Page 33 of Courting Scandal With The Duke

Your Grace,

I am pleased to inform you that your concern about the arrival of additional responsibilities is unfounded.

You will be relieved to know that we have no reason for further conversation.

Sincerely,

B

X avier had absolutely no doubt who the note was from, and the offhand tone of her words had left him fuming.

He clenched his fingers around the balled-up note in his pocket. It had been delivered right as he was leaving for a bout at Gentleman Jackson’s. Of course he was relieved to learn she was not with child. Marrying in a hurry to disguise the arrival of a child never worked. People could count.

But that didn’t mean they should not marry. They had been intimate. If news of their affair got out, she would be no less ruined. Why couldn’t she see that it would be best to forestall any chance of that sort of rumour? His name would offer all the protection she needed.

Why did she have to be so damned headstrong when it could all be orderly and logical?

Xavier strode into Jackson’s boxing saloon.

The owner took one look at him and shook his head. ‘I think your temper has the better of you. No one here will fight you.’

Xavier glared at him. ‘Since when does my temper have anything to do with it? My control—’

‘Is not what it was.’ The man shook his head. ‘Recently.’ He put a hand on Xavier’s shoulder. ‘You know it. Joe took almost a week to heal.’

Guilt filled him. He took a deep breath. ‘You are right. I have let personal problems cloud my judgement.’

‘Let me know when the problems are sorted out.’

‘Are you not boxing today?’ a familiar accented voice asked. ‘How disappointing. I had hoped to watch today, after an appointment robbed me of the privilege last time.’

He turned to greet Charles. ‘Apparently not.’ He hoped he sounded calmer than he felt. ‘There is no one available to spar.’ Not exactly an untruth.

Charles raised an eyebrow. ‘Shall we go to the club, then? Perhaps a brandy would not go amiss.’

What Xavier wanted to do was fight to exhaustion and calm. He still did not know how to deal with Barbara, or how he felt about her refusal. ‘A brandy is a fine idea.’

With St James’s Street only a few steps away, it was not long before they were seated in comfortable leather armchairs in a quiet corner of the reading room in White’s and sipping in silence. At least, for a few minutes.

‘What causes your frown?’ Charles asked. ‘I am guessing a woman. Am I right? Should I wager on it?’

Xavier felt his spine stiffen. Were his emotions really so obvious? He loathed the sort of gossip men liked to engage in. But devil take it, Charles wasn’t wrong. ‘The lady in question is being far from cooperative.’

‘It is hard to imagine someone of your rank and wealth having difficulties with a female. But some can be unexpectedly spirited.’

Perhaps that was the problem. A rebellious female like Barbara would balk at any sort of restraint. Likely he had handled her badly.

‘What is your advice for dealing with a wilful woman?’

Charles chuckled but there was an uncomfortable edge to it. ‘Regarding my sister-in-law, you know my opinion.’

Xavier did not let his shock show on his face. At least, he thought he had not. ‘Now, why would you think I was referring to the Countess?’

‘I saw the warmth in your eyes at the theatre, my friend. And you have danced with her at every ball I have attended. I also see her expression when she regards you, when you are not looking her way. It is the way she looked at my brother before they wed. ’

‘Oh, and how is that?’

‘Like the cat watching a bird.’ He laughed. ‘Ready to pull you down in her claws.’

‘I thought you two were friends? She seems to think so. And yet…’ He sipped his drink and waited.

Charles looked down at his hand on the table and spread his fingers.

He looked up with a rueful smile. ‘We are not enemies. Indeed, I did my best to, how do you say it, ease things between her and my brother. There were many arguments. It was not such a happy marriage. My brother was not as wealthy as she had expected.’

Xavier frowned. ‘Are you saying she was disappointed because he wasn’t rich? That she is a fortune hunter?’

Was she now trying to rectify the matter by trapping a duke? Except she wasn’t, was she? She was refusing to marry him. Confusion filled him.

‘I cannot blame her entirely for the unhappiness. My brother made promises he could not keep. She expressed her disapproval as only a wife can, if she wants to dishonour her husband, you understand?’

‘You mean she took a lover?’

‘And when my brother fought for his honour, her arrival at the duel… Well, it was a disaster.’

‘Your brother died fighting over Barbara?’

‘He lost concentration when he saw her walk on the field. It was the only time he ever lost a duel.’

What a strange way to put it. ‘He had a habit of duelling?’

‘It is common for all young men in Prussia to fight to the death. We do not box.’

There was a whisper of scorn in the other man’s voice that set Xavier’s back up. He took a deep breath. ‘It was hardly her fault if he was killed in a duel.’

‘True.’ He shrugged. ‘It seems she was unlucky. Twice.’

‘And from there came the rumour she was a black widow.’

‘Gossip travels fast.’

Making her the butt of jokes upon her arrival in England. Was it possible someone hoped to frighten off prospective bridegrooms?

Xavier finished his drink. He really did not like the way this supposed friend of Barbara’s painted her character. It felt distasteful. ‘I hope you will excuse me, I have business that requires my attention.’

He pushed to his feet and Charles rose with him.

They shook hands. ‘Thank you for your company,’ Charles said. ‘I am glad you granted me this opportunity to get to know you better.’

‘You are welcome,’ Xavier responded, trying to make sense of his feelings about the things Charles had said.

‘Please do not tell Barbara of this conversation,’ Charles said. ‘I only broached the matter because I do not want to see a man I admire follow in my brother’s footsteps.’

The words rang slightly hollow in Xavier’s ears.

They parted on the front steps of White’s, heading in opposite directions .

Xavier supposed he should be grateful for Charles’s frankness about his sister-in-law, and perhaps he would have been, if he did not have the sense it was not as altruistic as the other man professed.

In some ways, Barbara seemed like two different people. The audacious widow who blatantly broke Society’s rules and the sensual, intelligent woman who made him laugh and who brought him joy, and that he…what?

Liked?

‘Liking’ was too weak a word for how he felt about Barbara. He admired her joie de vivre , her spirit, her lack of concern for petty rules, and the way she stood up to him like no one else. She seemed free, somehow.

Dangerously free.

It was her lack of concern for rules, or titles, or wealth that had made him frame his marriage proposal the way he had. His need for control over his life.

Clearly, she had balked at his conditions.

But should not a wife make accommodations for a husband? Or would those rules crush the spirit he so admired?

And now this brother-in-law of hers had made a point of putting her past in as bad a light as possible. To what purpose?

To drive him away? If so, why? What did it matter to Charles?

An instinct he rarely ignored told him something was rotten in the State of Denmark .

He intended to find out why it was.

Barbara stalked into the drawing room where she had been told she would find her aunt.

The dear lady was stretched out on the chaise longue, her embroidery in her lap and the pages of a newspaper over her face. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest indicated she had nodded off as she so often did after luncheon.

She still wasn’t sleeping well, not even at the back of the house. Not since the burglary.

Barbara huffed out a breath and sat down in the chair opposite. If she woke her, the poor dear would be out of sorts for the rest of the day and likely Barbara would not get the answer she wanted.

She rummaged through her workbag beside the chair and pulled out the fabric for a footstool she had been working on. It was something Aunt Lenore had started many years before, but had abandoned. Barbara had promised she would try to finish it.

She sorted through the wool threads and picked out a dark red for a rose. Red suited her mood. She was angry.

Angry at Father. As usual.

With an occasional glance at her aunt, she plied her needle in short, swift jabs. But as she settled into the rhythm, her stitches became longer and began to flow.

Her anger, while it did not disappear, seemed to ease to a manageable level. She had almost finished the inner petals of the rose when her aunt stirred. The newspaper fell to the floor and her eyes blinked a few times .

‘Shall I ring for tea?’ Barbara said quietly, putting her embroidery back in her workbag.

Aunt Lenore smiled. ‘Yes, dear. That would be lovely.’

Barbara got up and rang the bell. By the time she turned back, her aunt was upright and patting at her hair. ‘I must have dropped off,’ she said.

‘I think you must have.’

‘Dear me. Dear me.’ She looked down at the handkerchief she had been embroidering. ‘And not a stitch done. And I had hoped to have this ready for your father’s birthday.’

‘Speaking of Father, do you have any idea where he has gone or when he is likely to return?’

Aunt Lenore turned the embroidery hoop over and peered at the back of her work. ‘Gone? Has he gone?’

Barbara stifled her impatience. This was her aunt’s way of putting off unpleasant discussions. Answering a question with a question.

‘I walked over to his townhouse this morning. His butler said he has left for parts unknown. He took his valet and packed an overnight bag.’ And as usual had not left a single word of explanation for his daughter.

‘I hope you did not go without a footman?’

‘I did not. Do you know where he went?’

‘Do you need him for something, dear?’

Yet more questions. ‘I do.’ She was going to make it very clear to Father she did not intend to marry anyone. Not Derbridge. Not anyone. Crystal clear.

If he hadn’t already grasped that fact.

All she had to do was remain single until she was twenty-five, in a month’s time, then she could live the rest of her life in relative comfort and on her own terms.

When she did not explain, her aunt sighed. ‘I have no idea where he went.’

‘But you did know he was leaving London.’ It wasn’t a question.

Aunt Lenore adjusted her shawl around her shoulders, tied and untied the ends. ‘He did mention he planned to visit a friend. Said he would be gone for two or three days.’

‘And no one thought to mention it to me?’

‘He visited when you were out yesterday afternoon. I forgot all about it.’

‘Perhaps the Foreign Office knows where he is?’ Barbara mused.

Her aunt looked scandalised. She sniffed. ‘They wouldn’t tell you even if they knew, and you can wager your best handkerchief they will tell him you enquired after him upon his return.’

Her aunt did not like ‘the ministry types,’ as she called them. They never revealed Father’s whereabouts, no matter the need.

Barbara was pretty sure that he left instructions that no one, except perhaps the minister, was to be informed where he could be found.

‘Bother,’ she said.

The butler arrived with the tea, and there was nothing more she could say until the tray was placed in front of them and the butler left .

‘Petit fours,’ her aunt exclaimed. ‘So dainty. Do try one.’

Barbara took a bite from one. She tasted lemon icing with raspberry jam filling between the layers of cake.

They were indeed delicious.

Xavier would like these. She had noticed he had a sweet tooth.

Dash it! It didn’t matter to her one whit what Xavier liked.

Perhaps it was for the best that Father had disappeared. If Barbara could not speak to him, neither could Xavier.

If he even still wanted to. Barbara had already sent round a message containing the good news. He did not have to lower himself to marry her after all. The pains in her belly that morning had made that clear enough. A baby was not in the offing.

Now all she needed was to continue to make herself completely ineligible—and useless to her father—and she could continue on with her life as planned, as if she’d never met Xavier.

She tried to ignore the painful squeeze of her heart. It was a foolish organ, and it did not help her in the least.

‘Oh, Barbara,’ said her aunt. ‘I almost forgot. You received this this morning.’ She held up a sealed letter.

Barbara broke the seal. ‘An invitation to a ball on Thursday. From a Lady Wells. Do you know her?’

Her aunt frowned. ‘No. I do not recall her at all. Thursday, you say? Why so late an invitation? I can’t possibly go. My friend Mrs Thursk invited me to play cards that evening. I have been looking forward to it. You will have to decline.’

She didn’t have to do anything. ‘She offers an overnight stay and a grand ball under the stars. It sounds quite charming.’ It might be the perfect opportunity to escape from London, if she could only find a way to accomplish her utter ruin in the meantime.

She sighed. ‘I may go, if I can find a suitable escort.’ She put the invitation aside.

She picked up the newspaper from the floor and glanced at the advertisements.

It was open at the results of the horse races at Epsom Downs. ‘Are you gambling on the horses, Aunt?’

Her aunt gave a little snort of scorn. ‘Certainly not.’

‘Hmm.’ Barbara glanced down the list of horses but did not see a name she recognised.

Men loved their horse racing because it involved gambling. As did several other of their sports, cockfighting and bullbaiting and boxing. Blood sports they were called. Unsuitable for a lady’s delicate sensibilities, according to Xavier’s list of rules.

She lifted her head and stared unseeing at her aunt. Well, maybe that—

‘Barbara?’

She came to. ‘Did you say something?’

‘You are wool-gathering. I said, would you like another cake? Or shall I ring for them to take the tray away?’

‘Oh. No more for me. I will ring.’

She got up and pulled the bell. A cockfight would do nicely How would she find out where such things were held? It would be common knowledge among the men, of course. But who could she ask?

Charles, naturally.

‘What are you smiling at, my dear?’ Aunt Lenore asked.

‘I believe I may have solved a problem.’

‘What problem?’ She looked anxious.

‘Nothing to worry about, I can assure you.’

Not yet, anyway.