Chapter 3
Dermont
“What’s got you pacing your own study like a lion in a cage?” Frederick thumbed the books on the duke’s shelves.
“She’s lucky you didn’t show up a few minutes ago,” Dermont muttered to himself. “I’m lucky you didn’t show up a few minutes ago.”
“You’re going to pull all your hair out, man. Take a seat.” Sinking into a plush armchair, Frederick gestured for Dermont to do the same. “On second thought, keep yanking it out. It couldn’t hurt to take you down a few pegs.”
The acerbic tone matched Dermont’s sharp descent into a seat across from his friend. “What are you even doing here, Frederick?”
“What I always do. Here to chat business.” But he waved his hand in the air, as if to clear the smoke. “But the idea of discussing business bores me. Tell me what just happened?”
“I would if I could…That chit is always smiles and rainbows and silly little games. It’s enough to drive me to drink.
” He searched the room for just that. “I only know that she wants to paint my portrait.” He felt like an idiot admitting that aloud, that a friend had crashed into his study trying to collect on a favor, and that favor was a request to paint his portrait.
“How very mysterious,” Frederick drawled with an almost whimsical tone.
Beyond restless, Dermont hopped back to his feet and resumed his pacing.
This was not normal. He knew Honoria. Had seen her plenty.
But to have her explode into his study demanding that he fulfill a debt to her was preposterous.
Unthinkable. He was not one to be commanded about.
He was one to command. If anything, she owed him.
For what? It didn’t matter, he was the duke in this situation.
How dare she come in here, leading with her bosom no less, and try to distract him into a favor.
It shouldn’t bother him. It really shouldn’t.
He blamed the papers on his desk. Letters, gossip sheets and more.
All reporting Phoebe’s eccentricities and how she couldn’t be taken out in public. The ton had cast her aside as a pariah.
“You seem perturbed—”
“I’m not.”
“Vexed, perhaps—”
“I’m fine.”
“A smidge miffed? Ruffled? Snippy?” Frederick slapped his palm against his thigh. “Yes. Snippy. That’s the one. How strange. I haven’t seen you this way since…you were mocked at school for being lefthanded.”
“Will you shut up?”
“Probably not.” Without a care in the world, Frederick tapped his knee. “Who was it that was just here?”
“Honoria. I’m surprised she didn’t push her way back in for a third time, taking down the door with her. Though the way she tied those ropes indicates a decided lack of strength—”
“Ropes?” Frederick’s eyes darted around, landing on the pile around his chair.
“Yes. Never mind those.” Dermont went on, “For a moment I thought I was going to have a real problem on my hands.”
“A woman alone in your study in the middle of the day? With ropes, no less. How rakish of you—”
“She wanted a favor—not like that.” Dermont’s scoff combined with a derisive scowl ensured Frederick stifled his laugh.
“At least, I don’t think like that.” He winced at the thought, unsure if the instinctual reaction was more a reflection of his appallment at her audacity or the troubling sensation of curiosity at her potential request.
“She must have snuck away from the parlor to submit her request,” Frederick mused.
“Who’s in the parlor?”
“All eight Harrington sisters, from the sounds of it. Though I didn’t count. Along with a screeching Phoebe.”
His body stiffened into a rod of steel thinking something was wrong with his sister. “What happened?”
“She’s fine. With all the commotion I had to peek in, but I wasn’t going to throw myself into that melee.”
“Why was she screeching?”
“You know your sister, Dermont. Prone to theatrics. As far as I could see, tea had been spilled.”
“That’s it?”
“Can’t say with absolute certainty…but the majority of the room appeared intact.”
“That girl is going to be the death of me.”
“What are you going to do about it? She’s twentyfour. Doesn’t she want to marry?”
“Of course she does, but no man will put up with her…peculiarities.”
“Ah…yes.” Frederick resumed the drumming of his fingers. “Perhaps she needs more feminine guidance.”
Despite his devil may care attitude, Frederick was an intelligent man, quite insightful in fact, hence their friendship.
The idea of having a woman impart wisdom upon Phoebe was not a new idea.
They’d tried—and failed several times before.
Each time Phoebe balked at the social censure and restrictions, enough to spurn the good soul attempting to help her find her place in society.
“You don’t recall all the previous attempts at that? ”
A bark of laughter split the air. “First of all,” Frederick counted on his finger, “are those mothers really the role models that will work for Phoebe?”
“You might have a point there.”
“Of course I do. I know those women. Better than most,” he tagged on with a smirk.
“I suppose you have someone in mind who would be up to the task?”
“I just might…”
Dermont crossed his arms, tapping his fingers on his bicep. “Are you planning to share this information?”
“In due time, good sir.”
“I’m not sure I should trust you.”
“Nor am I. But I’m all you’ve got if you want Phoebe to realize any margins of success this season.”
Over the years, Frederick had machinations of all kinds, including sneaking piglets into their classroom, racing phaetons at breakneck speed through Hyde Park, and swimming in nature’s garb in the middle of the night.
None of these schemes screamed of credibility in their capacity to train a lady in the ways of society.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Frederick stood abruptly.
Seemed harmless enough of a suggestion. Some air might do them all good after…whatever had just happened.
Only time would tell. And it turned out that time would tell sooner than he had expected.