Page 68 of Dukes All Night Long

Lucy pushed a wet tendril off her cheek. Her walking coat and bonnet were already soaked.

“Yes, well. Happy to help,” the young man said, stepping back and closing the umbrella.

“Where am I to sleep?” Miss Adeline asked.

“In a bed?” the man said unhelpfully.

“Well, obviously.” Miss Adeline rolled her eyes. “Where is my room? Show me to it at once so my maid can unpack my things.”

“Uh…” A look of confusion passed over the young man’s face.

“Pardon me. I am the butler here. The housekeeper is currently showing other guests to their rooms, but I can be of service.” An older man in a dark uniform came forward.

He gave quick instructions to the footmen and bid one of them to lead the women to one of the rooms upstairs, just as another carriage pulled up.

Lucy made to follow, when Miss Adeline put a gloved hand on her arm. “Wait a minute. I want to see who’s arriving.”

Lucy waited as the carriage arrived and a young woman came out. This woman wore pink from head to toe, including a straw bonnet with many pink fake flowers and a large, pink ribbon. She waved to Miss Adeline with a waggle of her gloved fingers.

“Oh, lord,” Miss Adeline groaned. “It’s Lucretia Skye.”

“Who?”

“Miss Lucretia Skye. I know her from assemblies. She’s obsessed with a certain color. Can you guess what it is?” Miss Adeline smirked and walked forward as the new arrival stepped under the archway. “Miss Skye.”

The ladies curtsied to one another and made small talk, while Lucy stood waiting with the footman.

Miss Adeline waved her away, so Lucy nodded to the footman to lead her to the bedroom and was surprised to be followed by the young man who had greeted them with an umbrella.

“Sir?”

“Your mistress, she is, um… very discerning.”

“Yes,” Lucy agreed, following the footman as the three of them carried bags and one of Miss Adeline’s four trunks up the stairs.

“Do you know about the old duke?” the young man asked.

“No.” Lucy saw the young man’s face. There was a glint of humor there. He seemed like a cheerful fellow. “But my mistress will be displeased to hear you say that.”

“Why?”

“She was hoping for a younger man.”

The young man grinned. “Then she’s out of luck. He’s practically knocking on death’s door, the old man.”

“Why is he throwing this party, then?” Lucy asked.

“Why not? He likes to enjoy himself. Especially behind a mask.”

“What do you mean?”

The young man touched her arm, signaling her to wait a minute. She paused and watched as the footman went on ahead.

Once they were a few steps behind, the young man said, “The duke has certain… tastes. Proclivities. He likes to tease innocent young women. The more innocent the better. You’d best not let him see you.”

“What, even the maids aren’t safe?”

“Especially the maids,” the young man said with a wink.

She realized he was joking, and Lucy shook her head with a smile, then realized she’d been talking when they hadn’t been introduced. She kept walking.

“Oi, wait a minute. What’s your name?” he asked.

“We haven’t been introduced. Who are you ?”

His face lit up with a smile. “You’re an interesting one. Do all servants in your mistress’s household have such manners?”

“Only when talking with impertinent men.”

He grinned. “Well, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Falstaff Elliot. How do you do?”

She inclined her head. “How do you do? Lucy Potts.” She curtsied, but it was difficult when carrying both her travel bag and that of her mistress.

“Potts? Why do I know that name… Never mind, I’m sure it will come to me. Have you been in service all your life?” he asked.

“You ask a lot of questions,” she said, turning pink. She didn’t want to admit her family’s circumstances. Did her inexperience show? Was it so obvious she was new to this world of service?

“There’s a lot I want to know. How else am I to find out?”

Lucy gave him a hard stare, which earned her a laugh. When she moved to catch up with the footman lugging Miss Adeline’s traveling case up the stairs, she glanced back and noticed something.

The young man did not wear the same livery as the footman or the butler. Indeed, he was quite comely, in tan trousers, a long-sleeved white shirt and a beige waistcoat. The old duke must be wealthy , Lucy thought. Even his servants are dressed like gentlemen.

“Falstaff,” a male voice called.

The young man said, “I’d better go. It was nice to meet you, Miss Potts.”

She inclined her head. “Oh, I’ve lost track of where the footman went,” she said, for they now stood at the top of the stairs on a floor, and many footmen were in the corridor bringing traveling cases and bags around.

“That’s all right. I heard Poole, the butler, say that Miss Azalea is in the green room, third room on the right.”

“Thank you.” She gave a quick curtsy and hurried off. But something made her look back over her shoulder. Sure enough, he was there watching her before the call came again, and he hurried off in the opposite direction.

*

Falstaff entered the duke’s study, where a stern, stocky man sat behind an impressive mahogany desk. The surface was strewn with papers, journals, an inkwell, quills, and a corked bottle of wine.

“Good evening, Magistrate Hopewell. You called for me?” Falstaff closed the thick, wooden door behind him as the older man who sat in the duke’s chair looked at him.

“Mr. Elliot, you are certain you wish to go through with this plan?”

“Of course. Half the ladies and gentlemen guests are here already. I say, you look a bit too official . I’ll have one of the footmen bring you a change of clothes so you blend in with the servants. No one will have any idea that this is anything but an ordinary masquerade ball.”

And yet they both knew differently. For months now, members of the Ton had been tormented by a notorious thief for whom London constables had no name.

Falstaff had only lately come back from finishing at Cambridge when his uncle had written to tell him it was in the London papers, that his old acquaintance, Mrs. Godalming, had had a diamond necklace stolen at a garden party last June, and there were rumors of more thefts at well-to-do households.

But very few had connected the thefts. It wasn’t until he’d heard about it from a friend of his that Falstaff had begun to piece it together.

His friend, Campbell Fox, always did enjoy a good party, and often traveled down to London for the season and to meet eligible young women, like the delicious Lucy Potts , Falstaff thought.

Now there was a woman with a bit of mystery.

There was definitely more to her than she let on, and he was quite curious to find out what.

She had a sweet innocence about her, and a sharp tongue, it seemed.

He’d quite liked the look of her in the rain earlier and had wanted to push back her wet tendrils of hair from her face himself.

But back to the matter at hand. Shortly after his return to his uncle’s home, he had visited Magistrate Hopewell in the village of Tewin, where, it had turned out, the man had known all about the London thefts.

But being of a different social sphere entirely, no one would tell the local constabulary anything.

When it came to questioning one of their own, the Ton clammed up fast. No one would speak to the magistrate or their men, whom the Ton members found loud, rude, and impertinent.

They found their questions to be extremely dull, and so the thefts went reported but never solved— until now , Falstaff hoped.

His uncle, the actual duke, was getting on in years and preferred to spend his time in his club, or more often, at home in the manor house, entertaining friends.

So it was that when Falstaff came to the old man and suggested a masquerade party, the duke didn’t mind.

Until Falstaff had revealed his true purpose.

He, at first, had been bothered by the idea. “A fake masquerade ball, at Minsden Manor? Are you out of your mind, boy?”

But as Falstaff had explained more about his real plan, his uncle had become intrigued.

“You plan to use my house to catch a thief,” the duke had said.

“Not just any thief. The Ton thief,” Falstaff had explained.

Speaking with the magistrate looking after these crimes had revealed something.

The thief only struck at parties where members of the Ton were present.

What grudge did the thief have against this British aristocracy?

Falstaff didn’t know, but he meant to find out, and tonight’s ball would provide the perfect opportunity.

There was just one problem: Clara Butters.

Miss Clara Butters, an old family friend of his, had grown up with him, but once they’d both reached the majority, things had changed.

She’d started laughing at everything he’d said and agreeing with him even when he’d suspected she did not. And worse, her very laugh had changed. It wasn’t the hearty belly laugh he’d known.

This Clara—Miss Butters, he should think of her now—met him with girlish titters behind her hand, which increasingly annoyed him. She no longer talked of climbing trees or swimming in brooks, but instead read novels, poetry, and ladies’ magazines.

But she was the daughter of a viscount and came from an extremely wealthy family. That didn’t matter to him particularly, but she was popular and moved in the right circles, and so she knew exactly whom to invite to his uncle’s party, even if she had initially been hesitant.

“But the duke hates parties,” she’d said when he’d told her of his idea for a ball. He hadn’t told her the real reason for it, for he also knew she couldn’t keep a secret.

“It’s a bit of entertainment to welcome me back from university,” he’d told her, lying through his teeth. “Think the old duke wants me to be more social and mix with the right people,” he’d said, playing up to her innate sense of elitism and class snobbery. “You know.”

This had been music to Miss Butters’s ears, and she’d practically clapped in delight.