Page 27 of A Duchess of Mystery

Chapter Twelve

“We should hold a ball here at Stourbridge,” Isabella said to Richard and Dora. “To introduce Richard to our neighbors.” They were seated opposite her in the drawing room taking afternoon tea. Wyndham had taken a rather precipitate leave several days since, straight after his breakfast encounter with Richard, but neither Dora nor Isabella knew why he’d gone, to Richard’s relief. Isabella set down her cup. “We can invite everyone who is anyone, and Dora and I can advise you on which are the most suitable of the local young ladies for you to consider as brides.” A glint showed in her eyes. “If there are any, which I seriously doubt. But, nevertheless, it will be fun to show you off.”

Richard frowned. So did Dora, but probably for a different reason.

“Should we be actually holding a ball of our own?” Dora asked, it had to be said, with a certain degree of timidity. “I mean, what with being in mourning still. You know. People might think it an inappropriate thing to do. They might not want to attend.”

Isabella shook her head with determination. She was fast becoming the most determined person Richard had ever met, and she had the look about her right now of a horse with the bit between its teeth. Not that he didn’t find this assertiveness attractive, because he did. Although he wasn’t about to let on. She might become uncontrollable if he did.

She shot Dora a hard stare, something she seemed very good at. “Nonsense. Of course people will come if we invite them. They won’t be able to resist. And what is more, they’ll bring their eligible daughters in their droves, because they will all know by now that the new Duke of Stourbridge has returned from the Continent and is in the happy state, for them, of being unmarried. You know what the local gossips are like. Heaven knows how the news gets out, but it always does. And pooh to it being inappropriate. When have I ever cared for that?”

Dora pursed her lips, that worried frown deeper than usual. “You may not care for your own inappropriateness and reputation, nor mine, but I’m sure Diccon might for his own.” She glanced sideways at her cousin. “Do you not?”

Richard did his best to look stern, disguising the fact that he, too, didn’t give a fig for what others thought of him. Although the idea of being the host of what could be a large gathering of the cream of local society disturbed him more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t as if he’d ever even attended a ball. He would be a complete ball novice, and was sure it would show. Having learned so long ago as a child, he wasn’t sure he could even remember how to dance. But he didn’t want either of them guessing this. Well, not Isabella, at any rate. He didn’t mind what Dora thought of him, but, somehow, in a relatively short time it had come to matter to him what Isabella thought. He swallowed down his nerves. “I suspect Isabella might well be correct in her summing up of our neighbors’ attitudes. I gather nothing is more alluring to the mamas of society than the prospect of an unmarried duke.”

Dora laughed, the frown lessening. “You are paraphrasing Bella; I know it. She used those self-same words to me just yesterday.”

“What if he is?” Isabella said, with a resigned sigh. “Come, Dora, we have to consider how things here are changing. We are not so much a house in mourning now, as a house that is preparing for that change. We have a new duke amongst us, and he requires our assistance.” She paused, a decidedly naughty twinkle in her eyes that sent an unexpected current of electricity through Richard. Damn it. She was far too attractive a young widow to have to share his new home with. Perhaps he should suggest she, too, look for a new marriage partner, to get the temptation of her out from under his feet. And from inside his head, a space she had begun to occupy more than he liked over the last few days.

She made a moue, which only served to render her more attractive and him more uncomfortable. “And besides which, haven’t I been attending all the balls and parties held by our neighbors? I think they would find it most odd if we didn’t hold some sort of entertainment of our own, in return for all the events they’ve hosted. They’ll all be expecting us to present our new duke to them, post haste. And it would be manifestly unfair of us to keep him to ourselves.” She turned those beautiful eyes on him and held his gaze for a few long seconds before looking back at Dora as though she hadn’t just seared him to the heart.

Dora frowned. She’d always been the most conservative of Richard’s three cousins, with an inclination not to rock whatever boat she found herself in. A peacemaker, sandwiched between the more volatile Marcus and Grace, not a troublemaker. “You know how I cautioned you about attending balls whilst in mourning,” she said, giving Isabella a reproving stare. Or at least, as reproving a stare as she was capable of, which was probably nothing compared with Isabella’s.

Isabella narrowed her eyes. “Oh pooh to that. You know I don’t give a fig for what others think of me.”

Yes, they all knew that. There was no need for her to repeat herself.

She glanced at Richard as though for support. “And anyway, it is our new duke who will have the final say, is it not?” She raised her delicate brows at him. “What say you… Diccon?”

She let his nickname roll off her tongue in a purr that almost made him laugh out loud at its evident intention to beguile and win him to her side. What a flirt she was. And it was working, despite his disinclination to fall for it. He began to think she might have been a good match for Marcus. Whatever she was, murderer or innocent widow, she was not someone who could be browbeaten by convention. And probably not by a man.

She batted her eyelashes, which were long and thick, at him, eyes wide and brimming with fake innocence. “Well? Shall we hold a ball here at Stourbridge and invite all the young ladies from far and wide to see if any of them meet with our approval? Although I fear they might be a rather motley bunch from what I’ve seen of them so far this autumn.”

Richard suppressed the impulse to laugh, once again, at her use of “our.” That she thought she was going to be the one to choose his wife-to-be was obvious. He wasn’t the idiot she took him for. That he needed her help in steering clear of the unsuitable ones was true, but the final choice would be his. He wouldn’t divulge this as yet, though. Let her continue to believe she could choose him a wife who would suit her purpose. That was evidently what she thought she was going to do. And it was unlikely that either of them were going to come across the sort of wife he was beginning to think he wanted. Not unless Isabella looked in the mirror, that was. And that could never be.

“Yes,” he said, with determination. “Mourning be damned. None of us had any love for Marcus, so we shouldn’t be feeling guilty at throwing off our weeds.” Not that he’d ever worn mourning, anyway. Not even a black armband. No one had suggested it and, like Isabella, he had no love lost for Marcus. However, maybe someone here should be feeling guilty. If they’d had a hand in Marcus’s demise, that was.

He put that unwelcome thought out of his mind. “Let us hold the biggest and best ball of the autumn. No, of the year. Isabella is right, Dora. The local gentry will want to meet their new duke, odd as it still seems to me that he and I are one and the same. I owe it to them to put myself up for their inspection. And as Isabella already knows, I do indeed wish to be married as soon as possible.” No need to repeat what he’d already told Isabella, and now rather regretted having done, that once he had an heir he intended returning to his regiment. Dora might be upset and Isabella might crow with triumph, thinking herself destined to return to power at Stourbridge in his absence. She probably thought a wife of her choice would be easy to browbeat into submission.

Isabella clapped her hands, shooting Dora a somewhat smug grin. “I knew you would see it my way. Now, which day shall we have it? There’s so much we have to do. We’ll need to send invitations out immediately and engage an orchestra for the dancing. It’s an age since there was a ball here at Stourbridge. Marcus was never here long enough to host one. And of course, both Dora and I will need new gowns, and everything that goes with them.”

Would they? Surely they both had armoires full of suitable gowns? Richard looked from one woman to the other in perplexity.

“Oh no,” Dora, who must have similar sensibilities to his, interrupted. “I shall be quite all right in my black silk. I’ve barely worn it. I don’t need a new gown.”

Isabella’s expression of disgust was enough to make Richard have to fight to control his laughter. She was in full flow now, obviously didn’t agree with Dora, and nothing was about to stop her informing them of this fact. He had to admire her determination.

She shook her head at poor Dora. “Nonsense. You will need a new gown for this splendid ball Richard is to host or people will think him a penny-pincher. And you cannot have another black one. There is to be no arguing.” As Dora opened her mouth, Isabella held up a hand to silence her and fixed her gaze on Richard. “And you will need a new suit of evening clothes. You can’t keep on wearing Marcus’s old things. I confess, I would rather give them all away than have to keep seeing you in them. Just the sight of them sends a shiver down my spine. And besides which, you are nowhere near as portly as he was so the clothes rather hang on you.” She flashed a wicked smile. “And you already look enough like Marcus to make me quite uncomfortable without going about the castle in his clothes for evermore.”

Richard shrugged. “I have little else, I’m afraid. An army officer on campaign doesn’t have much use for evening wear. His uniform has to do him.” Especially not a Rifle Brigade officer.

Isabella bestowed a suddenly much sweeter smile on him, and changed her tune. “I am not criticizing you, dear Coz. I quite understand that you’re not as used to tricking yourself out in as much finery as we are. And I know you haven’t had time yet to even poke your nose through the door of a tailor’s shop.” She tilted her head to one side as though deep in thought. “Of course, it would be better for you to go to Weston’s in Bond Street, but think how tiresome it would be to have to travel up to Town just to be fitted for a coat and breeches. No, there is a perfectly adequate tailor in Newbury we can take you to. Chalke’s. I know Mr. Sanders goes there, and he always looks the ticket, for a land agent, of course.”

Dora, throwing an annoyed frown at Isabella perhaps for her dismissal of Mr. Sanders’s position and sartorial appearance, pursed her lips and frowned at Richard, who was wondering if it would be quite the thing to be decked out in clothes more suited to a land agent for his debut ball. “If you are sure this is what you want, Diccon. I mean, the ball, not the new suit of clothes from Mr. Chalke. I suppose you and Bella may have your way. Far be it from me to stand in the path of either of you. Not that it would do me any good as Isabella would run me down.” She shot another frown at Isabella. “But let it be known that I still feel it is too soon after… after Marcus’s death to be celebrating with a ball, even if half the countryside is keen to make your acquaintance.” The worried frown was back, and something more he couldn’t put his finger on.

Isabella patted Dora’s hand in a conciliatory fashion. “You are a silly, sometimes. Rest assured. No one will care what we wear. Well, they won’t care what you wear. They’ll all be looking at what I wear, of course. They always do. But other things will distract them this time. Not only will they be keen to meet with Richard and snare him for one of their daughters, but they’ll also be full of morbid curiosity to see the house Marcus died in. And besides which, we don’t want them thinking we have something to hide.” Her smile, this time, was brittle. Despite her words, she was definitely hiding something.

Dora gripped Isabella’s hand. “Won’t they want to poke about and be nosy? I couldn’t bear that.” Her voice trembled, unshed tears glistened in her eyes and her frown deepened. Her face had paled so much, she looked as though she might be about to faint. “Do you think it might be a good idea to lock the library to prevent gawkers sneaking in there looking for…for things…like…?” Her voice trailed off, and she had to visibly pull herself together. “We don’t want them doing that, do we?” She fixed her gaze on her clasped hands in her lap as though afraid to meet anyone’s eyes. Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “That would not at all be a good thing.” She twisted her fingers together.

Did she know something too? In fact, did everyone in this house have a secret about that night they weren’t sharing? From Isabella down to the servants? Richard looked from one woman to the other but was none the wiser.

Isabella squeezed Dora’s hand and gave a shrug that was as artificial as her smile. “Who cares? There’s nothing for them to see. Let them come and look in the corners and they’ll come to the right conclusions. That Marcus took his own life while in one of his black humors. That will kill the rumors as dead as he is.”

That both of them were well aware of the rumors surrounding his cousin’s untimely death was obvious. But what was it they weren’t divulging? Instinct told him they probably knew a lot more than they were letting on. Should he investigate further? If he did, he might find something he didn’t like. So, instead, he slapped on a bland smile. “It’s settled then. No further arguments. You ladies choose a date and begin with the preparations. So long as I don’t have to do any of them, I shall be happy. I delegate it all to you.”

Isabella visibly brightened at that. “Splendid. And the first thing we must attend to is our apparel. Once that is ordered, we can get on with the rest of our preparations. Can’t we, Dora?”

Dora glanced up from her study of her hands, the nervous expression on her face surely not due only to what the local gentry would think of them holding a ball whilst supposedly still in mourning. Something else lurked there in her wide, frightened eyes, unspoken, yet tangible.