Page 31 of The Virgin Duchess

Chapter Fifteen

“Word has it that he’s been rather indisposed as the owner of a gaming hell indebted to a number of criminal types. Something about him refusing to settle his debts with them.”

Frederick’s tone was a performance of exaggerated intrigue. While it was confirmed that one Mr. Lowell was out for blood when it came to the Baron, the owner of that seedy establishment hadn’t gotten his hands on Halfacre. Frederick had already asked him.

“My word,” the Duchess of Kent put a hand to her mouth before dropping it to her chest where she fiddled with the thick beaded necklace draped across her throat, “indebted to criminals? That is hardly becoming behavior for a Baron. What was he thinking?”

Shrugging a bit with his head dipping, Frederick offered a faux expression of concern. “Perhaps it is the people he has allowedinto his hell. I have heard that he allows the management to welcome anyone off the street, including those who look to sell any number of dangerous substances. Ugh, just think of the families.”

The volume of the conversations around them heightened as their own receded, and after thanking him for the information, the Duchess left to carry on with her enjoyment of the ball. Frederick sighed, hoping that these nuggets of truth would, in fact, draw the man out. He’d been planting them all evening with the help of Richard, and he was beyond exhausted by it all.

I should like to never go to a blasted ball again. Ugh, rest. I just need to rest.

Charlotte was speaking with Amelia when his eyes found her while scanning the room for another target. He’d not spoken much to her since he’d arrived home last evening, but it was abundantly clear that she was still quite upset with him.

Not that he blamed her.

There was a part of him that wished to go speak to her, to attempt to explain the situation so that she might see he had every reason to be behaving as he was. But Frederick was more of a coward than he realized because the notion of approaching her right now sounded as entertaining as eating glass.

So, as much as the Duke wished to be done with the evening, he rounded the room, refreshing his drink and searching forthe next young woman of status to whom he might depict the Baron’s despicable behaviors.

At least I might actually be helping women to avoid the Baron and men like him. There is that.

Standing in the corner of the room near a massive portrait depicting the portly lord of the estate in a highly untrue shape was the Marchioness of Denmead and her only child, Lady Catherine. The young woman was just of marriageable age, and word had it around the ton that she was actively seeking a husband.

Perfect.

Frederick proceeded over, careful to avoid looking too interested in approaching them. He didn’t want to lead the pair to the incorrect assumption that he was interested in Lady Catherine or attempting to pursue something inappropriate if they were already aware of his recent marriage.

When he reached them, the Marchioness bowed her gently to him and smiled politely. He’d not heard much about the woman in his years, only that she had married the Marquess when she was quite young and had been his wife since then, able to deliver him a daughter before word had it that it was unsafe for her to carry another child.

“Good evening, Marchioness.” Frederick bowed and turned to her daughter. “And to you, Lady Catherine.”

“Good evening to you, Lord Emerton.” The woman smiled a bit more eagerly, putting her hand on her daughter’s back. “It is quite the lovely ball, is it not?”

Frederick grinned back, but he knew immediately that the woman clearly was not up on the latest news because she had used his previous title. It would actually benefit him to speak to such a woman and her daughter because it would even more come across as an act of service to them, informing them of the recent events.

“It is. Though, I must inform you that, alas, I am no longer Lord Emerton. My father has passed.”

The Marchioness gasped softly, putting a hand over her heart. “Oh, dear. I am dreadfully sorry, Your Grace. It is such a hard thing to lose a parent. My condolences.”

He nodded solemnly, remembering how he felt when he’d first learned of his father’s death and the conflict of emotions that had swirled through him like a storm.

“Thank you. In truth,” Frederick hesitated, looking up at the ridiculous portrait, “I had thought to join you here because I find that my social skills are lacking because of it all. Losing him, marrying to uphold his dying wish, it has left me quite bewildered.”

There was a deflation in the woman’s posture as he spoke about his recent marriage, but it fled quickly. Replaced by a sympathetic expression that surprised Frederick quite a bit.

“I understand precisely what you mean, Your Grace. I, or I should say we,” she glanced at her daughter with a mournful smile, “have recently lost our Marquess.”

Frederick’s brows shot up, and he placed a hand over his heart regarding her. “I am so dreadfully sorry. News of the Marquess’s passing has not reached the ton, yet it seems.”

“No, it was rather recently. We’ve…I have been having a difficult time finding the words to fill his obituary.”

“Of course.” Frederick’s nerve to spread the word about Halfacre faltered, this appearing to be a terrible time to do such a thing. “I am sorry that I’ve interrupted the both of you.”

The Dowager Marchioness, as she was now, smiled with a shake of her head. “Nonsense. You are quite welcome. We’ve both been rather cooped up in the corner. It is lovely to have someone to talk to.”

Smiling, Frederick studied the pair. The older woman, who was only in her thirties, he had to assume, looked a bit tired. Her daughter, Lady Catherine, immediately put forth an air of shyness, her eyes consistently returning to the floor.

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