“Stop here.” He reached for the door. “Find your way to the front of the queue so I know where to find you when I return.”
The driver nodded and allowed the curtain to fall closed.
Despite residing on opposite sides of Grosvenor Square, this was Lawrence’s first call at the York residence. The warm red brick and painted white columns of the impeccable terrace house were bright and clean. Every window glistened in the sunlight, reflecting the azure spring sky or the trim green grass in the square.
Jaw clenched, he strode down the pavement toward their front walk as elegantly as one could with a heavy, brown-paper-wrapped, framed painting clutched beneath one’s arm.
Lawrencecouldhave brought his last remaining footman along to carry the painting, but he hoped a show of personal effort would add an extra touch of romance to his unusual gift. It was not what he would have picked, but the important thing was giving his future betrothed somethingsheliked.
The finality of marriage prickled his skin with equal parts nervousness and excitement. A fortnight from now, when the contract was signed, he and Miss York would be saddled with each other. His palms felt clammy. Was it foolish to hope their union might be a pleasant one? He drew himself taller.
As with all duties, one did as one must.
The door was answered as soon as he touched the knocker. Lawrence presented his card at once.
“Your Grace,” said the butler. “Do come in. Shall I ring for someone to take your package?”
“I’ll deliver it.” Lawrence stepped over the threshold to wait for his hosts.
He and Mr. York had met in the House of Commons and enjoyed spirited debates for most of a decade. Last year, after the premature death of Lawrence’s father, he had moved from the House of Commons to the House of Lords. A partnership with Mr. York would ensure vital allies across the two Houses.
All he had to do was remain sparklingly unobjectionable until the banns were read. Once Miss York married him, her dowry would save the dukedom and secure a better future for his family and his tenants.
The planhadto work. It was Lawrence’s only shot.
Mrs. York bounded up to him, her hands clasped to her chest as if physically restraining a squeal of excitement. “Your Grace, such a pleasure, I do say!”
The unmistakable sound of female voices trickled from an open door halfway down the corridor straight ahead.
Lawrence’s skin went cold. This was supposed to be aprivatemeeting. He hated surprises and was inept at impromptu conversations. He excelled in Parliament because he prepared his speeches in advance—just as he had done for today’s visit with Miss York and her parents.
Interacting with an unexpected crowd would ensure he made a hash out of his well-rehearsed lines. He stepped no farther.
“Did I mistake the date?” he inquired carefully.
“No, no. Right on time, as always.” Mr. York strode up to join his wife. “You’re a man who cleaves to duty. A fine trait, I daresay. Very little in common with your father.”
“Er…thank you. I should hope I’m nothing like him.”
“Quite right, quite right. Your parliamentary speeches could rival Fox and Pitt. Your father, on the other hand, rarely left his club—or his cups. Indeed, there are many who say—” Mr. York coughed and gave Lawrence a jovial clap on the shoulder. “’Tis no time for gossip, is it, my boy?”
Lawrence affected an affable smile. At least, he hoped that was what his face was doing. He was conscious every day that the Gosling name teetered on the edge of respectability. Mr. York’s unfinished intimation had been clear: there were still those who said Faircliffe dukes were a blight on society.
Duke or not, nothing was certain until the contract was signed.
“It is ourhonor, Your Grace,” Mrs. York gushed as she fluttered her hands in excitement and impatience. “Is that the special gift for Philippa? Come, you must present it to her at once.”
“I admit I can’t fathom what beauty she sees in that painting,” Mr. York murmured.
Lawrence held the frame a little harder. Dancing hobgoblinswerean unusual subject. He did not understand why anyone would want it.
What if, upon second inspection, the young lady realized her error in having expressed admiration for such questionable “art” and laughed in his face when he presented it as a gift? Being able to give an item he already possessed had seemed like serendipity. Now he feared the omen might not be positive. His veins hummed with panic.
“It sounds as though Miss York is entertaining guests.” He gripped the frame. “I should return when I’m not interrupting.”
“Stuff and nonsense.” Mrs. York looped her hand about the crook of Lawrence’s elbow and all but dragged him down the corridor. “It’s just a few of her bluestocking friends. I’m certain they’ll all find it amusing to see what you’ve brought Philippa.”
Yes. Exactly what he was afraid of.
