Page 24 of Hot Duke Summer

“A man in my position can never leap into something so important as marriage on a mere whim,” James replied to Verity’s question about true love. “So, I suppose my answer is no. I do not believe in love at first sight.”

However, he gave the question a lot more consideration after they parted ways.

Love at first sight. Had he not felt this when first spying Verity in the water?

Well, it was probably lust at first sight and nothing more. But he did look forward to spending time with her. He had enjoyed his meal this afternoon at the Kestrel Inn because of her charming presence.

His thoughts were on her now that he was back at the manor and exercising his leg. When he finished, he rubbed lavender oil into the scarred tissue before wrapping his leg in a warm, damp cloth, and then relaxed in bed while reading through a pile of Ashford estate documents concerning matters that needed to be addressed immediately.

His thoughts remained on Verity as he walked into the Kestrel Inn garden that evening with a noticeably less pronounced limp. The lavender oil was helping. He was led to a chair in the front row. Several couples took seats beside him, obviously ton members of the highest standing. He was introduced to the Duke of Malvern and his wife, Hen—short for Henley, it was quickly explained to him. “But she does cluck at me at times,” Malvern teased his wife, a pretty woman he obviously adored.

The Marquess of Burness and his wife, Phoebe, took seats on the other side of James. “Has Claymore told you much about this place?” Burness asked him.

“Only that it was the right spot for me to heal.” James pointed to his injured leg and the cane he’d tucked beside his chair.

Burness pointed to his own missing arm. “I’ll never fully come to terms with losing it. But being here, having Phoebe by my side, makes it bearable. That’s really why Claymore invited you here, I expect. It isn’t about your leg. More about your anger and frustration, or whatever else unhealthy you are feeling. You’ll begin to understand as you settle in. It is a matter of healing the heart, not a damaged leg or missing arm.”

They said no more, since Verity’s performance was about to get underway.

James held his breath as she walked onto the stage that already had her harp set upon it. Torches were lit all around the stage to illuminate her. He thought she looked like an angel in dark red silk. Well, she was an Angel by name, was she not?

Her hair was drawn back in a simple chignon, the style accentuating her natural beauty. She required no adornment, and he noted she had no jewelry save for sparkling earrings. Even those were simple ruby studs affixed to each earlobe.

He eased back in his chair as she began to play.

Any doubts he held about her abilities melted away. In truth, he hadn’t any. His concern was more for her own confidence. He quickly realized she was in her element when at her harp, playing flawlessly and with vibrance.

Lord, she was good.

He was a wretchedly cynical man who quickly lost patience over the smallest things. But Verity’s music transported him and held his rapt attention. He did not think the sound of a harp could touch his soul, but it did. Those gentle strains moved him and carried him off to a tranquil place, a place where wrongs could be forgiven and second chances allowed.

James found himself smiling at her, although he did not think she could see him or would notice even if she could. He thought of the moonstone lore and the possibility of true love.

Was this why he was here? To fall in love with Verity?

The moon shone bright and silver against the ink-dark sky above them. Not nearly a full moon yet. That would not happen for another ten days or so. Just in time for his departure. But he would never leave without kissing Verity under the silver glow of a full moon.

He wanted to believe in the moonstone lore.

Obviously, this was the entire point of Daire’s invitation. The Marquess of Burness had cut straight to the heart of the matter. It was not his leg that needed healing but his heart.

When the concert ended, everyone swarmed around Verity to congratulate her. James stayed away, for his leg was not steady enough to withstand jostling and he did not want to make an ass of himself by falling. He was content to watch her from a distance until the first rush of admirers passed. The crowd around her soon began to thin, and most of the guests ambled toward the dining room, where light refreshments were offered.

He now made his way forward.

She had a special smile for him that touched his heart. “What did you think, Your Grace?”

“Best concert I have ever attended, Miss Angel. Well done.”

“Thank you.”

He held out his arm to her. “May I escort you inside? I assume that is where the vicar will start his donation campaign. How much is he hoping to raise, and for what purpose?”

She placed her hand on his arm and they walked indoors. She was as graceful as a swan, and he hobbled beside her. “It is a daunting task before us,” she said, subtly slowing her steps to accommodate him. “The vicar would like to raise a thousand pounds for general repairs, supplies for families in need, shoes for the schoolchildren whose families cannot afford them. Coats and blankets for the winter. Food for the hungry. There is always a need for everything.”

She left his side to give her short speech, then stayed beside the vicar and other village officials while they made their plea to the mixed crowd of locals and affluent Londoners.

James felt his leg begin to strain because he was standing in one place too long, so he moved a little further back and leaned against a decorative pillar to ease the weight off him. Several ladies and gentlemen he recognized from various London affairs he had attended over the course of the Season now approached him. “Lovely creature,” several gentlemen remarked, ogling Verity. “What do you think, Ashford?” one of them already in his cups asked. “Is she mistress potential?”

“No.”

“What? You prefer them blonde? Or perhaps a fiery redhead?”

He ignored the sot.

“She puts on airs. Thinks she is one of us,” Lady Rothwell intoned. “What a pretentious little snip. Her talent is passable, at best.”

Lady Rothwell’s daughter, a ton diamond who had made her debut earlier in the year and was thought to be a contender as his next duchess, echoed her mother’s opinions. “Quite a common girl,” she said, turning to him with a smug smile. “What is your opinion, Your Grace?”

He detested being drawn into these petty conversations, so he ignored the question and turned his attention to the progress of the donations. As an incentive, several local businessmen had prepared baskets to be sold to the highest bidder. He noticed mostly the locals were bidding on those.

As always happened at every affair, the ladies all found reasons to approach him. Since he was not doing much talking, they began to pass comments among themselves, complimenting each other on their fashionable attire and mocking Verity’s gown. They somehow believed their snide remarks were earning his favor.

He waited for one of them to disagree with the others and pass a kind remark, but none of them did.

Since his height gave him some advantage, he was able to see over most heads and keep his eyes on Verity, who was still standing up front. Her expression was earnest, but he noticed the worry in her eyes. She was placing the blame on herself because the vicar had not yet reached his donation goal. Frankly, one thousand pounds was a lofty target, and not one likely to be achieved in a month of trying.

“And will you look at her gown? Two years out of fashion, if not more,” another young lady said, snickering.

Gad, were they still brutally gossiping?

A few gentlemen passed crude comments about what they would do with Verity if she were their mistress.

James had heard enough.

He made his way to the front and addressed the vicar. “How much more do you need to meet your goal?”

The vicar gave an acknowledging nod to the Duke of Malvern and his wife, as well as the Marquess of Burness and his wife. They had contributed a hundred pounds each. Same for Viscount Brennan and his wife, Chloe. The vicar introduced them to him and mentioned the wives of these three men were sisters and longtime residents of Moonstone Landing.

James did not see a great resemblance among the three women, although they stood together like a close-knit family and seemed very much at ease with each other.

“Are you the same Brennan who is fort commander?” he asked the dark-haired man who stood beside Lady Chloe and held a military stance.

“Yes,” the man responded, glancing at the elite crowd in the back still smirking at Verity. “Do you know those louts?”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“We are quite fond of Moonstone Landing and its inhabitants,” the viscount said, now frowning at said louts who were noisy and generally disrespectful. “Verity is someone very special to us, although those no-talent halfwits will never look beyond their noses to acknowledge her abilities. The gentlemen are probably passing crude comments because she is beautiful. The ladies are probably commenting on her gown and its supposed lack of style. They are so predictable, believing themselves superior. But all they are is callow and petty. This is why Chloe and I are happily settled here. Same for Malvern and Burness. We don’t have to endure that endless nonsense.”

He paused a moment and studied James. “Well, I’ve run off at the mouth, haven’t I? I apologize if I have insulted your friends.”

James shook his head. “They are not my friends. In fact, I walked up here because I intend to make them pay. Rest assured, they will make up the vicar’s shortfall in donations and more. My greatest pleasure will be in wiping those smug grins off their faces.”

He excused himself and addressed the vicar. “When factoring in the other smaller donations, does this leave you about five hundred pounds short?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The vicar glanced at Verity, who was standing close by, and lowered his voice. “I’ve run many events to raise funds for special projects. Baked goods sales, puppet shows, dances. Begging seems to be a major part of my job. But Verity has never done this before. She is taking it very hard, believing she has somehow failed me. I’ve told her this night’s contributions are excellent, but she does not believe me.”

“Well,” James said, “let’s see if we can make her smile. Put me down for five hundred pounds.”

“Your Grace!” The vicar was genuinely delighted, but James was more interested in Verity’s response.

The vicar quickly made a victory speech. “Thank you all, especially Miss Angel and her brilliant performance! And three cheers to His Grace, the Duke of Ashford, whose generous contribution has put us at our goal!”

A cheer rang through the crowd, but James had his eyes on Verity and saw the moment her face lit up like a little beacon in the night. Gad, she was beautiful. Her eyes sparkled as she ran up to him. He knew she wanted to throw her arms around him, but held herself back. “Your Grace…”

He took her hand and bowed over it. “Your performance was the best I have ever heard. Truly impressive. You ought to be very proud of yourself.” He had complimented her earlier, but now repeated it for the benefit of the crowd. “My friends in the back quite agree.” He pierced them with his angry glower. “Come up and pledge your donations. You do not wish to be mocked in London as skinflints and paupers, do you?”

“But the goal is reached,” Lady Rothwell intoned.

“And now I expect your help in exceeding it,” James shot back. “Open those purse strings to help a child in need.”

“Why are you making such a fuss, Your Grace?” the sot who had made the unpleasant remark earlier about Verity called out. “Who will care?”

“I will care. And I assure you, the gossip rags will run wild with the story of your heartlessness that I shall give them.”

They rushed forward, obviously furious but afraid to say a word against him. Those with daughters of marriageable age came up first, Lady Rothwell in the lead, because they knew James would dismiss their daughters from contention if they refused him. Well, they should have known he had already dismissed them.

His disappointment was profound, for not a single one of them had shown any decency toward Verity, whether to acknowledge her talent or the fact she did look beautiful in her gown.

Verity greeted the elegant group graciously and thanked each for their pledge. James took pleasure in standing behind her, guarding her like a gargoyle to make certain no one slipped her an unkind remark outside of his hearing. He felt good about doing this. In fact, he enjoyed this moment more than he had enjoyed anything the entire year.

Burness grinned at him. So did Malvern and Brennan.

Once Verity had taken donation pledges from the unpleasant lot and they had moved on to drink themselves silly, James relaxed his stance and stepped to Verity’s side.

Malvern approached him and gave him a friendly pat on the back. “Claymore said we would like you. He was right. We hold an annual tea at St. Austell Grange, and it is next week. You are most welcome to join us. Verity will be there as well. It has become a tradition that she plays her harp while the guests arrive and walk about the grounds. But she will be free after the first hour to enjoy the tea. She is as much a guest as anyone else. The orchestra takes over afterward, and then the dancing starts.”

Malvern’s wife joined them. “You do not want to miss our affair. Mrs. Halsey bakes for days and days. Her cakes and sweet treats are not to be missed.”

James acknowledged their invitation. “I shall be delighted to join you.”

“Excellent,” the duchess said, and hurried past him to hug Verity. “You were amazing! We are so proud of you, and quite daunted by your talent. Of course, we always knew you were good, but to hear you in concert was a revelation.”

“Thank you, Hen.” Verity hugged her back.

James watched the exchange with a swell of pride. Duchess Hen’s sisters Phoebe and Chloe also gave the girl a hug. More important, Verity called them by their given names, a surprising familiarity that would be considered scandalous among the ton . But these three sisters accepted this informality as though it were something natural, which meant they accepted Verity as a friend. Well, she had that way about her. Did he not insist on the very same thing when asking her to call him James?

He had never cared a whit for the social rules, and he quickly realized those of the Upper Crust who settled in Moonstone Landing felt this same disdain.

There were only a handful of people left now, all friendly faces to Verity. The innkeeper ran up to her as the last of them were bidding her farewell. “You were magnificent, Verity!” He scooped her up in his arms and twirled her around.

She gave a merry shriek. “Thaddius, you clot! Put me down.”

“You showed them all!” He finally set her down, but they both remained laughing and tossed teasing jibes at each other. James supposed happy families did this with each other.

He had never once seen this happen in his family. What a miserable lot they had been.

He meant to leave quietly, but had just made it out of the dining hall when he heard soft footsteps behind him. He turned and was almost knocked off his feet when Verity threw her arms around his waist and hugged him fiercely. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. What you did for all of us was remarkably kind and generous.” She drew away and ran back into the dining room.

He watched her as she returned to her family.

She had to know he had done this for her. Only her.

His mermaid.

Dear heaven, what was happening to him?