Page 12 of Seven Days with her Duke (Hearts of Whitmores #3)

CHAPTER 12

E ntering White’s was like reuniting with an old friend. Dominic greeted the staff, many of them vaguely familiar, before finding himself accosted by equally old but familiar acquaintances.

Some might have even called them friends.

There was Kenneth Lyle, an old friend from Eton who had long since befriended Nicholas as well. Quirmore was present, and several more folks gentlemen. Most of them were already busy with games; although Dominic was invited to join them at their tables, he declined for a chance to first test his skills with the rapier in the topmost gymnasium.

He was drenched in sweat an hour later, but the accomplishment was worth it.

“Very well done,” proclaimed Monsieur Aubert. They tore off their epee masks before shaking hands. “Your skill has greatly refined itself.”

“And you’re as challenging as ever,” Dominic agreed.

Much of his time abroad had been spent in similar gymnasiums. Physical exertion was a promising habit in ignoring emotions and the rest of the world. He’d fenced, wrestled, raced, ridden, and enjoyed more activity over the last five years than he’d had most of his life.

Returning to London, he hadn’t realized how much he had come to rely on having a place to pour out the energy that often welled up inside of him. Morning rides and afternoon strolls were not sufficient. But this, he decided, would do. So long as Monsieur Aubert put up a good fight.

“You return here tomorrow,” the French master requested, “And I shall beat you then.”

“That’s hardly good sportsmanship,” Dominic teased.

“Neither was your win. Who is the master here?”

He chuckled. “You still manage a much finer blade than I, Aubert. Today, it was only luck. Who knows if it will be on my side tomorrow?”

Something a poor loser, the man gave a sharp nod. “Exactly. We must test your talents. Come back and we shall prove it.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” was all he was willing to offer. It was sufficient for the master who eagerly shook hands with him again before turning to energetically address Dominic’s faults to those who had lingered or paused to watch the match.

Up walked Quirmore with a short clap of his hands, a broad grin on his face. “I can hardly believe you beat the fellow. Aubert will never let it go, you know. By tomorrow, he’ll say you cheated and request a rematch.”

“Then I shall merely beat him again,” Dominic said cheerfully though he hardly knew if he could manage such a feat.

Twice he’d been called out for attempting maneuvers illegal within fencing. Other cities and fencers played by other rules, after all. And one could only practice so much form when challenging another that could very well seriously harm one of them. He liked the desperation of it where rules no longer existed. If he played that way, then Aubert certainly wouldn’t stand a chance. But his form and the proper techniques occasionally slowed him down, which Dominic had to be mindful about if fencing against a master.

As the two of them walked from the gymnasium, they talked more to catch up. Quirmore had not always been close or even in Dominic’s general friend group during his days of running hot around London, but they’d known one another at Eton. Quirmore was more of a serious fellow, but jolly, and always planning on some new plant or invention.

“It hardly seems London has changed,” Dominic commented once he had cleaned up and redressed, emerging to see Quirmore checking his curls in the mirror. He smirked. “Not even you.”

His friend rolled his eyes before turning away. “One must remain presentable. And worry not, there is always something happening in the city. You’ll hear it soon enough, I’m certain. Let us find ourselves a drink, shall we? I doubt you’ve heard about Lady Ruberts and Sir Farthington from last year.”

“Wasn’t she attempting a divorce?” Dominic enjoyed the gossip rags like any other society fellow, but they could be difficult to come across while traveling. His secretary would only write him so much superfluous news before returning to more important matters.

Soon, he was seated in a comfortable leather chair near broad windows looking into the cloud skies of London with a cigar in one hand and a drink in another. Dominic slouched slightly, relaxed. He didn’t care for the cigar but joined to be polite, preferring to mostly nurse a light drink in the early afternoon.

After Quirmore filled him in on Lady Ruberts’ scandalous affair with Sir Farthington that led to the latter man racing off to the new world, other gentlemen came to gather round and share stories in turn. Gossip was a favorite dish of theirs though Dominic knew no one would admit to such a thing. He listened, nodding along while his thoughts began to stray.

“Perhaps next season there will be more debutants with higher doweries and brighter smiles,” commented Quirmore when someone complained about their mother hassling them for heirs and children.

“I danced with Lady Grace just last week. A delightful young lady.”

“Lady Grace Wilmington? Say it isn’t so; the girl cannot stay quiet for even a moment. I thought she’d talk my ear right off.”

“What need you of your ears?” Dominic jested lightly. “They’re too large; I think you could do with just one.”

Light laughter abounded as the other man, a Lord Peter Hornstooth, reddened slightly. He managed a grin while darting his gaze about their party. Though it might have been something of a rude tease, Dominic couldn’t help himself. He’d seen Hornstooth several times in the company of Wilmington and that couldn’t be ignored.

“I suppose so, but I’d be better off with Lady Eleanor. The chit won’t say a word. Wouldn’t complain, methinks, as a wife, and I’d be left to do as I like. She’s a lady that could be shuttled off to a corner of England without a bother,” Peter said and snapped his fingers.

Red hot anger drenched him in a heartbeat. Dominic set his glass down hard on the table between them. “I beg your pardon?”

Everyone glanced between the two of them. The other gentleman sensed his joke had not gone over as expected, and stared at him. His mind, it appeared, was very slow.

“I… I beg your pardon?”

“No,” he corrected the man. “You don’t beg my pardon. You beg an apology for speaking ill of a good and fair lady. The Whitmore family is not to be mocked in my presence.”

Blinking rapidly, Peter struggled to smile through his gritted teeth. No one defended him so he spoke up at last, saying, “My apologies. I meant no harm to the Whitmore name. Especially not Lady Eleanor.”

Dominic realized he’d been glaring at the gentleman. His body was more tense than when he had fenced earlier. Glancing at his cigar, he saw it crushed it in his fist. So he set it aside and inhaled deeply to calm himself down.

Clearing his throat, Quirmore appeared to play the peacekeeper as he spoke lightly. “Enough serious talk. I believe it’s time for another game. Gentlemen? Hornstooth, lead the way, and we shall follow.”

The man nodded and eagerly took off, everyone trailing behind. Only Dominic and Quirmore stayed put.

“Thank you,” Dominic muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what has gotten into me of late.”

With a low chuckle, his friend gave a shake of his head. “Do you not? You made a fair point, Your Grace. I believe you need to reflect further on it, however. Every gentleman here and now in London shall take note that Lady Eleanor Whitmore has two dukes at her defense.” He continued as Dominic shot him a look. “With that, I believe she is untouchable.”

“Good.”

Except his friend tsked, raising an eyebrow. “Is it? I do mean untouchable in every capacity. The Duke of Ely is intimidating enough but you, too? A poor gentleman hardly knows what to expect. If you were hoping to help the young lady in regards to her suitors, as you claimed to me this morning on why you have been seen repeatedly in her presence, well…”

“What?”

“She is untouchable.”

Wanting to tell his friend that repeating himself would not be helpful, Dominic suddenly snapped his mouth shut. It came to him now. Quirmore made a point: he’d just snapped at half the eligible gentlemen in London, turning them away from even considering Eleanor.

His stomach twisted. No one would reach out for a suit, perhaps not even for a dance. It was one matter for Eleanor to be too shy to accept someone, but entirely another should no one step up for her hand. And it would be all his fault.

Most of the time, Dominic pictured Eleanor now as he saw her for the young lady she had grown into in his absence: short and soft with sharp eyes and a big smile. Gentle and respectable with a warm fire that lit her up from within, so she shined before them like a star in broad daylight.

Now, he could picture her at a ball. Standing in a corner. Dressed in her best clothing, looking scrumptious, wearing a hopeful smile on top of it all, and never be asking to dance. Her smile fading to confusion before her shoulders fell and she turned away, determined to never attend a ball again. Not a ball, not another social function. Soon, she would be a shadow on the wall of her brother’s home without a future of her own.

He felt ill.

“Blast it,” he muttered. “What have I done? That was not what I meant to do.”

“Isn’t it?” his friend asked innocently.

Dominic was short. “Certainly not! Why would I want to do such a thing?”

“I supposed it might be in your favor should no one else…?”

Jerking back, Dominic gave a quick shake of his head. He dismissed the idea before it could come into existence. He couldn’t bear it. That idea couldn’t live inside his mind. If it did, it would never come out. He could never escape it, escape her. And that wouldn’t be fair to anyone.

“Certainly not,” he repeated himself through gritted teeth. “Blast it, Quirmore. I must do something. Eleanor deserves… Lady Eleanor,” he amended at the raised eyebrow, “deserves better. A good suitor. I cannot have her empty-handed.”

It would be entirely his fault, which could not stand. Dominic knew he could ruin everything. He simply couldn’t ruin her, not Eleanor. She deserved better. Refusing to be a stain in her life, he ransacked his mind for ideas while he stared at Quirmore.

His friend waited with a cool, reserved expression on his heavy-lidded gaze. Silence settled between them. Dominic felt sweat on his brow begin to slide down his forehead.

“She has to marry.”

“Like any young lady, I’m sure she aspires to a good match.”

Dominic frowned. “Not just a good match. The right match. Eleanor deserves that much. Lady Eleanor,” he amended.

Fortunately, Quirmore ignored that. “And the right match for her would be…?”

“The devil should I know?” Expect as he looked at the man, it appeared that he was supposed to. Dominic rubbed his chin. He’d said as much to Eleanor that he would help her seek out a good suitor. Wasn’t that why he had been asked to help, a safe option her brother trusted? But Nicholas had to be mad. Dominic didn’t know what he was doing.

All I know is that I’m failing her and I don’t know how that happened. Or what I’m supposed to do to fix this this mess I just started.

“Perhaps you should rally the gentlemen together to stand before her in a line,” Quirmore suggested with a sly grin. “She can pick a gentleman out like she picks out her books.”

“You know she reads?”

“A quiet young lady preferring plants to dancing? The lady is a bluestocking. I do not mean that as an insult but a fact,” Quirmore noted when Dominic sent him a look. “My idea was only meant––”

He huffed and nodded. “Bring them together. I understand. That would be a fine idea. If there were a few decent fellows still unmatched who might appreciate someone as fine as Lady Eleanor… but a parade of bachelors is hardly likely to take place.” He snapped his fingers. “A house party.”

Draining his drink, Quirmore nodded. “That is a fine idea. You’ll need to find someone to host, and a larger property since you said everything is closed up, but…”

The man trailed off as Dominic rose to his feet with a smirk. It wasn’t hard to guess what was on his mind.

“Don’t you dare––”

“Your mother would love to host a house party. A short one with plenty of gentlemen and a few young ladies of good breeding,” Dominic went on cheerfully. “Weren’t you just telling me you should like to find yourself a wife?”

“No,” his friend groused. “My mother is the one wanting me to find a wife. I have no interest in the matter.”

Dominic crossed his arms and said, “But you could play the hopeful young lord willing to allow his mother to host a short house party. Hide in your study, Quirmore. You’ll know all the best places to hide while your mother entertains. We’ll bring Lady Eleanor, and I’ll round up the lads for her.”

“I don’t like this.”

And yet, within a matter of minutes, Dominic had convinced his good friend to set something into motion. He knew Quirmore’s mother from years ago on a holiday visit––once a house party was suggested, she would surely be sending out cards before the day was over.

“You owe me for this,” his friend said before leaving the club.

Be grateful, my good man, to have someone who cares that much about you. Though I do not envy the pressure of marriage.

Dominic chuckled and tipped his hat on his way out the door as well. His day at the club was going well enough, but the walls always began to close in on him eventually. Especially since he spotted Hornstooth still nearby. Not wanting to bother with the fellow, Dominic took his leave.

It wasn’t long before he was on his horse passing by Hyde Park. He would enjoy a short ride, he decided, before returning home to prepare for the evening. There was one party or another he was meant to join Eleanor on.

He stopped his horse short, the creature pawing at the ground in irritation. “Speak of the devil,” Dominic murmured.

Up ahead at the corner of the lane was Eleanor herself.

He took in the coral coloring of her day dress––not her best one, but still it was flattering. Everything was flattering on her––and the loose ribbons around her chin from her bonnet. Today she appeared as a soft wide-open rose nearly within his grasp.

Delightful as Eleanor was, however, he frowned at his discovery. What was she doing, riding about, and on her own?