—
Gwyneth wished to shop for a bonnet to replace a favorite of hers that had been so sodden by a sudden downpour of rain while she was walking along an exposed beach in Wales, far from any shelter, that it had been irretrievable and had to be thrown out. Stephanie wished to exchange the books she had on loan from Hookham’s Library for some different ones. Philippa needed nothing, but she was very happy to accompany her sister and sister-in-law and promised to give her honest opinion of any bonnets under consideration. They spent a pleasant afternoon together while thedowager countess went to call upon Aunt Elise, who had been suffering from a migraine the evening before and had been unable to join the rest of the family at the dinner Uncle Charles and Aunt Marian had arranged in celebration of Devlin’s becoming an official member of the House of Lords.
It was rather lovely not to have any social event to attend. It was rare, Philippa was discovering, to have a free afternoon. A free evening was even more rare.
“So of course,” Gwyneth said, laughing as they entered the hall of Stratton House on their return to find that Devlin was there, almost as though he had been waiting for them, “Pippa has come home with a ravishing new bonnet, and I have come with none. I was born a ditherer, it seems. Though I may go back for the chip straw tomorrow. Both Pippa and Steph liked it.”
“And I came with six books,” Stephanie said. “I could hardly lift them to carry to the carriage. One of them is eight hundred pages long.”
Devlin kissed Gwyneth on the cheek and smiled at his sisters. “I have given directions for tea to be brought to the drawing room fifteen minutes after your return,” he said. “Mama said not to wait for her. She will probably have tea with Aunt Elise if her migraine has gone away. But before you go up to your room, Pippa, may I have a quick word with you in the library?”
She looked inquiringly at him.
“That sounds ominous,” Stephanie said cheerfully. “I think Dev is about to crack the whip, Pippa. You had better examine your conscience before you go in.What have you done?”
“We will see you both in no more than fifteen minutes,” Gwyneth said, smiling at them before linking her arm through Stephanie’s. “I am parched.”
The library was still laden with flowers, though some wiltedblooms had been pulled out and the slim vase had been removed from the mantel and taken up to Philippa’s room—because it is sort of lost among the large bouquets in here,she had explained vaguely when she took it. Though in fact the opposite had been true.
“I was invited to take luncheon with the Duke of Wilby at the House today,” Devlin said after closing the door. “It was, I would guess, a considerable honor. He is very elderly and autocratic, and most of the other members appear to stand in awe of him. I understand you have met him.”
Oh.
“Yes,” she said. “I was at Arden House when he and the duchess arrived from the country. It was the day of the kite flying Steph told you about. Both the duke and the duchess were kind enough to speak to me again at Lady Abingdon’s ball the night before you arrived. It was Her Grace, in fact, who persuaded Lady Jersey to grant me permission to waltz.”
“Wilby gave me to understand that he wishes to set his house in order,” Devlin said. “He must surely be close to eighty, a prodigious old age. He had only one son, now deceased, who himself had just one son. Luke Arden.”
“Short for Lucas,” Philippa told him, going to sit on the edge of the chair beside the fireplace.
“Ah,” he said. “It was he with whom the Duchess of Wilby wished you to waltz?”
“Y-yes,” she said. “Though I waltzed with other gentlemen too after that.”
“It would seem,” Devlin said, “that the duke and duchess have come to London this year, for the first time in a while, for the specific purpose of helping their grandson find an eligible bride and of seeing him married. They appear to have fixed their choice upon you.”
Philippa licked her lips. “Me among several others, no doubt,”she said. “I have given him absolutely no encouragement, Dev. Quite the opposite, in fact. They will soon see that he is not pursuing any courtship with me and that I am not encouraging him to do so.”
“They have not seen it yet,” he said. “The grandson is to call upon me here tomorrow morning, presumably to rattle off his credentials and make an offer for your hand. I have agreed to receive him, though I did make it clear to Wilby that I would speak with you first to discover your feelings on the matter. You are under no obligation to receive his addresses if you are as adamantly opposed to doing so as you say you are. You cannot have met him more than a handful of times, after all. The Duke of Wilby may feel in a rush to see his grandson married, but the Earl of Stratton feels no such haste to marry off his sister. It has been abundantly clear from all I have heard and seen”—he gestured about the room—“that you have attracted considerable attention since your arrival in town and will almost certainly accumulate an abundance of suitors. This would, however, be an excellent match for you. Unless you have a real aversion to Lucas Arden, I would suggest that at least you listen to what he has to say. But I have been doing all the talking. What do you wish me to say to him?”
She gazed at him, a frown between her brows. “Dev,” she said, “do you not know who heis?”
“I do indeed,” he said, looking puzzled. “I understand the dukedom to be one of the richest in England in property and income and investments. I do not know the details, of course, but I will be sure to find out if this offer should lead to a serious discussion of a marriage contract.”
“Dev,” she said and paused to lick her lips again. “He has a courtesy title. He is the Marquess of Roath.”
Chapter Thirteen
Though the Duke of Wilby had conducted his interview with his grandson privately, behind closed doors, he had obviously not kept quiet about it afterward. Lucas came downstairs at twenty minutes to ten the following morning, looking, in his own estimation, like a damned dandy, though his valet had been both shocked and hurt when Lucas had used those exact words to him and had assured his lordship that he would deserve to be sacked without a letter of recommendation and to live the rest of his life in abject penury if those words could ever be accurately associated with his handiwork. Any hope, though, that Lucas could slip from the house unnoticed by anyone, including servants, was quickly dashed.
The hall was half filled with a gathering of his relatives come to bid him farewell. Even Jenny was there in her chair, which must have been carried down specifically for the occasion. EvenCousin Geraldwas there, for God’s sake. Was it a rule at the building where he had his bachelor rooms—a very exclusive building, it might be added—that residents had to be out at the crack of dawn? A coupleof footmen were in the hall, imitating wooden soldiers, as well as the butler, who was looking like a benevolent uncle instead of his usual dignified, impassive self.
Only the Duke of Wilby himself, the traitor, seemed to be absent.
“Ah,” Aunt Kitty said, clasping her hands to her bosom. “Does he look impossibly handsome? Or does he look impossibly handsome?”
To which asinine questions Gerald offered no reply but merely smirked and asked if his cousin’s cravat was feeling a bit on the tight side.
“Oh, hedoes,” Jenny said. “You look gorgeous, Luc.”
