Page 14 of Married to a Wicked Duke
She set the cup back in its saucer and turned to the Dowager Marchioness. “Grandmother,” she began, her voice low, “what do you know of the Duke of Brownwood? Why is he the way he is?”
A faint smile flickered on the Dowager Marchioness’s face, as though she was pleased at Veronica’s question. But that smile disappeared quickly when she said, “He is a troubled young man, I am afraid. He has had a very difficult few years.”
“Losing his parents in such close succession?” asked Veronica.
The Dowager Marchioness did not answer at once, as though she was considering the question. Perhaps debating how much to reveal. “In part, yes,” she said finally.
“In part? What do you mean?”
The Dowager Marchioness shook her head. “It is not my story to tell, my dear. It is none of my business. Suffice to say, he has had more than his share of troubles. But his grandmother is adamant that a loving wife will help bring him back to his old self.”
Veronica nodded slowly. “That is why Her Grace threw this party, is it not? Because she wished to find the lady that would make her grandson happy again?”
The Dowager Marchioness gave Veronica a knowing smile.
“Lady Juliet Carfield is convinced the Duke will choose her,” Veronica said.
The Dowager Marchioness raised a thin gray eyebrow. “Is she now?”
As if on cue, Lady Juliet swanned through the double doors into the dining room, her partner trailing a few yards behind her. She made a beeline for the Duke, completely ignoring the poor fellow she had arrived with.
“You’re back already, Your Grace,” she gushed, making the Duke look up.
The Dowager Duchess swooped in. “Oh yes. My grandson and his partner were the first ones back. They worked ever so well together.”
Lady Juliet’s smile became forced. “Oh yes? And who was your partner, Your Grace?”
Though she had directed her question to the Duke, it was his grandmother who answered, “Why, the lovely Lady Veronica, of course.”
Lady Juliet turned and speared Veronica with a cold glare. “I see,” she said crisply. “Howlovely.” Before the Dowager Duchess could direct her to her place, and before the footman could even pull out her chair, Lady Juliet slipped into the seat beside the Duke. “Well,” she said loudly, clearly for Veronica’s benefit, “never mind, Your Grace. We shall have an entire morning tea to get to know each other better.”
* * *
Carla, the Dowager Duchess of Brownwood, hurried to the front of the dining room and clapped her hands together. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, “a slight change of plans. I have decided that, for the competition to progress smoothly, each pair must remain sitting together for the duration of our morning tea.”
Murmurs rippled through the dining room. It was a heavy-handed little act, Carla knew. And probably more than a little overt. But when Lady Juliet had sat down beside Frederick, Carla had practically seen the fire of rage flare up behind her grandson’s eyes. Forced to endure an entire morning tea by Lady Juliet’s side, Carla felt quite certain Frederick would abscond to his bedchamber and not be seen again for days. Oh, how she hated those times when her grandson would disappear for days on end, lost in his own emotions.
Carla knew Frederick’s mother’s death had been impossibly hard for him. It had been almost unbearable for her too, burying her much-loved daughter-in-law under such horrible circumstances. But somehow, with the support of her friends, she had managed to find her feet again. Frederick had not been so lucky. Once, Frederick had been a sociable and bright young man, surrounded by friends whose company he enjoyed. After his mother’s death, he had begun to lock himself away, and one by one, those friendships had dwindled. Then disappeared entirely.
Carla wished desperately that there was more she could do to help him. Someway to bring back the fun-loving young man Frederick had once been. She had to admit, she was a little surprised he had bothered to make an appearance at the morning tea table at all. Heaven knew it had been a trial and a half getting him to agree to the competition in the first place. She had hoped cultivating the festivities around his one great passion—art—would make him slightly more amenable to them. Convincing him to join in had still been like pulling teeth.
But when Frederick had appeared in the dining room, the pain in his eyes had not been quite as pronounced as usual. Perhaps his morning with Veronica Caster had had a positive effect on him. And if that was the case, Carla was going to do everything she could to make sure Lady Veronica did not leave his side.
Even if that does mean upending the seating arrangements like we are playing a game of musical chairs…
The guests were now shuffling around the dining room with their already-filled tea cups in hand, the footmen darting around like headless chickens to pull out chairs and re-set the napkins. A heavy-handed little act indeed. Carla didn’t care. She looked over at Pippa Marlow, Veronica’s grandmother. She gave Carla a grateful smile. A tiny nod of agreement.
Lady Veronica made her way tentatively toward the front of the room to the chair beside Frederick. She passed Lady Juliet, who stepped close to Veronica and whispered something in her ear. Carla watched Veronica’s expression harden. She hurried to her place without a word.
Finally, everyone was settled. Carla stood again and faced her guests. “Thank you,” she said. “And I do apologize for the inconvenience. I ought to have thought things through more thoroughly. It seems my old brain is not quite what it used to be.”
Lady Juliet gave her a murderous glare. Pippa chortled into her wine glass.
“My congratulations to you all on completing the first part of my challenge.”Well, to most of them. Carla was fairly certain there were still one or two pairs missing. Perhaps she ought to send Hargraves around the house to unlock all the doors. Unless those pairs that were behind them were dallying on purpose... Carla realized she may not have thought this little endeavor through.
She plowed on. “However, I did promise you that this was to be a painting competition,” she said, looking pointedly at Frederick. “And so you may consider this morning’s exercise a mere warm-up. Tomorrow morning, each pair will begin work on a painting together. Your work will be a depiction of the answer to the following riddle.”
An audible groan escaped Frederick. Carla did her best to ignore it. She cleared her throat and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. She held it up and began to read:
