Page 11 of His Illegitimate Duchess

I t wasn't only spite that had prompted Talbot to choose to attend the Hawkins's ball.

It was also practicality: he wanted to be present at an event where the best of the eligible young ladies would be in attendance.

If being there happened to allow him to witness the undoubtedly humiliating debut of the late duke's bastard daughter that all of London was whispering about, then that was a welcome addition.

He was still more than close to the first three, especially Brandon, who, although married, had remained his closest friend. Ergo , the fault had to be with Hawkins.

Talbot leisurely strolled into the Hawkins’s ballroom at half past nine.

As expected, it was a crush, and the air was hot and oppressive.

Still, Talbot had always been fond of this particular room in his friend’s residence and took the time to admire its marble floors and the carefully chosen floral arrangements.

For all her faults, Duchess Hawkins apparently knew how to organise a ball.

Talbot surmised that half of those present were there to be seen, whereas the other half were there to see the mysterious half-sister.

Rumour had it that Hawkins had begged the Prince Regent for the boon of being allowed to present the half-sister at Court, but considering the Prince’s own problems with his allegedly unfaithful wife, that was never going to happen.

A shame he didn’t try it while Queen Charlotte was still alive , the duke thought mockingly.

Talbot was certain that this particular rumour was true, because one of the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s had told him in the greatest of confidences that both Nicholas and his wife had fervently entreated them to allow the half-sister to be allowed to purchase vouchers to their Wednesday-night balls.

Talbot was displeased to learn that the Ladies were seriously contemplating allowing it, thereby potentially giving the girl as much éclat as an audition at Court would have done, if not more.

He simply couldn’t understand why the Duke of Ashbury was so adamant on legitimising the girl currently standing between him and his dull little wife.

He could only see the back of her head. A dark, thick mass of hair pinned up in one of those complicated styles that were en vogue these days, a soft-looking, white, long neck with a smattering of fine downy hair on the nape. As he approached, he took in the yellow colour of her silk dress.

What an annoying choice , he thought, for he associated the colour with the word shrill.

He quickly reminded himself that she was a mistress’s daughter play-acting as a lady and decided he’d be the one to teach her and her arrogant brother a lesson.

Talbot was certain that the little fortune hunter would flirt with him as soon as they were introduced, and he would eviscerate her with a few polite words.

The young duke adored the Ton and everything it stood for.

Its conventions were set in stone, and all those who were part of it knew them well, which made their social dance a predictable, safe, and enjoyable one.

How dare Nicholas try and upset the natural order of things by trying to pass off his bastard sister as one of them?

The man who used to be his friend stiffened almost imperceptibly when he saw Talbot approaching.

He had assumed I wasn’t going to accept the invitation , Talbot thought, and as much as he hated to admit it, the idea that his invitation was a mere formality stung.

“Good evening, Duke Hawkins,” he greeted him politely, no trace of the bitterness he felt apparent in his voice, since Colin Talbot was a master of concealing his true feelings, even from himself.

“Duke Talbot, how good of you to join us. Welcome,” Nicholas politely lied as they shook hands.

“Your Grace,” Sophie curtsied to him with a slight hesitance he detected only thanks to his impeccable manners that demanded their equal due from others.

“Duchess,” he bowed lazily, not even glancing at the girl next to her.

Let her squirm , he thought haughtily.

“Duke Talbot,” Nicholas spoke in what, for him, amounted to a pleading voice. This introduction was clearly important to his former friend. “May I present to you my sister, Lady Elizabeth Hawkins?”

As he was about to perform what was, for him, a mocking bow, a mere inclination of the head one gives to those unworthy of more, he finally looked at her .

It took only a brief moment to place her. He felt a phantom pain in his groin at the memory of her knee. Instead of being horrified or flustered, her face was serene.

Talbot remembered his incredulity and scorn at seeing the beauty that Nicholas had set up in his old mistress’s house.

He immediately noticed that she had improved and grown since the last time he saw her.

Although she’d been far more tan than any other woman in his acquaintance, at their first meeting (which he, as a gentleman, would be obliged to pretend had never happened) her skin had still displayed an unhealthy pallor.

But the eyes were still the same, deep and forest-like. Colin was honest enough to admit to himself that she was exquisite. His bow ended up being more respectful than he’d intended.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” the guest of honour curtsied and Talbot was briefly reminded of a newborn foal’s clumsiness. The lack of proper breeding was immediately apparent, and he felt strangely vindicated.

“Likewise. How good of your brother to organise this ball for you,” he said, slyly glancing at Nicholas.

“He is, indeed, very kind,” the oblivious girl beamed at her brother.

She clearly adored him, undeservedly so, Talbot knew from experience. Nicholas will abandon her as soon as he finds someone to fill his time better, he thought, feeling sorry for her.

That brief flash of compassion was probably why he said, “Would you be so gracious to do me the honour of dancing the first waltz with me?”

The way he rationalised this to himself was: the tempo of the quadrille or reel would not allow them to converse at length, nor would these dances provide him with the opportunity to shoot her disapproving glares as she stepped on his toes for thirty minutes, which she was sure to do.

The girl couldn’t even curtsy effortlessly yet, let alone waltz with a duke. He knew it would eat away at Nicholas to watch them glide ( well, stumble ) across the dance floor and to know that Talbot was judging his precious sister and finding her extremely wanting.

“It would be my pleasure, Your Grace,” the half-sister replied in that calm, even voice.

He struggled to remember if she’d said anything to him before kneeing him all those months ago. She couldn’t have, I would have remembered her voice.

Talbot didn’t like the fact that she regarded him and everything around her with what looked like cool detachment, instead of the awe and humility that would have been more appropriate for someone in her situation. It irked him.

They all exchanged some more niceties (during which the Duchess was awfully stilted and monosyllabic, poor form for a hostess!) before Talbot excused himself and went off in search of better company.

The Season never got old for someone like him.

Talbot loved everything the Ton had to offer: the gossip, the entertainment, how it managed to be comfortingly familiar and yet never boring.

He kept his eye on the interloper throughout the evening and watched her make notes on her dance card with a shaky hand, clearly new to the activity.

It reminded him of his first days at Eton, of how lost he was among all the other, older boys, who seemed to have a better sense of what they were doing.

He shook his head slightly to dispel the memory.

Unlike him, who, at Eton, had aligned himself with the crème de la crème of British aristocracy and wealth, Nicholas’ sister was standing at the refreshment table with Amelia Fairchild of all people.

Boring Lady Amelia, who was so fair-haired that it seemed like she didn’t have any eyelashes.

Dancing with her made one think that she didn’t possess a tongue either, for she was painfully shy and difficult to talk to.

If Nicholas’s sister is anything like Lady Amelia, she’ll never get married, he thought.

Not even the large dowry provided by Lady Amelia’s grandmother had managed secure her a match, and she was already four and twenty.

Another young woman stood with them.

Another bad choice , Colin thought as he took in her features. Blonde, blue-eyed, voluptuous, with skin that looked fragrant, if that was even possible.

She’s going to draw attention away from you, little Hawkins , he thought, pursing his lips at her poor calculations.

He looked at the blonde again. A lesser man might be taken in by the air of fragility and the almost-tears shimmering in her blue eyes, but Talbot quickly took note of her passé dress and the worn leather of her gloves, and he knew she and her entire family needed her to catch a rich husband.

He would not let himself get entangled with poor relatives constantly needing his aid, nor a bride who needed to be bought and paid for.

As a man who had everything, for him to give a woman the gift of his name and title, she would have to provide him with something extraordinary in return. Wealth? Political connections? Unearthly beauty? He still hadn’t decided, but was sure he would recognise it once he encountered it.

The half-sister seemed cheerfully oblivious of both her companions’ shortcomings, and she nattered away with them for the better part of an hour, while Colin made the rounds and greeted better, more important people.

Didn’t she know what this ball was for, or how precarious her position in the Ton was? Perhaps she was lulled into a false sense of security due to having secured a dance with a duke, but Talbot vowed to disabuse her of that very quickly.