Chapter 16
Rupert was bent over a report from one of his tenants when he heard the knock on his study and looked up to see his uncle standing in the threshold.
“Do you have a moment?” Uncle Reginald asked.
Rupert put down the paper he’d been reading and stretched. “Of course, anything for you.”
Uncle Reginald closed the door behind him, then sat down in the chair across from Rupert.
“Has the matter with the authority to sell the lands been resolved yet?” he asked. “Because we really ought to get those lands sold so that we can re-invest the money back into the businesses that are thriving.”
“No,” Rupert said with a sigh, his stomach churning the way it always did when he thought about the authority issue. “It has not been resolved yet. But my solicitor is looking into it, and he is confident that he will have an answer for me soon.”
“Good,” Uncle Reginald said, although he looked a little uneasy. “I do not like this one bit. Perhaps I could be the one to finalize the sale? I still have signing authority from when I was helping your father manage the estates during the end of his illness, while you were still abroad.”
Rupert considered this. On the one hand, it would be good to have the sale finalized before the buyers lose interest. On the other hand, he wanted to wait and get an answer to this dilemma before moving forward, especially if it would affect future sales.
“Thank you, but I think we should wait,” he said, and his uncle nodded. “If there is any problem with the sale, we want to make sure everything is perfectly legal on our end.”
“That is wise,” Uncle Reginald said. He then stood up. “Well, thank you for your time.” He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Rupert. “Are you going to this musicale tonight?”
Rupert leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. “I am,” he said. “My mother wants to go, and she insisted that I accompany her.”
“You do not sound excited,” Uncle Reginald noted.
“No, I am,” Rupert said quickly. “She has just also insisted that we bring Miss Isabella Thornton with us, as her mother is ill tonight and she needs a chaperone. I am just concerned because the lady was once interested in my suit, and I do not want my mother to give her encouragement.”
Uncle Reginald nodded. “Well, I think I shall accompany you then, in that case. It shall be nice to do something as a family all together. It has been a while since we have.”
Rupert was touched, and he thanked him profusely. “My mother will be very happy for you to attend,” he said. “I know she misses us all being together.”
Of course, he did not add that what she missed was her late husband attending with them, but Uncle Reginald was as good a substitute as they would find, and Rupert would be grateful to have someone else there to mitigate any awkwardness between himself and Miss Thornton.
They were friendly enough, and she had so far not insinuated any feelings for him since he’d seen her at Lady Fowler’s ball, but he did not want to give her false hope.
Not when the real reason he was attending was so that he could see Miss Ashford, who would, undoubtedly, be in attendance.
The musicale that night was hosted at Lord and Lady Medford’s home on Grosvenor Square.
It was a small, intimate gathering of the best families of the ton, with a performance by a famed harpist and opera singer.
And from where Rupert stood in the back, slowly sipping a scotch, it was not hard to locate Miss Ashford.
She was standing near the front of the room, speaking both to Lord Pembroke and Nathaniel Carlton. Both men were leaning in close to her, and their attentive, protective postures made Rupert want to roll his eyes.
Were both men courting her?! And why were they monopolizing her time like that? She was a free woman, she shouldn’t have to spend all her time with such boring gentlemen
Well, he supposed Nathaniel wasn’t boring, but Lord Pembroke certainly was.
I really ought to rescue her, he thought, as he watched Lord Pembroke say something and then laugh at his own joke. Miss Ashford, he could not help but notice, merely smiled weakly.
Her brother, meanwhile, was standing several yards away, speaking with Miss Vivienne Carlton.
His eyes were locked on her, and she was gazing up at him so rapturously that Rupert was a touch surprised no one else was gaping at them.
They seemed to be inviting scandal, or at least gossip, with the way they were so focused on one another.
Of course, Rupert knew better than to invite scandal of his own by crossing the room to speak to Beatrice, no matter how much he desired to. She looked particularly beautiful that evening, in a pale blue silk dress that matched her eyes almost perfectly.
It had capped sleeves, and she was wearing long gloves below them, but in the sliver between where the gloves ended and the sleeves began, he could see the delicate paleness of her skin.
Even this was alluring, as was the subtle pearl earrings that dropped down along her neck, drawing his eyes there.
Rupert swallowed and tried to look away. He absolutely should not be looking at a lady’s neck in this manner.
However, instead of looking away, he found, to his frustration, his eyes snapping to Beatrice’s. And to his great pleasure, if not surprise, she was looking right back at him.
For several long heartbeats, they stared at one another, and Rupert seemed to forget how to breathe.
Her blue eyes were so full of wisdom and emotion, but he could not parse exactly what they were trying to say.
He only knew that he could have stared into them for a very long time; long enough that he could have forgotten to eat or even sleep.
He was not going to look away first, and Beatrice seemed to sense this, because it was she who broke eye contact first. Her eyes flickered to his side, and he realized, with a jolt, that she was seeing him standing next to Isabella.
At once, her expression clouded, and she looked away.
Rupert cursed under his breath. He had entirely forgotten about Isabella and the fact that her presence by his side, and having arrived in his carriage, would mean something to Beatrice. It would mean something to the whole ton.
That was, perhaps, his mother’s point, and he glared at her as she moved away from him toward their hosts to thank them for the invitation.
Surely she is not trying to set me up with Isabella again, he thought darkly. Surely she knows that I have no interest.
He looked back at Beatrice, but she was engaged again by her bevy of suitors, if that was what they were, and she did not look at him again until the music began.
They were listening to a harpist this evening, and as the performer sat down in her chair and readied herself at her instrument, the rest of the guests took their seats as well.
Rupert wanted to be as close as possible to Beatrice, but when she was seated with her brother and friends, he knew he would have no chance of getting close to her.
Instead, he positioned himself near the back, so that he would have a good view of her.
“Must we really sit so far away?” Isabella asked grumpily as she sat down beside him, and Rupert had to grit his teeth together not to respond the way he longed to. No one is forcing you to sit with me.
Once the music began, however, all thought of Isabella was washed away.
The music was astonishingly beautiful. The harpist was playing an Italian love aria, the music so romantic and filled with unrequited longing that Rupert began to feel his heart beating more quickly in his chest, despite the fact he knew he was being ridiculous.
He couldn’t stop glancing in Beatrice’s direction.
Each time he did, he felt his stomach lurch.
She was watching the harpist with rapt attention, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.
On several occasions, she actually brought her hand to cover her mouth, as if she was so moved by the music it was difficult to keep from gasping.
At one point, he even saw her brush her hands across her eyes, as if she were wiping away tears.
Each time he saw an expression of her awe and admiration, his own heart seemed to increase in speed, until he felt as if he could not sit still a moment longer.
He wanted to stand and go to her, to demand that she speak to him, to insist that he was not the person her brother thought he was, that he was not a liar or a scoundrel or a rake or any of the things she had been led to believe.
But of course, he could do nothing of the sort, so he was forced to stay in his seat, even as he struggled to keep every inch of himself from leaping to his feet.
At last, the music ended, and the intermission began. Rupert was on his feet in a moment, but just as he took a step forward to make his way over to Beatrice, he felt his mother’s hand on his arm.
“Where are you going, dear?” she inquired, looking at him with wide, surprised eyes. “There are several young ladies to whom I wish to introduce you.”
“But…”
“Come, Rupert,” she said, her tone growing more stern. “This is why we are here.”
He glanced back over at Beatrice, but Lord Pembroke was speaking to her, and she was laughing at something he was saying, so he knew it was not the right time to speak to her, anyway.
Reluctantly, he allowed his mother to steer him away to the other side of the room, where several young ladies were standing with their mothers.
“Rupert, darling, may I introduce you to Miss Gwendoline Sharpsby?” His mother said, smiling at the nearest girl, who had honey-blonde hair that was curled tightly in front of her round face.
She was pretty, he noted, with very pink cheeks and lips, but she looked painfully nervous as she curtsied to him.
“Y-Your Grace,” she stammered. “It is a p-pleasure.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Rupert said dutifully, bowing to her and kissing her hand. “Are you enjoying the musicale?”
“Oh, y-yes,” she stammered, flushing an even more garish color of pink. “V-very much.”
He was relieved to see that his mother looked less than impressed, as she pursed her lips together.
“And this is Lady Emiline Berry,” she said, introducing the next young lady. Lady Emiline had dark hair and dark eyes and a very pointy face, and she did not look at all nervous as she curtsied. If anything, she looked calculating.
“How do you do?” he asked, and she smiled coyly.
“I am very well, Your Grace,” she said. “And very pleased to make your acquaintance. I have heard such wonderful things about you from my mother.”
“And what exactly have you heard?” Rupert asked.
“You are an explorer,” Lady Emiline said. “An adventurous gentleman.”
“Not too adventurous, though,” his mother put in quickly, which made Lady Emiline smile more broadly.
“A duke must be allowed his adventures,” she said. “What he needs is a dutiful and loyal wife to keep his estate running smoothly while he enjoys the privileges of his title.”
Rupert frowned slightly. Was it possible that Lady Emiline was trying to imply that it was acceptable for him, as the duke, to run off and do as he pleased simply because he was the duke?
Far from making him like her and the permissiveness she seemed to be giving him, it depressed him.
A young lady ought to ask for more in a husband than someone who would abandon her to go and enjoy his privileges.
He also did not like what it implied about him and his penchant for adventuring.
She must think me a rake, like everyone else does, he thought gloomily. But it did not bode well if instead of wanting to snuff out this childishness in him, she was willing to embrace it.
That was not, Rupert realized with a sudden clarity, what he wanted in a wife, and certainly not what he wanted in a marriage.
His eyes, once again, found Beatrice’s across this room, and this time, she was looking directly at him. Again, it seemed to him that she was trying to communicate something to him, because she opened her eyes a little wider and then glanced toward the door.
Did she want him to leave? Or did she want him to go out into the corridor where the two of them might talk more privately?
The thought made his pulse race and his throat grow dry.
But he could not simply escape his mother, and he tried to signal, with his own eyes, that she was going to have to wait. He wasn’t sure if she understood what he was trying to say, because the next moment, she looked away again, returning her gaze to her brother, who was now speaking to her.
Indeed, Rupert did not get the chance to speak to Beatrice again until right before the musicale was set to start its second act.
His mother spent the entire intermission introducing him to different young ladies, which seemed, he could not help but note, to irritate Isabella as much as it irritated him.
She watched, mutinous, from a corner, next to Uncle Reginald, who seemed to be doing his best to distract and entertain her.
Rupert was grateful for that, at least. It was a headache to have to try and field all the young ladies his mother was throwing at him without also having to deal with the disappointment of a woman he had rejected a long time ago.
Beatrice, on the other hand, did not seem at all affected by the young ladies he was being introduced to. He never once saw a look of jealousy cross her face.
Which bothered him more than he cared to admit.
Finally, however, the moment came. After the last young lady, who blatantly told him she had always dreamed of becoming a duchess, Rupert excused himself for some refreshments.
It was as he was pouring himself a drink that he felt her presence beside him, as if sensing a ghost, and he looked around.
Beatrice was standing next to him. She did not look at him at first, merely reached for a glass of lemonade.
The feel of her next to him sent shivers through his body.
He could smell her perfume, sweet like brown sugar, with a hint of something darker, like clove or tobacco.
He closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from imagining what it would be like to press his face against her hair and breathe in that scent.
When he opened them, she was looking at him.
“It is a pleasure to see you, Your Grace,” she said, extending a hand.
He took it without thinking.
“Yes, a pleasure,” he began, then he stopped.
Because as Beatrice pulled her hand from his, then bobbed her head and turned away, she left something behind.
He looked down in astonishment. She had slipped a small, folded piece of paper into his hand.