Page 9 of The Duke of Aces
“What other interested parties? Who are you referring to?”
“None other than the Duke of Avondale.”
“Avondale?”
“Yes, His Grace. Now, pray tell me what this…” Minerva reached for the invitation and waved it in front of Isadora, “is all about.”
It was time to confess. Under Minerva’s unwavering perceptive stare, Isadora exhaled and said, “Early this morn I set out for Wembly Hall to meet with Mr. Wembly to discuss the possibility of leasing his establishment on behalf of the Wicked Ladies Salon. However, it seems His Grace had similar intentions. When I discovered that the duke and I were both vying for the use of Wembly Hall, I proposed a wager of sorts. Best of three events or games of chance and the winner claims the use of Wembly Hall. His Grace agreed.” Isadora nodded at the invitation still fluttering in Minerva’s hand. “Tomorrow’s horse race shall be the first of the three events.”
Minerva tapped her chin with the corner of the parchment twice. Her sister was analyzing the situation. “Why are you responsible for securing the lease?”
“The members of the Wicked Ladies Salon voted me to be this year’s champion.”
Minerva leaned forward and wrapped Isadora in a hug. “Congratulations on your election. I’m extremely proud of you.” Her sister gave the best hugs.
She hugged her sister back. “I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t share with you about my membership with the Wicked Ladies Salon. I hope I didn’t cause you too much worry.”
“I shall always worry over my siblings, but I’m glad we no longer have to keep the existence of the Wicked Ladies Salon a secret.” Minerva released Isadora and stood to pace in front of the settee.
Minerva turned her attention back to the invitation still in her hand. “While I know His Grace barely acknowledged our presence during our two-week stay at Avondale, others are not privy to such insight. Allowing His Grace to escort us to Fulham tomorrow may lead others to believe he intends to court you this Season.”
Minerva was voicing her earlier thoughts and concerns. “The majority of thetonhaven’t descended upon London yet. I weighed the risks, and the race is nothing that will draw too much attention.”
“That might very well be the case, but there are several influential members of thetonalready present. Enough of them that should any impropriety be perceived…well…they will simply concoct their own version of the truth.”
“Then we shall decline the Duke of Avondale’s invitation and ask Gregory to escort us to the race,” Minerva said.
Their brother rarely attended such events, preferring books and more scholarly pursuits.
“Would being courted by a duke be so terrible?” Her sister gazed at her.
“Considering there are but a handful of dukes in existence and only currently two unmarried—and one of those hasn’t even reached his majority, and the other is a self-proclaimed bachelor, the answer is yes.” Isadora bristled at her sister’s smile. “Besides, I’ve not changed my stance on the subject. I shall not agree to a courtship until you are wed.”
“Very well, let’s not bother Gregory, and I shall send over our acceptance to Avondale House.” Minerva’s lack of questions didn’t bode well. Her sister was scheming.
“I’m serious, Minerva. I shall not marry before you.” It was the weakest of all her reasons not to wed, yet it was the one she was willing to admit to.
Most marriages amongst the peerage had nothing to do with love. She had endured a Season, which supplied ample evidence to support her theory that marriage was merely a way for men to transfer and gain wealth. She had other reasons for avoiding the parson’s trap. One of which was to avoid a lonely union like the one her parents shared. Another was her abhorrence of physical contact.
Diana, their youngest sister, recently wed and now the Countess of Chestwick, confirmed Isadora’s suspicions as to what occurred behind closed doors between a husband and wife. In her sister’s latest letter, she offered rather vivid and enthusiastic descriptions of things that had Isadora’s stomach in knots. An image of the Duke of Avondale’s roguish smile flashed in her mind. Her breath caught. In the past, not a single gentleman had ever elicited anything more within Isadora than mild feelings of friendship. No fluttering butterflies within her. No rapid beating of her heart—nothing but platonic familiarity. Yet hadn’t the Duke of Avondale made her pulse quicken? It couldn’t have been because of the man himself.
No, her reaction was the result of his promise to take her to a horse race. Her love of horses and the lure of competition and risk is why she had experienced the heart fluttering. Isadora’s shoulders slumped forward. She was a terrible liar, even when she was lying to herself.
“I anticipate this Season will be vastly different from those of previous years.” Minerva stopped in front of Isadora, and her sister’s sparkling blue eyes focused on her. “I shall see to it.”
“I’m certain you will.” Once her sister set her mind on a goal, Minerva was extremely difficult to deter.
“You would make a wonderful duchess.”
“I heard that.” Isadora groaned.
“Think upon it. Avondale is perfect for you. He is independent. Not twice your age…”
“You’re wrong. Avondale is at least a decade older than I.”
“His Grace is a mere nine years your senior.”
Isadora stood and walked over to Minerva’s desk to retrieve their latest copy ofDebrett’s. She found the page outlining the Duke of Avondale’s lineage and sighed. “Blast. As usual, you are correct. But I know naught of Avondale.” She snapped the book closed. “And what I do know of him is hardly what I consider worthy traits for a husband.”
