Page 7 of Anastasia and the Duke
"Poor Eloise," Charlotte sighed, once they were safely ensconced inside the carriage's lushly appointed compartment, "This isn't the first time she has succumbed to machinations of a charlatan."
"A grieving mother is easy prey," Oliver commented, "And as a wealthy woman in her own right, she is a prime target for such knaves. I would wring their necks, if I found them."
"I don't doubt you would," his grandmother regarded him with affection, "Now, enough about me and my friends, do tell me about you and yours. I heard through the grapevine that you have fallen out with Lady Rubenhold. I can't say I'm upset for you, dear, I know she is a widow and it's as proper as those sorts of thingscanbe, but if you weren't intending to marry the girl then it was a waste of your time. You're not getting any younger, you know."
Oliver, who was not entirely certain how his grandmother had learned that he had falleninwith Constance, let alone that their affair had come to an end, gave a strangled noise in response. No man wished to discuss his paramours with his grandmother.
"How did you--?" he began, before she cut him off.
"Everything you do is noted by all and sunder," Charlotte shrugged, "You are a duke, Oliver. If you so much as sneeze, it is an event, so you can't expect an affair not to make ripples in the gossip pool."
"I do not wish to discuss such matters with you," Oliver said firmly, adopting his most ducal tone of voice.
"Don't take that tone with me," Charlotte replied, raising an eyebrow, "I am not one of your underlings, I am your grandmother. If your father were alive, he too would tell you that you have spent enough time dallying with thedemi-monde, and that the time to secure the line has come. You need to marry, Oliver, and begin producing heirs."
Oliver sighed in reply, but otherwise remained silent. He knew that she was correct and that he had a duty to the line, but his cursed heart was waiting forsomethingbefore he offered for a woman's hand.
Love.
It was embarrassing to admit, but Oliver did not wish to take a bride merely for her pedigree and child-bearing hips--he wanted to fall in love. His memories of his parents were hazy at best, but those that remained clear in his mind told a story of two people who had loved each other deeply. He recalled his mother's smile and tender touch, his father's deep laugh and warm embrace, and most specifically, he remembered the way that they had looked at each other.
Oliver had more wealth than most men could even imagine, but he would trade it all for a woman who might look at him the way his mother had looked at his father.
"As Lady Uptondown mentioned," Charlotte continued, "The assembly at Almack's is held tonight. Perhaps you might venture in for a look-see?"
"I would rather spend the evening clipping Prinny's toenails," Oliver replied dryly.
"No need to paint such imagery, dear," Charlotte shuddered, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
She looked so downcast, that Oliver felt a momentary pang of guilt, which led him to telling a white-lie in order to cheer her.
"Iamkeeping an eye out for a bride, Grandmother," he assured her, "I have great hopes for the season ahead."
"You do?" Charlotte was instantly revived, "Oh, how wonderful--for I have great plans for you, my dear."
Oliver realised, too late, that he had walked into a trap. The duchess spent the rest of the journey to Grosvenor Square outlining where Oliver might find himself a bride, who might be suitable for the role, and how long his search should take. Her planning was as detailed as an army general's and Oliver suspected that she had been waiting a long time to share it with him.
"I feel most invigorated," Charlotte commented, as the carriage drew to a halt outside her town-house, "Thank you for that, Ollie."
Oliver, who felt the opposite of invigorated, gave a tight smile in response. When the footman opened the carriage door, he sprang forth to help his grandmother down.
"You must keep me updated on how you fare," Charlotte continued, as Oliver escorted her up the steps to the front door.
"I shall endeavour to do so," Oliver lied, as inside he debated a midnight-flit to the countryside where he might find some safety from her matrimonial scheming.
Once the duchess was safely inside, Oliver turned for his carriage. The top step of number thirty-three afforded a fine view of the square and he paused for a moment to appreciate it. Grosvenor was a newer address than his own in St James' Square, and was compromised of grand houses which oozed wealth and grandeur, all grouped around a large, gated park. The Square's occupants were a mix of aristocracy and new money, as well as ladies like his mother and Lady Lansdowne, who wished to keep dower houses rather than reside in the family seats.
A figure walking along the railings of the park caught Oliver's eye and he squinted. A lone woman, a maid by the looks of things, was galloping along at a break-neck pace, her eyes fixed firmly ahead, her shoulders straight.
Though he had only caught a glimpse of the thieving-miss who had made off with Lady Jersey's jewels, for a brief moment, Oliver wondered could it be she. Her profile when she had looked at him, framed by light, from the doorway, was seared into his mind. His dreams had been filled with memories of a knee-weakening kiss and the feel of warm curves pressed against him.
It was utterly ridiculous for any man--let alone a duke--to pine over a woman who was not even a maid, but a criminal, yet Oliver could not help himself. It was highly irritating for a man who prided himself on his control and composure to be unable to banish the memory of a thief from his mind.
His first instinct was to call out, but as the square was busy, he resisted. It was ridiculous to think that the woman was she, nor would it do for his grandmother to hear that he had been chasing maids in public. She might think that he had taken her advice to find a bride too much to heart.
It's not her, he told himself, as he tripped lightly down the steps to his waiting carriage. Yet, as the vehicle took off, Oliver pulled back the velvet curtains, to try catch another glimpse of the girl.
Whoever it was had disappeared, he realised, embarrassed by his disappointment.
