Page 29 of The Lady Who Said No to the Duke

‘H ave you been listening to a word I have been saying, Thea?’

‘I am sorry, Mama. I was distracted.’ She took a sip of coffee and attempted to look alert and attentive.

Mama gestured irritably at a footman who hastened to remove her breakfast plate.

‘More toast, my lady?’

‘Thank you, no. You may leave us.’

Thea, who would have welcomed another slice of toast because she had no recollection of having eaten anything, waited patiently for whatever pronouncement required the absence of staff.

‘This afternoon is the Dowager Duchess of Langridge’s At Home.’

‘Yes, Mama?’ Thea vaguely recalled something unusual about the invitation. ‘Her new conservatory?’

‘Exactly. It is not so much a space for plants, one understands, as a gallery to display part of the late Duke’s collection of Classical statuary.’

‘Fascinating,’ Thea said, assuming that was what was required of her.

‘A dead bore,’ her mother retorted. ‘However, it is another excellent occasion to meet eligible gentlemen, and there will be more opportunity to converse in broad daylight with no music except perhaps a harpist, and no dancing. I think you will show to advantage in that new jonquil afternoon gown—a ray of sunshine against those cold marble statues,’ she added with an untypical burst of lyricism.

‘Now, all the people one would wish to see will be attending, given that it is Daphne Langridge and she is related to absolutely everyone who matters,’ Mama said complacently.

‘One can only hope that the weather is fine,’ Thea said, thinking that if it was pouring with rain it was going to be exceedingly gloomy in a conservatory and she had no confidence that she could manage to resemble a ray of sunshine under those circumstances.

‘It does sound as though it will be a pleasant change from evening entertainments,’ she added, attempting to sound positive.

Would Hal be there? She wasn’t sure whether she hoped so or not, but she was feeling an increasing urgency, as though her chances of happiness were slipping away from her faster and faster with every passing day.

She tried to tell herself that it was possible to recover from a broken heart, from not marrying the man you loved—people did it all the time, she was sure.

And she tried to convince herself that she could be happy with a man she liked but did not love.

After all, that was what she had thought after she had refused to marry Hal.

But now there was no such certainty. She liked Lord Porchester and she suspected he liked her well enough to make an offer. But was it fair to marry a man when one loved another, even if one had no intention of being anything but faithful to one’s husband?

She couldn’t live like this, she decided. It was impossible to answer any offer that was made to her until she knew Hal’s true feelings, and that was that, however embarrassing and potentially humiliating it might be if she blundered.

Today. This afternoon. If Hal was attending the At Home she would find some way to talk to him alone and somehow find a way of encouraging him to renew his proposal, but in a way which meant he could pretend not to have understood her if that was no longer what he wanted.

Quite how she was going to do that she was not at all sure: all she could hope for was that inspiration would strike when she saw him.

* * *

The Dowager Duchess, on being widowed, had not stood for any nonsense from her son, the new duke, about surrendering Langridge House on Grosvenor Square to him and his wife, a nervous young woman who had no chance whatsoever of standing up to her formidable mother-in-law.

With her son routed to a less imposing property in Bedford Square, the Dowager remained in possession of a substantial mansion with one of the largest gardens in the Square and had ordered the creation of a conservatory built, not only across the entire width of the back of the house, but also on two levels, with internal steps leading down to wings that stretched out along each side of the garden.

It was a magnificent piece of architecture, Thea had to admit, although it did little for the light levels in the ground-floor rooms at the rear.

The late Duke had been an avid collector, and his heir would still have a large collection to enjoy at Langridge Abbey, his country seat, despite his mother calmly removing at least seventy pieces for her own enjoyment.

It had all been arranged with great taste, the statuary placed with care in the main part of the structure, interspersed with seating groups to allow contemplation of the art and small groupings of palms and ferns.

The two garden wings had more plants, creating a series of glades, each with two or three statues and a marble bench.

Those looked chilly, despite the fact that the day was quite bright, so Thea soon wandered back up to the higher level and did her best to follow Mama’s instructions and look like a sunbeam while conversing with as many eligible young men as came her way.

Lord Porchester found her studying a nymph looking coyly over her shoulder at an approaching satyr.

‘He is very hairy, is he not?’ the Earl observed.

‘Very,’ Thea agreed. ‘And look at those cloven hooves. If I were her, I would be fleeing in the opposite direction, not batting my eyelashes at him.’

‘Might I hope you will not flee if I invite you to drive with me tomorrow afternoon?’ he said with a charming smile. ‘My head groom, who is a noted weather prophet, assures me this dry spell will continue for at least one more day.’

‘I would be delighted to.’ Agreeing to a drive was not undue encouragement, she considered, and they agreed a time, leaving the destination to be decided on the day.

It seemed natural after that to continue exploring with the Earl. The room was beginning to fill up now, becoming quite crowded, with most of the visitors remaining in the main room with its seating and refreshment tables.

Thea was beginning to feel the need for a cup of tea and was about to mention that when a footman approached with a folded note on a silver salver.

‘Lady Thea Campion?’

‘Yes?’

‘This note is for you, my lady.’

‘Thank you.’ She picked it up, puzzled. Her name was written in black ink in a masculine hand she did not recognise, and the note was fastened with red wax, but bore no seal impression.

‘Excuse me,’ she said to Lord Porchester and moved to a nearby seat to open it.

Meet me in the left-hand conservatory wing as soon as possible. I must speak with you.

It was signed simply L .

Thea sat and stared at it. L for Leamington ? It had to be. But why this secrecy? Or was it simply discretion and he wanted to talk to her, but did not want them to be seen going off into the depths of the conservatory together?

‘Is anything wrong, Lady Thea?’ That was Lord Porchester, and she realised that she must have been sitting staring at the note for at least a minute.

‘Wrong? Oh, no, my lord. Simply a reminder about something. But I really must go and find Mama in case she is ready to leave. Thank you for your company, and I very much enjoyed your observations on the works of art.’

That provoked a grin from him, which she was tempted to return, despite her preoccupation. His comments had been informed, but sometimes really quite wicked.

Thea waited until he had bowed and vanished back into the crowd, then rose and made her way to the entrance to the wing on the left side. It looked almost deserted, perhaps because it was now in shade and looked rather chilly and uninviting.

Thea trod down the steps and began to weave her way through the palms and statues, meeting no one. It was certainly a good choice for a private conversation, she thought, trying to ignore the butterflies flapping in her stomach.

There were double doors at the far end and still no sign of Hal. Surely he did not want to talk to her in the garden. It was far too damp and chilly to be standing around without outer garments.

She had almost reached the doors, noticing a last small sitting area to her right, when there was a rustle of foliage behind her.

Hal, at last .

Thea had just time to half turn towards the noise when a hand clamped over her mouth and an arm came around her, pulling her hard against a male body, and she was hustled through the outer doors that were being held open, she could have sworn, by Helena Linton.

But it was only a fleeting impression because she was too busy fighting whoever held her. She tried to bite the palm pressed against her lips, but it was held too tight. She kicked and stamped, but her thin kid indoor shoes made no impression.

Then a hand cuffed her hard against the side of her head, and as she was reeling, trying to keep her balance, the hand was replaced by a cloth gag, some kind of hood was pulled over her head, something—a cloak?—was swirled around her and strong arms scooped her up.

‘Keep still or I’ll hit you harder next time,’ a voice she had never heard before growled in her ear, and she stopped kicking. This was terrifying, but the idea of being unconscious in this man’s power was even worse.

Thea made herself go limp and heavy, as though she had fainted, and tried to work out where they were, where they were going. There was a sound like a heavy gate closing, then the smell of horses penetrated the hood. Had she been taken out of a rear entrance into the mews?

Then there was the unmistakeable sound of carriage wheels and hooves on stone and she was lifted up and deposited on what must be a carriage seat.

Thea sat up, scrambled as best she could towards where the other door must be, and was caught around the waist, hauled back and slammed down on the seat again.

The carriage lurched into motion as a big hand lifted her skirts. Thea bucked frantically, but the man moved no higher than her ankles, tying them together with something that felt like cloth. A handkerchief, perhaps.