Chapter 9
“Ah, there you are, Allegra.”
Allegra looked up to see Julian advancing toward her.
Even though he was in the countryside, he was still impeccably dressed.
She’d taken refuge in the walled garden and was enjoying her solitary state.
Pippin and Jester, who had taken to each other immediately, frolicked at her feet as she searched out the best blooms from the flowers grown specifically for the house.
“Julian.”
She offered him a warm smile. His family estate shared a boundary with theirs, so she’d known him all her life and considered him a good friend.
In her opinion, he should have married Carenza years ago.
Instead, he’d introduced Carenza to his best friend, who was not a good man.
Carenza had suffered through a humiliating marriage littered with affairs, gambling, and ultimately her husband’s self-inflicted death.
Allegra was thrilled that, despite all the scandal, her sister and Julian had found their way back to each other and were now married despite the horror of polite society. Allegra had missed the wedding, which was upsetting, but she had been off on an adventure of her own.
“He’s a nice-looking chap,” Julian said. “I can understand why you were drawn to him.”
“Who is?” Allegra immediately blushed.
“Pippin.” Julian studied her with some amusement. “Who else did you think I was talking about?”
“In truth, I had no idea.” Allegra laid the rose in her basket and brushed off a couple of loose petals. “Pippin is lovely. I found him tangled up in a boundary hedge. It took me quite a while to set him free.”
“When was that?” Julian bent to pet the dog.
“At, at …” Allegra stuttered. “The inn.”
Julian met her gaze. “You really are the most terrible liar.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I believe you said that you arrived at the inn and immediately succumbed to a fever and took to your bed.”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Allegra made herself hold his gaze. “I met Pippin on the last day when I was waiting for the horse to be readied in the gig for me to leave.”
“Allegra,” Julian said. “I understand that you don’t want to worry your family, but is there anything I should know about—that I can help you with?”
“That is very kind of you, sir, but I can’t think of a single thing.” Allegra turned back to the rose bush. She was certain the color of her cheeks matched the blooms. “I am simply glad to be home.”
“I’m not trying to pry. I just want you to know that I am an ally, and I am here if you need me.”
“Thank you.” Allegra didn’t turn around. “It is much appreciated, although completely unnecessary.”
He continued his walk and exited the walled garden into the wilderness beyond.
Allegra let out her breath. Julian was astute and knew her well.
If anything did occur of a difficult nature, she would certainly call on him for help.
Not that anything would go wrong. All she had to do was stay home, never go to London, never entertain thoughts of marriage, and everything would be fine.
Max made an effort to look presentable and arrived at his father’s townhouse on the dot of eleven.
The family butler opened the door and ushered him straight into the library, where he was greeted by his father’s secretary, Stephen Longfellow.
He stood as Max came in and smiled somewhat condescendingly.
He’d been employed by the duke for as long as Max could remember and had often been delegated to extricate Max from whatever predicament he’d fallen into.
“Good morning, my lord. His grace will be with you shortly.”
“Good morning,” Max replied. “What kind of mood is the duke in today?”
“I couldn’t comment on that, my lord. It wouldn’t be my place.”
“Such an excellent keeper of secrets,” Max said. “The duke is a very lucky man.”
“I do my best to protect his interests.” Stephen rearranged several papers on the duke’s desk. “I am loathe to lose such an excellent position.”
The door opened, and the duke came in. “You may leave,” he told his secretary.
Stephen nodded and went out after wishing Max a good day.
The duke sat at his desk and looked up at Max. “I informed you that I would be in London on certain dates and expected to see you.” His father studied one of the letters on his desk. He bore little resemblance to Max who had inherited his mother’s famed beauty.
“Yes, you did.” Max said.
“Then why weren’t you in town?”
“I was involved in a carriage accident in Suffolk, sir. It took me a few days to sort everything out and return to London.”
“You’ve wrecked your carriage?”
“A wheel came off in a ditch. I was thrown out of the vehicle.”
The duke finally looked up at him. “Out of it? I assumed you were driving.”
“Not on this occasion, sir.” Max considered what to say. “I was the object of a foolish prank, which got out of hand and resulted in damage to the carriage. I have told the person responsible that he is liable for all the repairs, and that I will expect him to pay for them.”
“Seeing as your friends are as irresponsible as you are, I’m sure that whoever it is will immediately agree to your demands.”
“I hope so; otherwise, I will be seeking your advice about how to take him to court.”
The duke went still.
Max decided to continue. “I must admit that I have grown rather tired of some of the antics of my particular friends. Sometimes they act like children.” Max held the duke’s gaze. “I feel that I am of an age where I need more to occupy my life.”
The duke sat back, his expression unreadable. “Do you, now.”
“I was wondering whether there is anything I can do to assist you with the estate,” Max blundered on.
“Such as?”
“You tell me. I am supposed to be your heir. Surely, I should know something about what I’m going to inherit.”
There was a long silence while the duke considered him. “You almost sound sincere.”
“I am. I know that you have many years ahead of you, but there must be something I can do?”
“I can’t decide whether this offer is genuine, or whether you have made such a mess of things that you are desperate for my approval.”
“Maybe it’s both,” Max suggested.
“I’ll think about it,” the duke finally said. “In the meantime, I wish you to be here for dinner every night to help me entertain my guests. If you are sincere in your claims, I’ll expect you to attend and behave with the utmost discretion and decorum.”
“What time would you like me to arrive?” Max asked.
“Six in the evening will be fine.” The duke looked down at the papers on his desk. “I’ll wish you a good day.”
Max bowed and left the room, aware of his usual sense of dissatisfaction whenever he had to deal with his father. At least he’d tried to be conciliatory and suggest that he wanted to learn. What his highly skeptical father would make of that, he had no idea, but Allegra would be proud of him.
As he went down the steps, he wondered how she was faring.
She was a terrible stickler for the truth, so lying to her family about her whereabouts wouldn’t have been easy.
He hoped for her sake that they accepted her version of events and let the matter lie.
Now all he had to do was make sure Roberts’ absurd story about them eloping was laughed out of town, and all would be well.
If only he could find Roberts. …
He had no intention of taking Landon to court for the damages inflicted on his carriage.
If he did, he might have to explain about the wager, and the last thing the Musgrove family needed was their family name being dragged into another scandal.
If he didn’t receive the money, he’d get Stephen to write a suitably ducal letter to Landon and see if that threat did the trick.
He went back to his lodgings in a slightly better frame of mind and found Claude in his bedchamber brushing out an evening coat.
“Are you going riding this afternoon, my lord?” Claude inquired. “Or are you going to your club?”
“I’m going to my club,” Max said. “I have no need to change until dinner. I’m dining with my father, so I’ll need to leave before six.”
“How nice, my lord. A family gathering.” Claude smiled at him.
“Pick something conservative, will you? My father won’t appreciate any of my extremes of fashion.”
Claude’s face fell, but he quickly recovered. “I’ll turn you out looking like the perfect gentleman, my lord, don’t you worry about that.”
Max walked through to his parlor, where a stack of correspondence sat on the table. He went through the pile quickly to make sure there was nothing from either Lady Allegra or Roberts and then sat down to review everything more carefully.
There were a lot of invitations to balls, concerts, soirees, and the like, most of which he avoided because of the matchmaking mothers.
He enjoyed music, but only when it was performed by professionals rather than aspiring duchesses-to-be.
He set two invitations aside, threw the rest away, and remembered he had yet to read the letter from his mother.
After years of being the duke’s wife, her joyful nature had diminished, and she’d grown as cool and distant as her husband.
She’d also espoused religious causes and spent most of her days doing good works, which was all well and good for those less fortunate, but made having a conversation with her somewhat trying.
Her letters tended to be sermons about all his real and imagined failings.
Max never knew quite how to reply to her and often didn’t bother.
He found the letter and sat down to read it.
There was nothing in it he hadn’t heard a thousand times.
He wasn’t good enough, he never would be, and he was on his way to Hell.
Max resisted the urge to drink a bottle of brandy and go out and create his own little hell, because what good would that do?
There was a knock on the door, and Claude, who also acted as his butler, came in. “Mr. Landon is here, my lord. He wishes to know if you are at home.”
“Send him in.” Max put the letter away and stood to greet his guest.