Chapter 3
The Duke of Rivers loved to drink a good cup of tea while sitting in the sunshine, but since he lived in England, that event was a rarity. Today, it was sunny and so he was drinking tea, and he was determined to make the most of it.
He lounged back in the elegant chair placed outside on the beautifully raked rocks of the elaborate garden.
He took a deep breath and stared out at the sprawling arrangement of topiaries and shrubs and statues belonging to his friend, the Earl of Seaborough.
Well, friend was a challenging word because, in truth, Seaborough was the current object of Rivers’ machinations and manipulations.
Rivers lifted his porcelain cup to his lips and was about to take a sip.
Everything was going well. He’d had tremendous success on the first venture of The Marriage Managing Society, a secret group he had formed only months ago.
The marriage between the Duke of Westfort and Miss Agatha Allen was a resounding success.
The two were now blissfully married and his reformation of the ton was fully underway. His goal to create happy marriages rather than miserable ones would not be stopped.
He and Fennyman’s next project had already begun this very day, after much work and planning by himself and the owner of the gambling club, and he felt himself quite satisfied as he sat basking in the sunshine with the scent of roses wafting from the garden.
Yes, the gambling man who was able to make remarkably accurate predictions and the Duke of Rivers were going to remake society one couple at a time, and it was going in excellent fashion. Why would he not feel perfectly pleased?
“Your Grace?”
He jumped in his seat, nearly spitting the tea out over his immaculate clothes. “Harlowe,” he barked. “What the devil are you about?”
Now, usually he did not speak thus to any one of his servants, but his butler knew him better than anyone. Harlowe was more friend than a servant and certainly a compatriot in their reorganization of society, so Rivers was more himself with the butler than most others in his employ.
Harlowe had popped out from a shrubbery. The man was particularly skilled at appearing from what seemed like thin air, whether it was hallways, doors, or now plants.
Harlowe knew how to make a quick and rather discreet entrance.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Harlowe said, clearing his throat and looking a bit like a distressed rabbit, despite his handsome, youthful visage. “But I must tell you that things are not going at all as expected. The Duke of Lindly’s son arrived and is causing a good deal of trouble in the garden.”
“Whose son?” Rivers ground out, not wanting to believe what he had heard and desperately hoping that Harlowe had mumbled.
Harlowe never mumbled.
“The Duke of Lindly’s son, Nathaniel Allworthy.”
Rivers slammed his teacup down into the saucer, then put the saucer onto the table and stood.
He tugged his waistcoat down. There was nothing to throw that would not break and so he had to keep control of himself.
He was tempted to kick at the rocks, but he was not three years old.
And the last thing he wanted to be was the sort of duke servants had to run around cleaning up after.
Though it was damned tempting.
“Who let him in?” Rivers demanded.
“How does one turn away the son of a duke?” Harlowe asked. “Seaborough’s butler, Heath, was most distressed. He had to let the man in, Your Grace. You know that. What else could he do?”
The Duke of Rivers let out a long sigh because, frankly, Harlowe was right. It was a bloody shame. A butler could not easily eject the son of a duke.
No, he was going to have to do it. Because Nathaniel Allworthy was the worst sort of aristocrat. The sort that inspired the French to rise up. The sort that loved to stomp on those beneath him and do it with glee, simply because he could.
“Right, point me in the proper direction.”
Harlowe cleared his throat and pointed out into the gardens and the statuary. This whole day had taken a great deal of organization, and the idea that Nathaniel Allworthy had thrown it off course was enough to cause him apoplexy.
The Earl of Seaborough loved all things Italian, it was true, but he preferred punching things more and was usually in the boxing gymnasium for most of the day when he wasn’t out making merry and enjoying life.
It had taken some doing to get him to agree to host said exhibition, and then it had taken some doing to ensure that the right lady, Miss Ernestine Foxley, would be in the garden at the right time.
Harlowe skipped after him, all but trotting over the raked black and white stones. “Allworthy and his friends were in her company.”
He stopped and whipped towards his butler. “I beg your pardon? When you say her, do you mean Miss Foxley?”
Harlowe gave a plaintive nod, his eyes wide. “Indeed, Your Grace, I do.”
“Bloody hell,” Rivers growled. “I’m going to have to kill them.”
“I don’t think you will have to,” Harlowe piped with his first hint of a smile. “I think the Earl of Seaborough might do it for you.”
Rivers arched a brow, taking that in. “I’m not certain if I should be thrilled or if I should be mortified.”
“Seaborough watched the exchange, Your Grace.”
“Wait, what?” The Duke of Rivers gaped. “He watched the exchange?”
“Yes, and he’s gone after the young lady.”
Rivers blinked. “He’s gone after the young lady?”
“Are you having trouble with your hearing, Your Grace? You do keep repeating everything I say.”
But then Rivers smiled slowly and let out a crow of delight. “Things have gone even better than I could have hoped, Harlowe. Though, of course, I wouldn’t wish Allworthy on anyone. Still! Seaborough is coming to her aid! Splendid! Simply splendid!”
Rivers clapped his butler, who jumped forward a good foot, on the back.
“How can this be for the best?” Harlowe blurted. “You know what the son of the Duke of Lindly is like.”
“Yes, but now Seaborough and the lady are not going to have a boring meeting. Oh, no, Seaborough is going to be invested. He’s going to defend the lady’s honor. He’s going to have an opportunity to be alone with her. It’s going to be magnificent,” the duke enthused.
“If you say so,” Harlowe said, his brow furrowing, “but I don’t like it when things don’t go according to plan. Too many things can’t be controlled.”
The Duke of Rivers arched a brow. “Well, as our friend Fennyman would say, control is almost impossible. All we can do is predict, and I predict that as Seaborough has gone after the young lady, there will be a wedding by the end of the month.”
“I don’t know,” Harlowe said. “You and Fennyman seem terribly optimistic about this, Your Grace.”
They strode near the statue of Minerva, and he heard the grumblings of Allworthy and his friends, going on and on about how young ladies should feel lucky to have the company of gentlemen like them.
“The lady in question has no wish to marry,” Harlowe whispered, though they were still hidden from Allworthy and his friends by a set of topiaries cut into beautiful curving shapes.
“I know you two believe that this can be overcome, but the notations and the reports of all the maids and servants make it quite clear she has no intention of marrying. She prefers the idea of running off to Italy at the first opportunity when her funds become available.”
The Duke of Rivers arched a brow. “Italy is all well and good, but London is the greatest city in the world, and once she realizes what a wonderful time she can have here with the Earl of Seaborough, she will not wish to retreat. We need more young ladies like her in society. I will not allow her to be taken by Italy. England needs her.”
Harlowe nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. Whatever you say, Your Grace. And now, are you going to talk to the fool in question?”
Rivers peeked beyond the topiary and studied the group of richly dressed young men with hairstyles that no doubt took up most of their morning. They were standing in the shade of a tree, clearly deciding if they were going to go after the young lady who had given them difficulty.
“Oh, no,” he said softly. “I’m going to let Seaborough take care of that. I might lend a helping hand, of course, and that could be devilish good fun, but I think we need to let this unfold.”
Harlowe gave a nod. “Whatever you say, Your Grace.”
“I love it, Harlowe, when you say that.”
Harlowe snorted. “I know you do, Your Grace, but sometimes I think you do need someone to argue with you.”
“That’s what I have Fennyman for,” he said.
“Shall I call him?” Harlowe offered.
“Fennyman? No, not right now. The man’s busy at his club. And I”—Rivers clapped his hands—“am about to watch the games begin.”
Victor caught sight of the Duke of Rivers lingering behind a topiary adjacent to the statue of Minerva where, apparently, the altercation had taken place.
“Fancy thrashing a few blokes with me?” he asked.
The Duke of Rivers and his butler, Harlowe, all but jumped, whipping towards him.
Rivers grinned. “You know I would love it. You need a second, old boy?”
Harlowe let out a peep of dismay. Duels were illegal after all.
“Steady on, Harlowe,” Seaborough assured. “No pistols or swords today.”
Harlowe nodded.
Seaborough smiled. “I simply need someone to make sure they don’t gang up on me. Can’t trust lads like that.”
“Who exactly?” Rivers asked, his brows arching with an exaggerated innocence.
Seaborough studied his friend. Was the man acting? Surely, he’d seen the fellows just a few feet away. He shrugged the thought off. Rivers wasn’t capable of such a thing. He was too blunt.
“The Duke of Lindly’s son, of course,” Victor said before shuddering. “Foul creature. He needs a good setting down.”
“Happy to help. Happy to help,” Rivers said.
“I’m glad you’re so good with your fists,” Seaborough said. “But first, you’ll let me do it, of course.”
“Delighted to watch,” Rivers agreed, as he gestured to his beautifully tailored clothes. “It’s a new suit, don’t you know? And if I can avoid wrinkling it, my man will be very, very pleased. Still, I’ll jump in if you need me.”
Seaborough strode around the topiary and headed right up to Nathaniel Allworthy. He didn’t make niceties. “You like to bother young ladies in my garden, is that it?”
Allworthy stood straight, squaring his shoulders, his pomaded blond hair slick in the sunshine. “She was alone and unspoken for, and I have no idea what you’re speaking about beyond that.”
The friends sniggered, something that they had a horrible habit of doing.
“I know that you cannot tell when a lady is enjoying herself or not,” Victor drawled. “I have heard all the rumors about you from the ladies of the night. Poor things, every single one of them. You’re just simply incapable of making a lady smile.”
Allworthy scowled at him, his lips turning into a pout. “That’s not true,” he said. “I am the best at making a lady smile.”
“Boast, boast, boast,” Victor said dryly. “Any gentleman that needs to boast clearly has no idea what they’re doing. Now I’m going to show you what it’s like to be bothered by someone, and you are going to try to stop me, just like she tried to stop you. But you will fail.”
Allworthy ground his teeth together. “You wouldn’t. Not here. Not in public.”
“Oh, he would,” Rivers drawled, “and I will be most entertained to watch. And if you run off sniveling to your father, I’ll make certain to have a word with him in Parliament. Do you understand?”
Allworthy glared. “I don’t think you would dare. This isn’t the sort of place to have a spot of fisticuffs.”
“Oh, this is the perfect place for it,” Victor returned cheerfully. Then he hauled his fist back without a word of warning, for Allworthy gave the ladies no warning about his odious behavior, and punched the whelp without apology, without worrying about rules. Frankly, he felt damn good about it.