Page 8 of His Scarred Duchess
He had far more pressing matters to attend to than frivolous balls and unwanted flirtations.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Edmund spotted Daniel across the room. He was engaged in animated conversation with a young woman in a vibrant peacock mask. Even from a distance, Edmund could see the predatory gleam in Daniel’s eyes—a look he knew all too well.
With a sigh, Edmund began making his way through the crowd. He’d warned Daniel about getting too involved tonight. The last thing either of them needed was a scandal, especially with Edmund’s precarious position as the new Duke.
As he drew closer, he caught snatches of their conversation. The lady’s laugh, bright and carefree, cut through the din of the ballroom.
Suddenly, Daniel’s head turned, his eyes locking with Edmund’s over the lady’s shoulder. A hint of guilt flickered across his face before being replaced by his usual roguish grin.
“Ah, there you are!” Daniel called out. “Come, you must meet this enchanting creature. She’s been regaling me with the most fascinating tales of?—”
But Edmund wasn’t listening. His attention had been caught by movement near the terrace doors. Another lady, this one in a midnight blue domino, was watching the scene with obvious concern. As he observed her, she began to make her way towardsDaniel and his companion, her movements speaking of barely contained anxiety.
A sense of foreboding settled in Edmund’s stomach. He recognized the signs of a potential scandal brewing—the vivacious young lady, clearly out of her depth; his rake of a friend, all too eager to take advantage; and now, what appeared to be a chaperone or a companion, rushing to intervene.
With a silent curse, Edmund quickened his pace. He had to put a stop to this before it went too far. Daniel might treat life as a game, but Edmund knew all too well the consequences of reckless actions. He’d be damned if he’d let his friend ruin some poor girl’s reputation for a night’s amusement.
“Pardon me,” he said, his voice carrying a note of warning. “I believe you promised me an introduction to certain guests. Surely you haven’t forgotten?”
Daniel’s face fell, recognizing the implied command in his friend’s words.
“Ah, yes. How forgetful of me,” Daniel turned to the lady in the elaborate peacock mask, bowing low over her hand. “I’m afraid duty calls, my dear. But perhaps we might continue our delightful conversation later?”
“I’d be most pleased, Sir,” the lady gave a smile and curtsied before he stepped away.
Daniel grumbled as Edmund steered him away from the intriguing young woman. “I say, old chap, you have abominable timing. I was just about to learn the most fascinating tidbit about?—”
“Save it, Ravenshaw,” Edmund cut him off, his voice low and stern. “We’re here to socialize, not to cause a scandal. Now, where’s Lord Weatherby?”
With a dramatic sigh, Daniel scanned the room. “There,” he said, pointing to a large, portly figure near the refreshments table. “You can’t miss him, even with that ridiculous mask. It’s like trying to disguise an elephant with a lace handkerchief.”
Edmund shot his friend a warning glance, but he couldn’t entirely suppress the smile that tugged at his lips. Daniel did have a point—Lord Weatherby’s substantial girth was impossible to mistake, even in the sea of masked revelers.
As they approached, Lord Weatherby turned, his jovial face lighting up with recognition despite the masks. “Ah, young Ravenshaw!” he boomed, his voice carrying over the music. “And this must be the new Duke of Holbrook. Welcome, welcome!”
Edmund bowed slightly, hiding his surprise at being so easily identified. “Lord Weatherby, it’s a pleasure. I trust you’re enjoying the evening?”
“Indeed, indeed!” The older man chuckled, patting his round stomach. “Though I must say, these events are more suited toyou, young bucks. Now, tell me, Your Grace, how are you finding the management of Holbrook? I heard whispers that the late Duke left things in a bit of a state.”
Edmund felt a flicker of annoyance at the casual mention of his father’s mismanagement, but he schooled his features into a polite mask. “As a matter of fact, I’m implementing new strategies to improve efficiency and yield.”
Lord Weatherby’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Oh? Do tell, my boy. I’ve been considering introducing some changes to my own estates.”
Grateful for a topic he could discuss with genuine enthusiasm, Edmund launched into an explanation of his latest agricultural innovations.
“I’ve been experimenting with crop rotation, my lord. By alternating clover with our usual wheat, we’re seeing improved soil fertility without the need for as much expensive manure or other amendments. The clover seems to invigorate the soil in a way I don’t fully understand, but the results are undeniable.”
“Fascinating!” Lord Weatherby exclaimed. “And what of livestock? I’ve heard talk of new breeding techniques from the Continent.”
As Edmund delved deeper into the intricacies of estate management, he relaxed for the first time that evening.
This, at least, was familiar territory. He might struggle with the social niceties of the ton, but when it came to the practical aspects of running a large estate, he was in his element.
“I must say,” he said, turning to include Daniel in the conversation, “your insights on crop rotation are quite—” He broke off, realizing the space beside him was empty. “I beg your pardon, but did you happen to see where Lord Ravenshaw went?”
Lord Weatherby’s bushy eyebrows rose above his mask. “Ravenshaw? Why, I believe I saw him slipping away some time ago, arm-in-arm with a rather fetching young lady. Peacock costume, if I’m not mistaken.”
Edmund’s frown deepened, a sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach. “I see. Thank you, my lord. If you’ll excuse me, I should probably?—”
