Page 22 of Tamed By a Duke
"It will be good to have him home safe," Hugh offered, his stomach clenching a little with worry about where his brother might decide was home.
Dark words had been uttered before Leo sailed for France, several years ago, and the brothers had not spoken since. Any communication between the recalcitrant pair was carried out by their mother, who stubbornly refused to acknowledge a rift.
No matter how much their mother might ignore the argument between her two sons, there was no denying that it had happened. As the years slipped by with neither man willing or able to admit fault, it felt to Hugh that they might never mend the split. A thought which always left him rather irritable and out of sorts, though he could not say why.
"Now, dear," his mother said, as she folded the sheaf of paper in two and tucked it away into one of her pockets, "What's all this I hear about you throwing yourself headfirst into the marriage pool?"
"I have done no such thing," Hugh objected, bristling with indignation.
His indignation quickly died as he recalled that his mother had no clue about Dubarry's predicament and that, to an outside observer, his actions of late did make it look like he was considering marriage.
"Attending Almack's, dancing at Almack's, inviting a young lady for a carriage ride," the dowager duchess listed off on her fingers, as a smile played around the corners of her mouth, "Tell me that those are not the actions of a man seeking a bride."
"Very well," Hugh scowled, "Those are not the actions of a man seeking a bride. Satisfied, mother?"
"Methinks you doth protest too much," came the amused reply, as his mother ignored his petulance. "Your sister tells me that it is the eldest Drew girl whom you have set your sights upon. I do recall that she made her come-out at the same time as Mary."
At two and twenty, Mary was the youngest of Hugh's four sisters. She was currently safely ensconced in Avon with her husband, the Earl of Froome, as the pair awaited the imminent arrival of their first child. Mary had made her come-out three years ago, and Hugh wondered why it was that Charlotte had since been left to linger on the shelf. True, she was spirited, but her beauty might allow one to overlook that, and her fortune must certainly have enticed more than one second son to offer for her.
Why was it that she had never married?
"And what do you recall of Miss Drew?" Hugh queried, attempting for nonchalance but realising too late that his acting skills were on a par with his mother's.
The dowager duchess raised an amused eyebrow at Hugh's none-too-subtle enquiry; if he hadn't been so interested in her answer, Hugh would have huffed from the room at the smugness of her expression.
"I recall a sweet, young thing," the dowager duchess replied, much to Hugh's astonishment, "Who was much in demand from suitors. She was much like all the other debutantes; interested only in dresses, dancing, and eligible young men—but most girls are, at that age."
"Are you certain that you are recalling the same person?" Hugh asked, struggling to marry his mother's memory of Charlotte with his own.
The Charlotte Drew that he knew attended meetings of radicals and delivered homilies on the plight of the poor; she did not fall into raptures over the newest shade of ribbon, or the latest fashion plate in theBelle Assemblée.
"Quite certain," his mother replied, with a sniff, "I might be advancing in years, but I am not so old that my memory has turned to mush."
Lud. Hugh bit back a sigh; his mother was quite sensitive when it came to matters of ageing, quite often perceiving insult where there was none.
"I did not mean to insult your memory, Mama," Hugh placated, hoping that he sounded more patient than he felt, "I questioned you merely because your description of Miss Drew is so far removed from the way that other people might describe her."
"And how might other people describe her?" the dowager duchess questioned, with interest.
"A bluestocking, a shrew," Hugh shrugged, before changing his tack as he noted his mother's frown of confusion. "Is howotherpeople might describe her, given how opinionated she is, but not I."
"Good," the duchess said, as she smoothed her skirts with an irritable hand, "I am glad to know that no son of mine—with four sisters, no less—would deign to call a lady a shrew merely for holding opinions. I detest it when gentlemen who have been offered the finest education that money can buy, stubbornly hold on to a parochial view of the world."
Hugh felt suitably chastised by his mother's dressing down. Her eyes, blue like his own, were watching him with a knowing gleam, which made Hugh momentarily question if his mother might, perhaps, be omnipotent.
"I do hope that you are not trifling with the girl's affections, Hugh," she said abruptly, a frown creasing her brow, "For if I recall correctly, Miss Drew has already been greatly disappointed by a young man. I should not like it if your name were to be added to the list of society's ignominious gentlemen—Gemini knows, it's long enough."
"I am not trifling with Miss Drew's affections, mother," Hugh replied, though his conscience prickled with guilt. He sighed, hoping to give the look of a man greatly troubled by false assumptions about his morals, before quickly moving on to more important matters.
"And just who was it," he queried, giving up any attempts at nonchalance and allowing himself a dark scowl, "Who disappointed Miss Drew?"
For a moment, the dowager duchess' only reply was a raised eyebrow as she looked her son up and down, from top to toe. Hugh could feel the tips of his ears burning as he realised that he had revealed more than he wished to. He was not a man given to displays of emotion—quite the opposite, in fact—but the anger which coursed through his veins at the mere idea that someone had hurt Charlotte had rendered his usual composure obsolete.
"Well," the duchess said, adjusting her skirts as a mysterious smile played at the corners of her lips, "I beg you to forgive me for insinuating that you are merely playing with Miss Drew's feelings, my dear. It is quite obvious that you hold the girl in great regard. As to the gentleman who disappointed her—if I recall correctly, it was the younger of Lord Marshdon's sons, Charles Deveraux. He has since married an American heiress."
This last piece of information was delivered with a disapproving sniff, which let Hugh know just what his mama thought of Deveraux's choice of bride.
Hugh ignored his mother's snobbery and instead cast his mind back to the day before, when Charlotte had turned as pale as a ghost upon spotting Mr Deveraux riding toward them. Even he, who was not known for picking up on the nuances of ladies' feelings, had noted her discomfort.
