To Capture a Duke's Heart Page 9

  Noting the sound of approaching footsteps a few moments later, Gabriel was pulled abruptly from his musings. Straightening, he directed an irritated glance to his right, fearing for a second that one of his more brazen admirers might have followed him out onto the terrace. He was relieved, however, to see that it wasn’t a woman who approached, but rather Philip Danbury who was coming toward him, a knowing grin visible upon his face despite the darkness that surrounded them.

  “I thought I saw you duck out of the ballroom,” Philip remarked as he neared Gabriel’s side, amusement evident in his expression.

  “You always were an observant fellow,” Gabriel replied, smiling good-naturedly.

  “Hiding from your throng of adoring females, I presume?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  Philip chuckled. “I don’t envy you, my friend, truly I don’t.” Crossing his arms, he leaned his hip casually against the terrace railing. “Hell, man! The wealth, the title and that good-looking mug, it’s as if you were cursed at birth,” he continued jokingly.

  “Bollocks!” Gabriel shook his head in feigned consternation. “So you’ve no desire to trade places with me then?”

  “Sorry mate, but I am quite content with my present lot.”

  “As you should be, Hayford,” he stated with a heartfelt smile, his tone reflecting absolute sincerity now, “for I haven’t the slightest doubt that you and Eugenia are about to embark upon a wonderful life together.”

  Philip nodded in agreement. “You know, I thought that I would be nervous about tomorrow, but oddly enough I feel surprisingly calm.”

  “Of course you’re calm. It’s Eugenia who’s bound to be nervous, for while you are securing a diamond of the first water, she is on the verge of being stuck with your sorry arse for as long as you both shall live.”

  “Gad, you’re right!” Philip exclaimed, his eyes going wide in exaggerated dismay. “Do you think she’ll still go through with the wedding or will I be left standing alone at the altar on the morrow?”

  Gabriel cocked his head consideringly. “I would imagine that she’ll make it to the church, as for whatever the reason the young lady seems inordinately fond of you.”

  “She does, doesn’t she?” Philip grinned.

  “All jesting aside,” Gabriel said, thumping his friend amiably upon the back of his shoulder, “I couldn’t be happier for you both.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you and the lads were able to come, by the way.”

  “We wouldn’t have missed it,” Gabriel assured him. “However, you do realize that having come all this way, Michael and Rafe are insisting upon a visit to Hawick after your nuptials tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I heard,” Philip replied laughingly. “McKesson must be over the moon in anticipation of your visit.”

  “No doubt; I can almost feel the letting of my pockets as we speak.”

  “You have my sympathies, my friend, although it could be worse.”

  “Oh?”

  “Hell, with the amount of coin my father spent outfitting my three sisters each Season we likely could have filled an entire stable with the earl’s champion stock,” Philip informed him with a doleful shake of his head.

  “I suppose I shall consider myself fortunate, then, that my money will be spent on top quality horseflesh and not an abundance of bonnets and ball gowns that will indubitably go out of fashion at the start of each new year,” Gabriel replied with a light-hearted chuckle.

  “Do you think Eugenia would take offense if I requested that she provide me with naught but sons during the course of our marriage?” Philip queried with a chuckle of his own.

  “Even if your bride-to-be could honor such a request, I doubt that it would matter in any event, for I am reasonably certain that you would find yourself promptly kicked out of the marriage bed if you should be foolish enough to voice such an appeal.”

  “Alas, I’ve a feeling you’re right.” Straightening, Philip stepped away from the railing and glanced back to the opposite end of the terrace. “Speaking of my bride-to-be,” he said with a genial smile, “I should probably get back inside before she sends a search party after me.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Of course.”

  “Are you coming back in, or are you planning on hiding out here for the remainder of the evening?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll return before the celebratory toasts begin.”

  Alright then,” Philip replied. “I shall leave you to the shadows for the time being.” He made to leave, but then hesitated and turned back. “By the way, you do realize that you have likely made your afore mentioned plight considerably worse by waltzing with Beckford’s daughter, don’t you?”

  Gabriel sighed. “Regrettably, I do.”

  “Even so, one could hardly blame you, for Lady Penelope is a rare beauty and likely to be considered the next incomparable once the ton gets its first look at her.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “So tell me, are you rethinking your intention to offer for Elingsford’s daughter?

  “Good lord, it was just a waltz, Hayford.”

  “Ho, just a waltz,” his friend scoffed. “Since when do you waltz with debutantes?”

  “I’ve danced with a number of young ladies over the years, as you well know, your three sisters included.”

  “True, but I believe I said waltz, not dance,” Philip pointed out.

  Gabriel thought back. Damn, Philip was entirely correct. “I see your point,” he grudgingly acknowledged.

  “So, the question remains. Are you rethinking your intention to offer for the fair Lady Cecelia?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Gabriel hedged.

  “Fine, don’t answer the question,” Philip replied good-humoredly. “But you should know this; if the rumors that you are considering Cecelia Penworthy for your future duchess haven’t already done it,” his friend continued, “once word gets out about your waltz with Lady Penelope every blue-blooded mama with an unwed daughter is going to assume that the ton’s most eligible bachelor is finally in the market for a bride.”

  Philip was right! With that one waltz he’d likely worsened his existing plight tenfold, he realized in escalating horror. And if he didn’t announce his engagement to someone before the start of the Season, he’d likely have to flee the country to avoid the inevitable onslaught. “Bloody hell, man! What the devil was I thinking?”

  “Oh you were thinking alright,” Philip chortled, “just not with your head, I’m guessing.”

  Reentering the ballroom some fifteen minutes later, Gabriel skirted the edge of the crowd as he cast his gaze in search of Eugenia Cunningham. Knowing that Philip wouldn’t mind, he thought that perhaps a second waltz, only with Eugenia this time, might serve to deflect at least a small portion of attention from his waltz with the Earl of Beckford’s daughter. His attention was abruptly diverted a few seconds later, however, as he caught sight of Lady Penelope exiting the dance floor on Lord Wexley’s arm for the second time that evening. Slowing his progression he followed them with his eyes, frowning slightly when she said something to the handsome young viscount that caused him to flash a brilliant smile and then toss his head back with a hearty laugh.

  So focused was his attention upon Wexley and Lady Penelope that he nearly failed to notice the individual who’d just stepped forward into his path. Fortunately, however, he avoided colliding with the poor woman, drawing to an abrupt halt a few short steps before the Dowager Duchess of Lyndon.

  “Well, well,” she said, regarding him with a slight, knowing smile, “it appears as if you may have already found her.”

  Gabriel eyed the duchess curiously. “I’m sorry, but who is it that you are referring to?”

  “Why the girl for you, my dear boy. Who else?”

  Ah hell! “Oh, and who might that be?” he queried, his tone deliberately blasé.

  Agatha harrumphed. “You know quite well to whom I am referring, Ainsworth. Lady Penelope, of course, the young woman you were watching
just moments ago when you very nearly bowled me over,” she proclaimed. “The same young woman you have scarce taken your eyes off of throughout the evening.”

  Gabriel didn’t respond, instead turning his attention to the passing footman as he plucked a glass of champagne from the attendant’s silver tray. Although he would have preferred something stronger at that particular moment, much stronger in fact, the sparkling wine would have to do he supposed, raising the chilled glass to his lips. First Philip and now Agatha; was his interest in Penelope Houghton that apparent?

  “She’s a delightful girl and I daresay would make you a much better wife than the Penworthy chit.”

  He turned back to her with a mildly inquiring expression, maintaining his dispassionate tone. “I wasn’t aware that you and Lady Penelope were well-acquainted.”

  The duchess gave a nearly imperceptible shrug. “We spoke this afternoon.”

  “Ah.” Gabriel nodded in understanding. “And based upon that singular conversation you have determined that she would make me a fitting wife?”

  “I happen to be an excellent judge of character as you very well know,” the dowager asserted in her haughtiest tone.

  “Well, I certainly cannot disagree with that, Your Grace,” Gabriel acknowledged with a nod. “So then, shall I ask Beckford for his daughter’s hand this very night or do you think that I should wait until morning?”

  “Impertinent,” the duchess muttered with a shake of her head. “I can only imagine what a trial you must have been to your poor parents.”

  Gabriel chuckled. “I’ve no doubt my father may have considered me such a time or two,” he conceded. “However, I am entirely confident that my mother would proclaim me the most amenable of sons.”

  “Yes, I expect that she would, for mothers are notoriously blind to the faults of their sons.”

  “They are indeed,” Gabriel allowed with an unabashed grin, “and ‘tis a circumstance for which their sons are assuredly grateful.”

  “Speaking of your mother,” Agatha said then, content it seemed to let the matter of Lady Penelope rest for the time being, “how is Victoria? Still married to the American, I presume?”

  “Mother is doing quite well, thank you,” Gabriel replied. “And yes,” he continued with a benevolent smile, “she and Edgar are still blissfully wed. In fact, we received a letter from her just last week recounting the highlights of their post-wedding holiday in Spain and subsequent arrival in Boston.” Though his mother’s recent marriage to the wealthy American businessman had sent shock waves rippling through the ton’s elitist ranks, he and his brothers had witnessed firsthand the true measure of joy and contentment the affable, self-made shipping magnate had brought to her life and thus had fully supported her decision to become Mrs. Edgar Van Warren.

  “Boston,” she uttered the name with a disdainful sniff. “While I daresay your mother will find American society to be woefully lacking in both culture and sophistication, I suppose that if anyone has the wherewithal to muddle through it is Victoria.”

  Gabriel did his best to hide his amusement at the condescension reflected in Agatha’s tone, for he hadn’t a doubt that she was one amongst the few people who were genuinely pleased to know that his mother had found true happiness at last, even if it was with one of those dreadfully unrefined Americans that the aristocracy so delighted in turning up their noses at. “Yes, I’m confident that Mother will make do somehow.”

  “When next you write to her, you may send her my regards.”

  “I shall.” Thankful that their conversation had reached its end without further discussion of Lady Penelope, he breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. Unfortunately, however, his seeming good fortune took an immediate about face upon the duchess’ next words.

  “Now, back to the matter of your future bride.”

  Across the room as she and Lord Wexley continued the conversation they’d begun on the dance floor a short while earlier, Penny noted her father approaching from the rear of the ballroom, a somewhat discomfited expression clouding his features.

  “Papa?” she queried, regarding him inquiringly as he neared. “Is something amiss?”

  “Forgive me for interrupting,” the earl stated with an apologetic smile, “but if you wouldn’t mind, Wexley, I’d like to speak privately with my daughter.”

  “Yes, of course my lord,” the viscount nodded agreeably. “Lady Penelope, thank you for the dance, as well as the delightful conversation.”

  “And the same to you, my lord.”

  The earl waited until Lord Wexley was out of earshot and then asked, “Penelope, dear, have you seen your stepmother?”

  “No, Papa, not recently,” she answered, watching as her father’s brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s nothing of significance. It’s merely that I have been searching the room for the past quarter-hour with nary a glimpse of her.”

  Penny studied her father’s expression curiously, for it wasn’t like him to concern himself about his wife’s whereabouts. Was it possible that he had noted Maryanne’s flirtation with the Duke of Ainsworth the night before or with some other gentleman perhaps? Oh dear, did he suspect that her stepmother might have left the ballroom to engage in some sort of illicit rendezvous, she wondered? “Mayhap she is merely visiting the ladies retiring room,” she suggested optimistically.

  The earl nodded absently. “Yes, I imagine that’s it.”

  “Would you like me to go and see if I can find her?” Penny offered.

  “No, no. That won’t be necessary, as I’m sure you are correct, my dear. Like as not she is attending to her appearance,” he replied reassuringly, “for as you and I both know, your stepmother considers it a catastrophe of monumental proportion if her gloves should become soiled or so much as a single hairpin dislodges itself from her coiffure before the evening’s end,” he continued with a conspiratorial wink.

  Penny couldn’t help but grin, for her father wasn’t exaggerating Maryanne’s mindset in the least. Nonetheless, as she surreptitiously scanned the room a few moments later she was relieved to see that while her stepmother was nowhere to be seen, the Duke of Ainsworth was present and stood conversing with the Dowager Duchess of Lyndon across the room.

  Chapter 7

  Entering into his bedchamber at a half past twelve, still early by Town standards, Gabriel pushed the door closed behind him and then slowly began the unfastening of his cufflinks as he made his way to the large chest of drawers positioned against the room’s east wall. Having left his manservant in London he was tasked with undressing himself, a relatively simple undertaking that he was more than capable of, however, and one he performed himself more often than not much to his exacting valet’s unending consternation. And so, removing the thick gold squares from his shirt cuffs, he deposited them into the small, enameled box engraved with his initials that he’d sat atop the dresser and then lifted his hands to his throat and set about the unloosening of the silk pongee neck scarf tied around his throat. Pulling it free of his shirt collar, he tossed it alongside the box and then shrugged free of his evening jacket, hanging it upon the back of the nearby wooden valet stand before starting upon the gold buttons of his embroidered waistcoat.

  Tugging his shirttail from the waistband of his breeches a few moments later, he reached for the pearl shirt buttons, unfastening the top three as he continued toward the nightstand that sat next to the bed. Eyeing the crystal decanter that sat upon its top, he hesitated for only a second before lifting it, loosening its top and pouring himself a healthy measure of the dark amber liquid into a heavy, cut-glass snifter. Then, walking in the direction of the windows that overlooked the rear garden he took a long, leisurely swallow, savoring the pleasing flavor and satisfying warmth as the brandy slid smoothly down the back of his throat.

  Staring silently into the moonlit darkness he stood unmoving for several long minutes, content to merely gaze upon the clear night sky as he sipped his brandy and reflected upon the events of the p
ast several hours. His waltz with Lady Penelope, as well as his conversations with both Philip and Agatha, had given him a great deal to ponder and a myriad of thoughts had been whirling within his head for much of the evening, just as they were now. Sighing, he doubted that he would enjoy a restful slumber that night with so much weighing on his mind, despite his desire to push them aside, at least for the time being anyhow.

  Perhaps the brandy would help serve to dull his mind and quiet this thoughts, he mused, gazing pensively upon the contents of the glass as he raised it to his lips once again. Hell, it certainly couldn’t hurt, he supposed. And so, downing the remaining liquid in a single swallow, he turned away from the window and moved purposefully across the room. Reaching the nightstand he lifted the decanter, refilled the snifter, took another lengthy swallow and then dropped heavily into a nearby chair. Leaning his head against the back of the chair he rested the glass upon his knee, closed his eyes and waited for the brandy’s soothing influence to take effect.

  _____

  Slowly turning the smooth brass knob beneath her hand, the Countess of Beckford cracked open the door to the guest chamber just two doors down from the one she and her husband had been assigned, listened intently for several, long seconds and then slipped silently into the room. She lingered for a moment just inside the door, standing perfectly still, on alert for the smallest sound or the slightest movement as she scanned the darkened room.

  Then, taking several cautious steps forward, she focused upon the bed and the figure lying motionless upon it. “Your Grace?” she whispered, watching closely for any sign of wakefulness. When he remained unmoving she shuffled a few steps closer, shifting her gaze to the crystal decanter that sat atop the nightstand next to the bed, noting with a pleased expression that only a small portion of the drug-laced brandy remained within. “Your Grace?” Her voice was slightly louder this time as she turned back to the bed. Still, he didn’t move.