Page 10 of Never Dare a Duke
Abigail looked around, but the duke was still nowhere to be seen. She lowered her voice. “My purpose here will not make things easy for you.”
“What are you talking about?” Gwen asked, wide-eyed.
“Well…he is looking for a wife, is he not? And his mother said he ‘speaks highly’ of you. There are only three eligible women here. Don’t you see—he favors you!”
Gwen stared at her for almost a minute, then burst out laughing. Lady Swarthbeck and Lady Greenwich both turned to stare, but Gwen’s merriment took a moment to die down.
“Oh, Abby, dear, you know me by now,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Why ever would I be interested in becoming a duchess?”
“Because you could marryhim.I mean—look at him!”
“Well, he is not here to look at, is he? And I know that he is a handsome devil, but I feel nothing for him except pity.”
Abigail gaped. “Pity!”
“Well, of course. Wealth and privilege and power are fine, but the responsibilities of his position are not to be taken lightly. If I were a duchess, I would have to support everything he did, wouldn’t I? Do you know how much time it takes to entertain? My charity work would suffer! And the thought of people treating me as almost a princess, ‘Her Grace’ this and ‘Her Grace’ that—ugh. And I thought being the daughter of an earl was tedious.” She sighed. “I imagine if I loved him, I might feel different, but…he is so aloof, so mysterious. Too much work for me.”
She patted Abigail’s arm, and Abigail almost didn’t feel it, so full of disbelief was she. How could Gwen not be lured by the thought of being the woman in the duke’s life, the focus of his intensity, the one who shared his bed at night?
Good Lord, what was Abigail thinking? Her cheeks felt scalded. What happened to journalistic objectivity?
“Now you see that pleasant vicar standing alone over there?” Gwen said.
Abigail turned to see Mr. Wesley at the refreshment table, looking at the food as if he didn’t know where to start. He was a nice-looking young man but seemed a bit too shy and out of his element.
“That is a man whose purpose I admire,” Gwen said. “His sole focus is to save men’s souls.” She giggled. “I can be so amusing. Now enjoy yourself, Abby!”
She left Abigail standing alone, feeling foolish and confused.
And…relieved. She would not have to worry that whatever her investigation turned up would harm Gwen or her future.
After setting her plate down on a little table beside a bench, she decided to explore the conservatory. As she followed the winding path, the sounds of people seemed to fade, muffled by the immense ferns and flowering camellias. The stone path took a sharp turn when she reached the glass wall and a door to the outside. She could see a stunning garden, glistening with rain, and she followed the wall to see it better, before coming to a stop at a large shrubbery that had grown up against the glass.
Suddenly, she could hear voices nearby. She froze, feeling guilty. Just because she was at Madingley Court under false pretenses, she shouldn’t jump at every little—
But it was the duke’s deep baritone she heard. Hehadcome into the conservatory but had not bothered mingling with his guests. Her first instinct was to politely walk away, like a well-raised young lady.
But as a journalist, she was being given the perfect opportunity. She had to take it.
Staring into the wall of shrubbery, she realized if she ducked her head a bit, she could just catch a glimpse of the duke—and his mother. Guilt seared her again, and she almost ran. But clasping her trembling hands together, she forced herself to stay.
The duchess was seated on a bench that faced out toward the beautiful view of the park. Abigail could only see half of the duke, but it was enough so that his exasperated expression was plain.
“Mother, you should have let Elizabeth be the center of this party. She—and I—would have enjoyed it better.”
“Nonsense, Christopher,” the duchess said with an elegant wave of her hand. “Your sister was thrilled to share this first event with you. I know she is a brave girl, but she is still overwhelmed at being the sudden center of focus in Society.”
Why was he so upset? Abigail wondered. Gwen had told her this was the first house party the duchess had ever given. Perhaps her son had taken for granted that this house—this palace—was his sanctuary.
“Mother, you are deliberately misstating Elizabeth’s excitement. She is not fragile.”
“And neither are you, Christopher. It is time for you to do your duty to the family and your ancestors. These are the young ladies who specifically interest you. It will not cause you untold agonies to spend time with each of them.”
“Mother, I have plenty of time to find a bride. You always said I would know her when I met her, that you and Father shared a single stare and knew that it was destiny.”
Though there was sarcasm in his tone, his mother did not take offense. Abigail rather thought she should. But then again, how could Abigail be upset with his attitude when she herself wanted nothing to do with her father’s matchmaking?
“And it is not just your future marriage that concerns me,” the duchess said with admirable patience. “I worry about you. You seldom come home, and when you do, you are distracted and distant.”
