Page 243 of Desires of a Duke Collection

Later that night, Fenwick House

Philip was already seated at the table when Violet entered the dining room at seven o’clock. His glass of wine was half drunk, and several papers were splayed out to the side of his dinner plate.

“Here you are,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you in the parlor.”

Philip looked up and displayed a grimace. “Apologies. I was hoping to get through these contracts earlier today, but they’re far more complicated than I’m used to,” he said.

“Father will probably arrive tomorrow,” she said. “Perhaps he can be of help?”

“He’ll have to,” Philip replied, pushing aside the papers to stand and hold her chair for her. “Browning said you were at Aunt Katherine’s today. How is she?”

Violet took her seat. “She was hosting a marchioness and two countesses when I arrived,” she replied as Philip retook his seat at the head of the table. “They’re going to see to it Father has invitations to all the entertainments.”

Philips scoffed. “I rather doubt he intends to attend all of them.”

“I warned Katherine, for I think the same, but she seems determined he be reintroduced to Society.”

Philip chuckled as a footman poured more wine and another appeared with the soup course. “Are you going to the Everly soirée tonight?”

“I am. Aren’t you? I sent a reply saying we’d both attend.”

He seemed to think on it. “I suppose,” he replied.

“I’m looking forward to seeing Lady Amelia there,” Violet continued.

Philip’s manner changed instantly. “I nearly forgot. She’s going to be there,” he stated.

Giggling, Violet lifted her soup spoon. “Indeed.”

“I’ll go. I...” He swallowed the rest of what he was about to say, realizing he shouldn’t admit he had seen Amelia only the day before at the bookshop.

They sat in companionable silence for a time before Violet said, “A matter was brought up at tea today, and I wondered if you might fill me in on what actually happened?”

Philip paused his soup spoon in mid-air. “What matter?”

She swallowed. “The one involving you and the Duke of Weston. Apparently some words of anger and fists were involved?”

Straightening in his chair, Philip stared at her with wide eyes. “Did Aunt Katherine speak of it?”

She shook her head. “One of the other ladies did. But they all seemed to know something about it. Far more than I, so you can imagine how I felt learning you’d been involved in some sort of row with a duke—”

“He wasn’t a duke at the time.”

“—And now said duke behaves in a poor manner—”

“Not my fault he doesn’t know how to behave.”

“—Because he was humiliated.”

Philip furrowed a brow and scoffed. “He brought it on himself, Vi.”

“Explain to me what happened.”

He set down his spoon and slumped back in his chair. “It’s been years. Happened before he went on his Grand Tour,” he said with a scoff.

“Apparently it’s still quite a fresh humiliation for him,” she countered. “What else could be causing him to act so high and mighty? So proud?”

He rolled his eyes. “Because he takes after his father?” he asked rhetorically. He sighed. “He was in the wrong—”

“About what?”

“Our father.”

Violet inhaled softly. “What about our father?”

Philip displayed a grimace. “Alfred claimed our father was once betrothed to his mother, but that she chose Weston over him because Weston was a duke, and she wished to be a duchess, but not before—”

“That’s a lie,” Violet whispered, her hackles immediately rising in defense of her father.

“That’s what I said,” Philip replied. “I told him to take it back. He refused. I threatened to punch him and he got me here…” he paused to point to the base of one cheek, “and here…” he indicated his shoulder, “and I punched him in the nose. Broke it. There was blood everywhere.”

“Eww,” Violet said in disgust.

“Do not take his side in this,” he warned.

“I wasn’t going to,” she countered. “I just wanted to know what the breeze was all about.”

“Breeze?” he repeated.

“The ladies said a breeze was raised.”

He seemed to ponder what to say in response, taking another spoonful of soup in the process. “We were both called into the dean’s office to explain ourselves, and he changed the story completely. Said I’d cheated by copying one of his papers. I felt as if I’d been played.”

“Did the dean believe him?”

Philip shook his head. “No, because I always had the better marks in all my classes. Alfred was rot in school. Except for mathematics. He’s crack with numbers, but anything else…” He shook his head and sighed. “He’ll have the Weston dukedom run into the ground before he admits he doesn’t know what he’s doing because he’s too damn proud to ask for help.”

Violet winced at hearing the curse. Winced again when she saw how upset her brother had become while telling the tale. “Why do you suppose it’s so important to him?”

“What do you mean?”

“About Father. About Her Grace and him supposedly being betrothed to one another.”

Philip shrugged, pushing his soup bowl to the side so he could lean his elbows on the table. “Because Weston wouldn’t exist if our father had married Helena.” He seemed about to say something else but merely shrugged.

Violet blinked. She blinked again and scoffed at the same time. “Do you think it’s true then? That Father—?”

“Yes, I think it’s true that at one time, he wanted to marry Helena Styles-Hyatt,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Her eyes widening in shock, Violet slammed her back against her chair so hard, she nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. “The Duke of Woodleigh’s daughter?” she asked in confusion, sure Amelia had mentioned her grandfather’s title at some point. “How do you know?”

Philip audibly sighed. “He told me one night. After Mother died. I found him in the library, deep in his cups and talking to himself. When he realized I was there, he started telling me all about what it was like when he was my age.”

“If he was drunk, he probably didn’t know what he was saying,” she countered.

“He knew, Vi. He knew, because he started crying, claiming he married Mother out of friendship rather than love. Because Helena had to marry Weston due to some marriage contract that had been signed when she was still very young.”

“Are those still legal?” she asked in dismay.

“Apparently they were back then,” he replied. “We are talking… thirty years ago,” he added in a voice making it sound as if it had been three centuries ago.

“But he loved Mother,” she insisted.

“He did, but not at first.”

Violet took a deep breath, glad when a footman appeared to take away their dishes while another set the second course before them.

“I think I know why Father is coming to London,” she said in a quiet voice.

Philip winced. “It’s not what you think.”

“Duchess Helena is a widow now. Father is a widower,” she countered, excitement sounding in her voice. “If he really did love Helena—”

“That’s not the reason,” he warned.

She gave a start. “Then… then why?”

He used a fork to pick at his fish. “I mentioned in my last letter that I wished to marry Lady Amelia.”

Violet shrugged and then her eyes rounded. “You’re afraid Weston won’t give his permission.”

“Because he won’t,” Philip stated.

“Have you asked?”

“He won’t,” he repeated. “It will be like grandfather, like son. Both denying us Fenwicks our desire to marry their women.”

About to put voice to a protest, Violet settled back into her chair. “So… why exactly is Father coming?”

Philip displayed another grimace. “I think he’s going to pay a call on Weston. On my behalf,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“Don’t you want him to?”

He rolled his eyes. “I would prefer to handle it myself. Work something out, or… or elope.” He immediately held up a hand. “Do not repeat what I just said,” he warned. “Not even to Amelia.”

“I wouldn’t,” she assured him. “Besides, the scandal would be… untenable.”

His chin lifted. “It wouldn’t be that bad,” he argued.

She gave him a quelling glance. “Perhaps… perhaps the situation could be smoothed over,” she suggested.

“I’m not going to apologize, and neither is he,” Philip stated.

Remembering her conversation with her aunt and the countesses earlier that afternoon, Violet realized she had spoken the truth about prideful men. “Perhaps you won’t, and perhaps he won’t,” she replied. “But there has to be another way to secure his permission.”

He gave her a glance filled with suspicion. “Eat your dinner. We have to leave for the soirée soon,” he reminded her.

“Indeed,” she replied, tucking into her food as she plotted what she would do that evening.

Perhaps it was time she take up play-acting.