Page 29 of A Duke Never Tells

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

JOSEPHINE PINWELL

Josephine Pinwell—Lady Brundon—sat at the breakfast table of Brundon Hall and spread a thick layer of marmalade over her toasted bread. Her husband, the earl, sat at the head of the table just to her right, and tapped the bottom of his spoon against the top of his boiled egg to crack it.

“Did you read Meg’s letter from yesterday?” she asked.

“I did. Seems they’re having a splendid time. I will hate seeing my bill from that milliner’s at the end of the month.”

“It’s a shame they haven’t run across Earnhurst in Mayfair. Meeting him could settle Meg’s nerves.”

“Or send her fleeing back here to Brundon. I know the gossip about him has been quieter lately, but I still maintain that’s because there’s almost no one yet in Mayfair to talk about him.”

Josephine sighed. “I wish I could be certain that he’s the one for our Meg. I mean to say, he’s a duke, and that puts him at the top of every unmarried lady’s list, but he might at least have written her a letter or two.” She picked up her toast, then set it down again. For the past few days she’d felt restless, and while it could well be that she was becoming anxious to get to London, it could also be a mother’s intuition that not all was as sunny as Meg and Clara claimed in their letters.

“Or she could have written him, ” Gregory pointed out.

“You know that wouldn’t be at all proper. She actually suggested it, but I warned her that Earnhurst could well view her as being forward, or worse, desperate.”

“It’s my understanding that young people write each other all the time, these days, without a care over who initiated the conversation or who is replying to whom.”

“Just because it’s done doesn’t mean Meg should do it.” Men. They would never understand the intricate dance upon which a young lady embarked the moment she turned eighteen, or that she was expected to continue dancing until she retired from Society. A single misstep could be fatal to her reputation. “Perhaps you might write to His Grace and inform him that Meg is in Mayfair. They need to meet before they’re standing side by side at Earnhurst, being blessed by a reverend.”

The butler, Vance, entered the breakfast room, the silver letter salver in one hand. “My lord, my lady, correspondence,” he announced.

Gregory removed the trio of letters from the tray, handed over the first two, and kept the third. “Well, this is quite the coincidence. Meg and Clara for you, and the Duke of Earnhurst for me.”

“They have certainly not been writing me daily as they promised, and Meg, at least, has been writing Nelly even more frequently than she does us, but I can’t say I’m surprised,” Josephine noted as she unfolded Clara’s letter. “Meg’s first time in London must be overwhelming for her if she’s requesting fashion advice from her maid. I still think we should have insisted on joining them.”

“Meg’s got a good head on her shoulders, and Clara is nothing if not practical. I say it’ll do them some good to go about on their own. We’ll be there in a week, anyway.”

“Yes, but the last thing we need is for Clara to introduce Meg to some of her radical friends, which you know she will do—if she hasn’t done so already.”

As was typical, Clara’s letter was brief, noting that she and Meg had gone shopping yet again, that the weather was lovely, and that the residents of Mayfair were beginning to trickle into Town. Setting that letter aside to read more carefully later, Josephine opened her daughter’s missive.

“Oh, dear,” she said, stopping after the second sentence, her heart hammering. “Gregory, she wants out of the marriage agreement.” Skimming through the paragraphs, she noted in passing that Meg also discussed shopping, the poor weather, and then in great detail how stern and warlike and uncompromising Earnhurst was, and how horrible it would be to be married to him. “They’ve met, clearly, and it seems she detests him. She does go on to say that she’ll explain everything when we meet in London at the end of next week.”

“I… Give me a moment.”

She looked up. “Does Earnhurst say something about her?”

“I… I have no idea what to make of this,” he muttered after a moment. “According to Earnhurst, Meg is at Earnhurst Castle with a companion, she’s pretending to be someone named Lady Sophronia Frumple, and while she seems a fine young lady, His Grace has lost his heart to the friend. He calls her Mabel Gooster.”

Her jaw dropping, Josephine held up both her letters. “Rainy weather, sunny weather, on ostensibly the same day. And it’s not the first time they’ve given conflicting information. I thought they were merely mixing up their days. They seemed so busy that the confusion made sense. But… Oh, good heavens!” she cried out as she realized what, precisely, the duke had written. “Do you know what this means?”

“That they aren’t in London at all?”

“Worse than that, Gregory! Clara has won over the duke for herself, and now he’s throwing over Meg for her own aunt!”

Lowering the letter he held, Gregory plucked Meg’s from her fingers and snapped it open. “Surely Clara wouldn’t do such a thing. She adores Meg.”

“Clearly she adores finding a duke’s money to fund her causes more. As independent as she claims to be, think of what she could accomplish as a duchess. And she would be besting me, as I’m only married to an earl.”

“Well, thank you very much, Jo.”

She scowled. “You know what I mean. I’ve always told her she’s too opinionated and is completely lacking in the gentler arts. How better to prove me wrong, to disgrace me, than to land the duke we found for Meg?”

“This is not good. Meg… She’s been engaged for a year, and with less than five weeks until the wedding they both beg off? She’ll be the laughingstock of London. Especially with her own aunt taking the duke out from under her.”

“But she said she doesn’t wish to marry Earnhurst, anyway,” Josephine put in weakly, wishing she could convince herself that a solution existed where none clearly did. “Oh, did she only say that because Clara’s got hold of him? What a horror!”

“It won’t matter to the gossips if the girls have made an agreement between themselves, my dear,” her husband replied, confirming her worst fears. Standing up, he rang the bell for Vance. A moment later the butler reappeared in the doorway.

“My lord?”

“See the coach prepared. Lady Brundon and I are leaving in one hour for London by way of Dorset. I daresay we’ll be there sometime tomorrow if we don’t spare the horses, and must be prepared for a stay of… two days. Inform Susan and Neville that we require five days’ worth of appropriate clothing. No, make it six. The rest of our necessaries are to be sent on to Pinwell House.”

“I’ll see to it, my lord.”

“We’re going to Earnhurst?”

“According to His Grace, that is where they are. We need to straighten this out before we end up caring for two lifelong spinsters, Jo.”

Her heart still hammering, Josephine nodded. Leaving her breakfast behind, she hurried for the stairs. How could Clara do such a thing? And was Meg begging off because of Clara’s fondness for the duke, or did Meg genuinely dislike him? Oh, those two. She should never have permitted them to spend so much time together. Just like sisters, indeed. If those sisters were Mary and Anne Boleyn.