Page 23 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
“Until I decide upon a husband,” Margaret declared mulishly. “I am tired of how my brother brushes aside my wishes. I will marry in my own good time, preferably to the man of my choosing.”
“But not me,” Havencrest clarified.
“I highly doubt it,” said Lady Margaret, repressively. He tried not to feel hurt. A duke ought to be an appealing prospect, and he had enough pride to feel the sting of rejection.
“Agreed,” he said brusquely. “We have no actual desire for one another but will present a united front in pretending that you are entertaining my courtship.” Havencrest stopped mid-stride. He clasped his hands behind his back and sidled up to Miss Lowry. “Remind me why we are doing this?”
“If you court Maggie for a few weeks it gives us cover to speak freely and be seen together publicly while I get access to Lady Summervale’s orbit,” she said sotto voce. Margaret peered anxiously at them as if trying to overhear.
“Your friend doesn’t like me,” Havencrest murmured.
“Don’t pretend you’re pining for her, either,” Antonia shot back. She softened. “I’ll work on Margaret. Please. Just make the slightest bit of effort. It will go so much farther than money toward achieving your aims.” Antonia raised her chin and moved away.
Havencrest found himself tracing the ramrod-straight length of her spine with far too much interest for a man who was about to court her friend. At least, he thought they were friends. A woman who would abuse a corpse in an attempt to fake her own death struck him as an unlikely companion to a lady of means. The contrast amused him enough to tug at the corners of his mouth. Antonia Lowry confused, confounded and exasperated him at every step. Despite this, he would far rather court her than sweet, blonde, impossibly young-looking Margaret Evendaw. He inhaled.
He was thirty-six. If she was eighteen…Havencrest felt ill when he contemplated courting a woman half his age. He would crush the spirit out of winsome Lady Margaret without even trying. Then again, it was what the ton expected of a duke. Perhaps, it was time he did his duty to the title.
“Lady Evendaw,” he began formally. Antonia halted mid-step, irritation holding her shoulders in a tense line parallel to the Oriental carpet. Beyond her, Margaret brightened.
“Your lordship?”
Havencrest had no words. They fled his mind as the girl stared up at him in wary anticipation. “If you have no objections, I propose to…” He swallowed. “Court you,” he finished lamely.
“Agreed.” Margaret’s eyes widened. “But only for a few weeks, whilst you seek to restore your reputation and I evade my brother’s attempts to marry me off? And Antonia gets…whatever it is she is seeking. You should know that I don’t like fast carriage rides, as I am not a very brave woman. I do enjoy dancing.”
Havencrest closed his eyes. He despised prancing about a crowded ballroom, not that he was terrible at it. The prospect of meandering trots through Hyde Park bored him half to tears. But if he didn’t play along, he would never hold the red gem his mother had valued enough to gift to her mother before dying. He would never have the chance to sketch the intricate details of its setting and have the damaged miniature repaired. It had to be exact. He had a single chance to perfect the features and delicate setting, or the piece would be marred beyond restoration.
Reels and wheels it would be. He cast his gaze heavenward before saying, “Agreed. For three weeks.”
“Or longer, if we need more time,” Antonia interjected. Havencrest shuddered.
“Surely, three weeks of Wednesday evenings in knee breeches at Almacks is sufficient time to accomplish your goals?”He shot Antonia a narrow sidelong glare. A twitch of lace on her bodice indicated her suppressed laughter, the minx. Why couldn’t she shimmy up a trellis in the dead of night and make off with the damned Heart’s cry instead of tying him in knots?
“I don’t know. What is Almack’s?” she asked.
“You don’t know?” Margaret gasped, her eyes alight. “It’s the most exclusive social club in London. It is run by a group of six Lady Patronesses. Lady Jersey and Princess Esterhazy are the most influential, depending upon whom you ask.”
Havencrest sighed inwardly. Miss Lowry must enjoying herself immensely at his expense. After all, to her it was a game—one that could land her in prison or worse, but a game Antonia Lowry must have played many times. Still, if he and Margaret were the Trojan horses to smuggle Antonia into the highest echelons of society, where Americans were generally regarded as rebels of dubious repute, he supposed he must play along.
Antonia Lowry’s mind worked faster than anyone’s he had ever met. A subtle kick from Lady Margaret’s slipper against his shin brought Havencrest back to the moment.
“We must get her a voucher posthaste,” Margaret declared. “You, as well. I imagine it has been some years since you darkened the doors at Almack’s?”
“I can get a voucher.”
But it would cost him greatly to pursue one. Ten years ago, the scene of his final humiliation with his fiancé had sent Malcolm dashing from the scene like a scared rabbit. Her scathing words had scarred him deeply.
Why should I marry you when you offer nothing but harsh words and disdain?In that cruel moment Malcolm understood that he had absorbed his father’s lessons uncritically. It had marked a turning point in their relationship. Malcolm began to question his father’s influence. The duke did not deal in regret, though. He had gone to his grave refusing to admit his own caustic cruelty’s part in driving his mother to take drastic action. Only after his death had Malcolm discovered that his father’s regrets had been there all along. He may have destroyed every portrait of his wife by cutting them out of their frames and making a bonfire of her dresses and personal items, but he had saved one tiny square from the pyre of his devastation. Malcolm imagined the tongs grasping his mother’s miniature. The paint, already hot, had scraped away under the pressure. Or at least, he thought it had. Malcolm would never know with precision how the picture had been damaged.
He drew himself up to his full height—taking care to tower over Margaret, Antonia and Evendaw, before bowing subtly. “I must take my leave.”
“Your lordship,” Antonia chased him down before Malcolm could make his escape. The light touch of her fingers on his sleeve stopped him in his tracks. “It’s only for a few weeks. I promise.”
“You hand out promises so easily, Miss Lowry. I wonder how many of them you intend to keep.” His stinging rebuke lingered in the air behind him, too soft for Margaret to hear. Antonia’s hand fell to her side. Malcolm was still his father’s son, cutting words and all.
* * *
“Unbelievable,”Margaret whispered. Antonia flinched as her friend’s gloved hand manacled her wrist. She followed the direction of Margaret’s gaze and applied her fan with vigor against the wave of heat that surged across her cheeks.
