.”
“It is on the mantel,” Gwyneth said when she saw Philippa looking about the room. “A very clever gentleman, I would say. Instead of trying to impress you by going larger than all the rivals he must have known he would have, he went small and exquisite.”
“Here,” Devlin said, and reached up to take down the card that had been propped against a narrow crystal rose vase. He handed it to her and she read it.
Neither red nor pink. Just a perfect peach rose.
She raised her eyebrows.
“It is perfect too,” her mother said, reading the card over her shoulder and looking at her curiously.
“Yes.” Philippa handed the card back to Devlin and turned to look about the room. “So are all these other flowers. People are very kind. It is all a bit overwhelming.”
“I think you had better grow accustomed to it,” her brother said. “And I doubt kindness has much to do with the flower garden that has blossomed in the library here.”
“Come,” Mama said, slipping a hand through Gwyneth’s arm. “Let us go up to the drawing room. I am parched and simply longing for a cup of tea. I daresay we all are.”
Philippa, taking one of Devlin’s arms while he offered the other to Stephanie, was so glad the card that had come with the single rose—the peach rose—was unsigned. She was going to have to tell her brother, of course, about the identity of the sender. But not just yet.
* * *
—
That same day, Lucas took Jenny to call upon their sister and stayed for a late luncheon. He met an old friend from his Oxford days during the afternoon and spent an agreeable hour fencing with him under the instruction of a skilled swordsman, who declared that the marquess was improving despite the fact that he lost every bout. He rode in the park at the fashionable hour with the same friend and was pleased to discover that his circle of acquaintances was expanding. He conversed with a number of people and made his bow to others, including several young ladies to whom he had been introduced at last night’s ball. He had even danced with a few of them. He dined with the friend at White’s and went with him to the theater in the evening.
On the following day he went to White’s and then to Jackson’s boxing saloon. He spent the afternoon on a picnic excursion to Richmond Park with a party Lady Abingdon had put together for the amusement of her daughter. It was obvious from the first moment that he was the suitor most favored for Miss Thorpe’s hand. He found himself seated in a carriage with her, her mother, and a male cousin. He had accepted the invitation with the approval of his grandmother, who had listened to his assertion that Lady Philippa was feeling harassed, and had decided rather reluctantly that Lucas ought to widen his net a little while being cautious not to allow himself to get trapped into a marriage that was not entirely to his liking.
Trapped! Not entirely to his liking!
He had not protested. What was the point?
He spent the evening at a soiree hosted by Lord and Lady Patterson, Charlotte’s in-laws. They had been disappointed, Lady Patterson told him at one point in the evening, that the Dowager Countess of Stratton and her daughter had been obliged to excuse themselves because Mr. Charles Ware, the late earl’s brother, and his wife had arranged a dinner to welcome the Earl and Countess of Stratton to town. The earl had apparently been admitted to the House of Lords during the day.
So Lucas now knew that Stratton had arrived in town. The present Stratton, that was. He wondered how long it would be before his grandfather hurried along the next stage of the campaign. It all felt horribly out of control. It was quite impossible to tell His Grace exactly why Lady Philippa Ware would not marry him if he were the last man on earth. It was equally impossible to explain why he would not marry her. Even though, of course, he had toyed with the idea in some of his madder moments.
He did not have long to wait for the next step to unfold.
Late the following afternoon, when he returned home from a lengthy session with his tailor, hoping for some time to relax before a private card party he had agreed to attend during the evening, Lucas was summoned to the study. His Grace awaited him there, seated behind the ornate oak desk, though there was nothing upon it apart from a blotter and a bottle of ink and some quill pens. This was to be a formal meeting, then, not a friendly chat by the fire about how their day was going.
“Sit down, Luc.” His grandfather indicated the chair that had been positioned on the far side of the desk, across from him.
Lucas sat.
“Stratton has finally taken his seat in the House of Lords,” the duke said. “He is a former military chap. With the scar to show for it.” He slashed one finger diagonally across his forehead and cheek. “Not the sort of fellow one would want to cross, from the look of him. He seems decent enough, however. We had luncheon together.”
Of course they had. At His Grace’s invitation, no doubt.
“He has been in Wales for the wedding of his wife’s brother,” the duke said. “He has agreed to receive you privately at Stratton House at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Good God! Already?
“I explained to him,” his grandfather said, “that you have decided this year in light of my advanced age and the unfortunate fact that your father is deceased that it is time to seek a bride of eligible birth and breeding. I explained that Her Grace and I have come to town to support you in your search. I informed him that you have an acquaintance with Lady Philippa Ware and that Her Grace has observed that you seem much taken with each other.”
How expert His Grace was at bending the truth, Lucas thought, without ever actually breaking it and outright lying.
“And he explained to me,” the duke continued, “that unavoidable circumstances, including the passing of their father and their grandmother one year apart, prevented his sister from taking her place in society until this year, when she is already twenty-two years of age. She is eager to marry, he informed me, but only to a man of good, steady character who also touches her heart. Stratton does not know you or anything about you except what he heard from me. He does not know if Her Grace’s impression that his sister seems to be taken with you is true or not. He is willing to receive you, however, though he very properly intends to talk first with Lady Philippa to ascertain whether she is open to receiving your addresses. The decision must be hers, he informed me, since he ceased being her guardian, even nominally, when she reached her twenty-first birthday.”
Oh good God, Lucas thought, this was a disaster in the making. There was no way he could now escape this encounter, though. His grandfather had made arrangements with Stratton himself, and the man would be expecting him—unless, that was, Lady Philippa flatly refused to speak with him, as she very possibly would. Perhaps she would even give her brother a good reason for doing so. The truth, for example.
“I will go there tomorrow morning,” he said with an inward sigh.
“I shall expect a betrothal to be imminent, then,” His Grace said, “even if for sheer pride’s sake the lady hesitates over your first proposal and asks for more time. You must see to it that the delay is only days long rather than weeks, though. You are a handsome man, Luc, and a fine figure of a man. You have no known vices. You love your sisters and your niece and nephews. You love your grandmother and treat her with unfailing courtesy. You are capable of great charm when you exert yourself. You did so a few evenings ago when you were waltzing with Lady Philippa, and she was visibly captivated. She is the one, Luc. Never mind about the others Her Grace is keeping in reserve should an alternative become necessary. I expect you not to need any alternative.”
“Unless,” Lucas said, holding open the door of the library to allow His Grace to precede him from the room, “she outright refuses to have me, Grandpapa, and it becomes clear that she is not merely being coy. Or unless her brother expressly withholds his approval of the match after talking with me and refuses even to let me speak with her.”
“Neither is an outcome you will allow to happen,” the duke said. “Always keep in mind that you are my grandson.”
Yes, that arrogant certainty of his superior place in society had been part of his training, Lucas remembered as he followed his grandfather from the room.
* * *
—
Gwyneth wished to shop for a bonnet to replace a favorite of hers that had been so sodden by a sudden downpour of rain while she was walking along an exposed beach in Wales, far from any shelter, that it had been irretrievable and had to be thrown out. Stephanie wished to exchange the books she had on loan from Hookham’s Library for some different ones. Philippa needed nothing, but she was very happy to accompany her sister and sister-in-law and promised to give her honest opinion of any bonnets under consideration. They spent a pleasant afternoon together while the dowager countess went to call upon Aunt Elise, who had been suffering from a migraine the evening before and had been unable to join the rest of the family at the dinner Uncle Charles and Aunt Marian had arranged in celebration of Devlin’s becoming an official member of the House of Lords.
