The Duke’s Promise to Her Child (Daughters of the Ton #5)

Chapter 1

GIDEON

“Apleasure to see you this night, I am honored you chose our humble ball for the first official outing after your elevation,” a young woman said. She flirtatiously placed her hand on his shoulder. This was, of course, inappropriate, but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the attention.

“Well, good evening to you, Lady Sandringham,” he said. She walked past him toward a scowling man whom he knew to be Lord Sandringham, her disapproving, silver-haired husband. Gideon swiftly made his way into the ballroom, not wanting to risk running afoul of the old lord.

In the ballroom, he paused and smiled. This was indeed not only his first ball of the season, but his first as Duke. Who would have thought? He, Gideon Blackwell, would end up a duke. His fortunes surely had taken some odd twists and turns over the past few years.

This specific turn had come courtesy of his ill-fated northern cousin Howard, the former Duke of Blackthorne, whose poor handling of a curricle during what could only be described as a deeply inadvisable race, had seen him dispatched from this world with considerable efficiency.

As he’d been unmarried and without heir, Gideon had suddenly found himself elevated from mere viscount, a title he’d just acquired following his own father’s death, to duke.

He still could scarcely believe it. Six months a Viscount, and now a Duke. The universe certainly had a peculiar sense of humor

“Your Grace,” a woman said at his side, and he turned. He recognized her at once. Lady Clara Hampshire — a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, porcelain-skinned beauty who beamed at him with all the warmth of a drawing room fire. She was the daughter of the Earl of Ballistite.

“How singular to be calling you Your Grace, Gideon. Is it all right if I still call you Gideon?” she said, and stepped back with a small curtsy.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied, offering his arm. “You may call me anything you wish. So long as you can direct me toward something other than ratafia to drink. I am not in the least in the mood for it.”

“But of course,” she said. “Come, this way.” Together they made their way through the throng of people, many of whom turned to dip their heads or curtsy. Some whispered, however.

“What a lucky devil he is.”

“I should be so fortunate,” another man replied. “Duke of Blackthorne? Not only has he come into the title, but such a vast estate besides and he was well-heeled already beforehand.”

“I’ll say,” the first man agreed.

Gideon grinned. “I see I am on dit.”

“Indeed, you are,” she said. “The town has spoken of little else. It is always such a diversion when a young new Duke, particularly one who cuts such a dash, enters society. Especially when he remains unattached. The ladies will not suffer that state of affairs for long, I assure you. If they have their way, you shall be leg-shackled again before Michaelmas.”

“Oh yes,” he said, “I had quite a few ladies set their caps at me up north. And I knew full well I should have no chance of escaping such machinations down here.”

The young woman laughed. “No. Not at all — it is far worse here, I dare say.”

They had stopped before the refreshment room and stepped inside. She poured two glasses of whisky, rather more than the two fingers that were standard, and handed him one.

“Let us take a few sips before we return,” she said. “Now, how was it… Durham, was it not, where your estate is situated?”

“Indeed,” he said.

“Durham,” she repeated, as though tasting the word.

“No, not at all familiar to me.” She took a generous sip and shuddered.

“That goes down like lamp oil, does it not?” She smiled.

“Anyhow. No, I do not know the area. I am passingly acquainted with Northumberland; we ride through there on occasion when visiting my brother in Scotland.”

“Ah yes, your brother, how does he fare?”

“You do not truly care, do you?” She tilted her head to one side and flashed him a smile that sent a distinct warmth through him.

He and Lady Clara were very familiar with one another, though not intimately.

Not that he hadn’t been interested, but she was the sort of lady who valued her virtue more than a moment’s pleasure, and he wasn’t the kind who’d disrespect that.

They had, however, spent a rather glorious weekend together some twelve months past in Edinburgh.

A few kisses had been exchanged but most of the weekend had been filled dancing their way through assorted ballrooms and taking place in a hunt they weren’t even invited to.

They’d each been escaping from reality. Her from a broken courtship, he from… well. Everything.

He had not seen her since, but that did not mean he would not be agreeable to renewing the acquaintance.

“I see that look in your eyes,” she said. “Do not get any ideas. I am engaged now.”

“Engaged!” He clutched his chest as though felled by the news. “You cannot be serious. What a tragedy for all of mankind. And especially for me.”

Her laugh filled the small room around them.

“Oh, Gideon. You are as incorrigible as you ever were and just as charming for it. If my Benjamin were not equally so, I might be persuaded to reconsider. But I digress.” She arched a brow.

“So, what brings you back to London? Are you in the market for a wife? Because I could name a few ladies whose caps might be well worth having set upon you.”

“Not just yet,” he said. “I find myself in no great hurry. I have only just arrived in London, after all. And besides you of all people will appreciate that my last venture in that direction did not end especially well. You helped me recover my spirits, after all.”

“I do recall indeed.”

Before they could venture further in this direction, a heavy footfall came down the hall and he looked up to find an all too familiar face looking at him.

“Gideon. Why did you not tell me you would be here tonight?”

“James,” he said and shook his friend’s hand. “I did not know Frances lets you out on your own anymore. Or is she here?”

His friend shook his head. “She is busy with her cousins, arranging some social event or other.”

“I should leave the two of you be,” Lady Clara said and curtsied before slipping out of the room, but not before winking at Gideon one last time.

“James,” he said, shaking his head, “look what you have done. I was in the midst of a conversation with that beautiful young lady, and you have gone and chased her away.”

“A young lady who is engaged to be married,” James reminded him.

Gideon waved his hand. “Semantics. We were having a lovely conversation.”

“Oh, Gideon.” James sighed. “I had hoped that becoming a Duke might have changed things somewhat.”

“Why in the world would it? I never asked to be a Duke, and I will most certainly not let it change me. I am who I am. The same delightful rogue you have always known.” To his surprise, his friend did not smile or chuckle. Instead, he narrowed his eyes.

“I was under the impression that you understood what it meant to be a Duke.”

“Apparently what it takes to become one,” Gideon replied, “is having a cousin thrice removed who does not know how to navigate a curricle during an illegal curricle race, and who thus dispatches himself into whatever world comes after this one. That is all that is required.”

“To become one,” James said, “but to be a respected one — one who can forge alliances in the House of Lords and effect change in society—”

He raised his hands. “You speak as though I wish to effect changes upon society. I merely wish to exist within it. That is all.”

“Well, I had hoped that you might be open to aligning yourself with myself and the others.”

“The Langley husbands,” he said, and chuckled.

“I do not mean any offence to your lovely wife or her cousins, but I have no great desire to become known as one of the Langley husbands. I would rather remain myself. Of course, I will happily align with you if I feel strongly about a particular matter.”

Over the last few years, a small group of influential young gentlemen had formed, two of whom — James and Rhys — Gideon counted among his closest friends. They were an assortment of Dukes, Marquesses and Earls, and had formed a formidable alliance in the House of Lords.

Together they had affected genuine and positive change for society; Gideon could not deny that.

He had not been part of it before, for the simple reason that a Viscount’s son had no seat in the Lords.

Even after his father passed away last winter and he had inherited the Viscountcy, he had barely had time to take his seat before the news came about Howard’s accident and everything changed.

The quartet of gentlemen had been affectionately dubbed the Langley husbands in the scandal sheets, for they were each married to a member of the aristocratic Langley family.

He adored all four of them. They often had great fun together at Vauxhall Gardens or down at Tattersall’s, but he had never seriously entertained the notion of joining their ranks.

It was an idea, certainly. Yet he wasn’t willing to make that sort of commitment — not here, standing in the refreshment room of yet another ballroom.

“Gideon,” James said. “I truly thought you had settled down. Did you not tell me yourself that you were a changed man when you found yourself in love with Miss Cassandra?”

Gideon’s jaw tightened at once. “I was foolish,” he said. “I thought myself in love and fully capable of change. And I was willing to change — God help me, I was. I married her after all.” He paused, letting that land.

“What I was not willing to do was pretend that a marriage was something other than what it was once it became plain that she did not feel the same. We parted ways. The marriage was dissolved.” He said it flatly, without elaboration. It was old ground and he had no desire to dig it up again.