Page 20 of The Lady Who Said No to the Duke

The Admiral, ancient though he might be, had forgotten none of the salty quarterdeck curses of his naval career. Ladies were clapping their hands over their ears and gentlemen were grinning.

Hal helped the old man off to a chair, apologising loudly enough for his carelessness to drown out the worst of the lively language.

‘You are acquainted with the Duke, Lady Thea?’ It was one of the Misses Chelmsford. Goodness knew which one. Her eyes were full of curiosity, although her interest seemed perfectly friendly.

‘We share a godmother,’ Thea said lightly. ‘I don’t know about you, but I have far too many godmothers and fathers. I suppose it is inevitable that we find ourselves sharing them with acquaintances on occasion.’

‘Leamington is surprisingly clumsy,’ Lord Cheney remarked on her other side. ‘Doubtless he was confounded by your lovely golden eyes, Lady Thea.’

‘Oh, I do hope not, Lord Cheney.’ Golden eyes?

How much sugar did the idiot think she would swallow?

‘How disappointing that the only impression I make on a gentleman is such as to make him recoil and flatten ancient admirals! I would much prefer to have them inspired to send me bouquets, or write poetry.’

Everyone laughed, and she reassured herself that she had defused the situation nicely by making a joke, and a rather flirtatious one at that, rather than attempting to pretend she had never met Hal before.

The slightest hint of evasion or defensiveness would alert the hunting instincts of the scandalmongers.

Not that anyone would believe for a moment that she would turn down an offer from a duke. Far more likely was that they would assume that she was angling for him unsuccessfully and that he was the one who had done the refusing. And how humiliating would that be?

She skirted the Duke, who was standing by the still-complaining Admiral, met his gaze and offered a completely false smile of sympathy before continuing to circle the room.

Footmen began to move through the crowd, ringing little hand bells as they went. The performance would be starting soon and the audience began to make their way to the seats.

* * *

Hal straightened up from the Admiral with relief, his ears still ringing with an inventive collection of nautical expressions.

‘I don’t believe my toe is broken after all,’ the old man announced, seizing Hal’s arm to pull himself to his feet. ‘You can help me find a seat, young man. Near the front so I can hear what they’re playing.’

‘Yes, sir.’ As they proceeded at a shuffle towards the audience seating Hal scanned the rows for Thea. He had no wish to embarrass her by appearing to seek her out, especially after that collision and the attention it had attracted, but he did want to stay close.

It would be a long game, the one he was playing, and he dare not rush it. He had seriously misjudged his actions with Thea, perhaps irreparably, although he very much hoped not.

For years he had not given her a thought, then, meeting her at their godmother’s house it had seemed only sensible not to admit to who he really was until she had recovered from her shock at discovering what her parents intended.

His judgement had been very wrong, and so had Godmama’s. Thea, it seemed, placed a high value on honesty and what he had told himself was simply a slight evasion appeared to her to be outright lying and deception.

Persuading Thea to marry him was going to take a great deal of work on his part and forgiveness on hers, but he was determined that he would make it happen. Somehow. He liked her, he desired her, he respected her and he found that the liking was the overriding emotion.

‘I left my ear trumpet somewhere. With my cloak, I expect,’ the Admiral announced as Hal lowered him cautiously onto one of the fragile gilt-painted chairs. ‘Fetch it, would you, my boy.’

It was an order and Hal caught the eye of a footman who was clearly scandalised at the thought of a duke being ordered around like a valet.

‘I’ll fetch it, Your Grace,’ the man said, and hurried off.

* * *

‘Your Grace?’ the old man echoed. ‘Who are you, then?’

‘Leamington, Admiral.’

‘Good gad and so you are. Spitting image of your grandsire. I remember—’

The footman appeared with the ear trumpet to interrupt a thoroughly embarrassing anecdote about his grandfather and a certain actress and Hal was able to slip away, restraining himself with an effort from mopping his brow.

Almost all the seats were taken except three next to each other in front of where Thea was sitting between two identical brunettes. Twins, Hal realised after a startled moment when he wondered if fretting over Thea was turning his brain and he was seeing things.

With murmured apologies he worked his way along to the first vacant chair and sat down. He was in front of one brunette and, if he turned his head just a little to the left, as though scanning the empty dais, he could see Thea out of the corner of his eye.

Her expression was not encouraging. Did she think he had deliberately placed himself in front of her? Did she believe he had engineered that collision just now?

Hal twisted in his seat and smiled at the twin behind him. ‘I hope I am not obstructing your view, ma’am. Assisting the Admiral left the choice of seats somewhat restricted.’ He kept his attention firmly on her face.

She blushed prettily. ‘Not at all, Your Grace. I can see perfectly well, thank you.’

‘Forgive me for addressing you without an introduction. Perhaps Lady Thea would be kind enough to make us known to each other.’

‘Of course.’ He knew Thea well enough now to recognise irritation behind the sweet tone. ‘Miss Antonia, the Duke of Leamington. Duke, Miss Antonia Chelmsford. And on my other side—’

Both twins laughed. ‘We have confused you again,’ the nearest one said. ‘I am the elder by five minutes, so I am Miss Chelmsford. Clara. This is my sister, Antonia. But we answer to both names, you know, Your Grace, we have had to learn to.’

Hal stood up and turned to shake hands.

‘I believe they are about to start,’ Thea said repressively.

With a smile for his two new acquaintances, Hal sat down and fixed his attention on the stage. The back of his neck prickled. Was Thea fixing her gaze on him, radiating disapproval, or was he simply fantasying, imagining an interest in himself that she simply did not have?

Instinct told him that her reaction to the discovery of his identity meant that she had stronger feelings for him than she was prepared to admit, but perhaps that too was wishful thinking.

Hal settled as comfortably as a long-legged man could on the spindly little chairs and turned his attention on the dais, where Lady Beale was leading out the Italian contralto to enthusiastic applause.

He had heard the singer before, in Vienna, and knew they were due to be royally entertained.

Even so, the short hairs on his nape still prickled: it was not easy to forget the close proximity of Lady Thea Campion.

The music was sublime and Hal let himself drift away with it, his eyes unfocused on the wall behind the pianoforte.

The first songs were romantic, heartfelt, and he felt again that sensation he had experienced when he had leaned out of the tower, looked down the dizzying space to see Thea’s upturned face. Heartfelt…heartache?

What was the matter with him? He had found the woman who would make him an ideal duchess, he had taken a liking to her and he had managed to give her a dislike of him.

That was something that could only be rectified by careful planning, strategy and patience.

He must show Thea that she could trust him and then he could begin to build on that tentative friendship that had formed before she knew who he was. And after that—

The applause roused him from his reverie and the pianoforte player struck a rousing chord, the music sweeping into something that sounded Middle European, exciting, rhythmic.

He had a sudden mental picture of Thea in his arms, dancing to this music, sweeping around the floor, her cheeks rosy with exhilaration, those lovely eyes laughing and excited.

Dancing. That he had not included in his half-formed plans, but he would now. Surely Thea would love to dance? He knew he wanted to dance with her.

He would open up Leamington House, throw a ball, create a stage for Thea to shine on.

Could he do that even though he was in mourning?

He had respected and admired his father and had been sincerely sorry to have lost him comparatively young, but he could not feel that cutting himself off socially for a year was necessary to show respect.

Certainly nobody seemed shocked to see him here.

Yes, he would hold his ball. There would be waltzes and he would make certain that Thea danced two of them with him. And he had another idea, nothing to do with dancefloors, as the singer changed tempo again and began to sing of roses, moonlight and nightingales.

There was a great deal to plan and he could not put off employing a new secretary any longer.