Chapter Six
o
“The duke had me followed. And I am convinced his minions were armed.” The drive he’d taken with Miss Lancaster the day before remained uncomfortably fresh in his mind. “Those are not the actions of a gentleman who invited another to call on his sister-in-law, let alone court her.”
Father sipped at his favorite sherry, not appearing terribly concerned. “One must bear in mind His Grace’s reputation.”
“He threatened to eat my liver.”
“No one would actually eat another person’s organs,” Father said.
James couldn’t be so certain. He sank back in his chair. He hadn’t been enamored of this plan when Father had first presented it, and his discomfort had only grown. “You are certain His Grace wished for me to befriend Miss Lancaster?”
Father nodded, setting aside his half-emptied glass. “He was quite specific.”
That pulled the foundation out from under one of James’s theories regarding the duke’s behavior. Why, then, had he been made to feel so unwelcome? He was not so foolish as to need further proof he ought not return.
“I’ve called on Miss Lancaster and taken her for a ride in the park.
I made introductions to every person we passed of whom I thought the duchess wouldn’t disapprove.
Miss Lancaster will know a great many people when she next ventures out in Society.
Surely that satisfies my obligation.” Simply saying as much out loud proved calming, reassuring.
“I trust you are not so thickheaded as that,” Father said.
Their previous conversation had been blessedly thinner on insults than usual.
Today’s interaction seemed likely to run closer to normal.
“A gentleman would do what you have even for a lady he had little interest in,” Father said.
“You are supposed to be giving the impression she is an enjoyable companion, someone of whom Society ought to take notice.” He shook his head, brow creased in thought.
“Deserting the field now would only add weight to the arguments against her social desirability.”
James rubbed at the ache pounding in his temples. “I didn’t realize I was volunteering to single-handedly make her debut a success.”
“Single-handedly?” Father raised his glass to his lips once more, shooting James a quizzical look.
“Both times I called at Falstone House, no one else was there. Not a single soul beyond the family and staff.” James hadn’t yet made sense of that. “Honestly, I had expected a crowd of people all enlisted in the cause.”
“His Grace was quite specific regarding when you were to call that first time,” Father said after a long moment’s silence. “I am certain he did the same with the other young people so as to keep a constant flow of visitors coming into the house.”
“But if the point is to show the ton that Miss Lancaster is enjoying immediate success, what would be the point of visitors no one else sees? I doubt anyone beyond the staff knew of my arrival there on either occasion.”
Father huffed. “Sometimes I despair of you ever becoming a gentleman of sense.”
Yes. Here was the Father to whom James was accustomed. The coconspirator role had been rather ill-fitting from the beginning.
“How do you think word of anything gets around Town, Tilburn? Servants spread news more reliably than the Times.”
James didn’t know if it was his father’s criticism pricking at his pride or his own unease over their current endeavor that propelled him to argue with Father’s logic. “I can’t picture the Falstone staff gossiping. The duke would likely cut their tongues out if he caught them at it.”
“It is not the servants you should be concerned with,” Father said. “The duke will not take kindly to you breaking your agreement with him.”
“Your agreement.” James was not the one who had started this ordeal.
“To which you are now party.”
I am, indeed. His participation in the charade was as good as agreement to Father and His Grace’s scheme. He had rather committed himself to continue.
Father tipped back the last drop of sherry in his glass. “What do you plan to do next?”
James wasn’t at all sure. “Calling on her again in her home might be easily misinterpreted as a sign of serious intentions.”
Father didn’t look overly worried, nor did he seem eager to offer advice.
James searched his mind for some idea of his next step. “I have heard that the family is planning to attend the theater tomorrow evening. I thought I would look in at their box during the first intermission.”
Father nodded his approval. “Public enough to help the girl out but commonplace enough to not commit yourself.”
And early enough I can do my duty and be off before it grows too late.
He meant to spend the evening with a few political chums and a handful of gentlemen he’d known at school.
A night spent at his club with friends certainly sounded more pleasant than an evening watching the duke formulate new and creative ways to kill him.
q
James approached the Kielder theater box the next night to find something of a crowd.
At last. The handful of the others His Grace had cajoled into acting as a friend to Miss Lancaster were finally making an appearance. They had not, however, actually entered the box. Odd, that.
Mr. Hartford, a gentleman near James’s age, with whom he had a passing acquaintance, both having been at Oxford at the same time, stood at the back of the pack.
“Is there a reason we are all gathered out here?” James asked.
Mr. Hartford fussed with his gloves. “Because going in the box no longer seems like a wise thing to do.”
“Why is that?”
“Mr. Bartram went in first, and His Grace instructed the usher to throw him out.”
James didn’t envy Mr. Bartram that experience. “That was likely a bit embarrassing.”
“You misunderstand. Mr. Bartram was not to be asked to leave; he was to be thrown out. Literally thrown. Off the balcony.”
Miss Artemis Lancaster’s earlier warning rang in his ears. The duke is not being dramatic when he makes these threats. And yet James doubted even the Duke of Kielder would throw a man to his death.
“I will assume Mr. Bartram left on his own.”
Hartford nodded, even as he tugged at his cravat. “Now nobody knows quite what to do. If anyone dares step inside, we might find ourselves in broken heaps on the floor below.”
“Then why not leave?”
“Mrs. Bower pointed out that coming this far and not making an appearance might be seen by His Grace as a slight to Miss Lancaster, and that could be disastrous as well.”
Perhaps the necessity of enlisting James’s aid in Miss Lancaster’s Season had, in reality, been less about the young lady’s social struggles as it was about His Grace’s tendency to send any potential friends or suitors fleeing in fear for their lives.
James was not, however, in a position to make a very welcome run for the hills. He’d committed himself, and His Grace knew it.
He wove his way through the gathering of quaking individuals all the way to the door of the box and, to the obvious astonishment of those onlookers, stepped inside.
“Good evening, Your Grace, Your Grace.” He made the appropriate bows and received the expected responses. “I saw your family was in attendance tonight and thought I would drop in.”
“We are so pleased you did, Lord Tilburn,” the duchess said with her usual grace.
“No, we’re not,” the duke said with his usual testiness.
James allowed his gaze to drift to Miss Lancaster.
He knew the moment she realized he was watching her.
Color stole over her cheeks—not the practiced blushing so many young ladies in Society had perfected but the fiery, spotty color of one truly embarrassed by something.
Despite his continued discomfort at being cajoled into pretending a friendship with her, James couldn’t help feeling bad for putting her to the blush.
He offered a smile and an inclination of his head. She only blushed more deeply. To her credit, she didn’t turn and hide nor melt into a heap of embarrassment. She kept her place and offered a “Good evening.”
“And a good evening to you.”
The duke shot them all a look of unfettered annoyance. “I believe we have thoroughly established that the evening is a good one. Let us move past the polite posturing and on to the meaningless conversation.”
Miss Lancaster’s color heightened significantly.
It seemed the poor young lady needed rescuing from her brother-in-law as well as Society.
James could certainly do that much. Father regularly intimidated Mother into fitful fretting.
And Bennett was forever being tormented by their father as well.
James had often been thrown into the role of rescuing knight.
He was convinced he spent more time fixing his family’s various problems than he spent eating or sleeping.
He stepped past the duke and duchess and made his way to Miss Lancaster’s side.
“How have you enjoyed the opera?” She spoke quietly without looking up at him.
James opted to act as though she were entirely at ease with him, the ideal person with whom to have an unexceptional chat.
That was his part, after all. “I confess the performers themselves seem a bit bored with the show, which makes it that much harder for the audience to not be, especially those of us who have no idea what any of them are saying.”
“Do you mean to tell me you aren’t proficient in Italian?” Her tone was light, with no hint of criticism.
“I don’t even know enough to be considered dismal at the language,” James said.
The tiniest hint of a smile touched her face. James didn’t think he’d ever seen her truly smile. The realization made him worry. Was she mistreated, punished for her social disappointments? He hoped not. He sat in the vacant chair next to hers.