Page 3 of Her Passionate Duke

“I suppose it was some comfort,” said Monsieur Fournier darkly. “But I think she would give it all away in a moment to have her husband back. I have been told that it was a love match.”

Linnet shrugged as if to say, “Who could really blame her?”

“Just before Lord Brandon left,” said Lady Caroline, reaching for a slice of bread pudding, “I remember him telling me that there had been some appalling tragedy in the Duke’s family’s past. But when I pressed him on it, he would only say it was too sad to talk about.”

“Who is this Lord Brandon?” asked Monsieur Fournier.

“My betrothed. He’s been in Italy for the past year, studying Renaissance sculpture, and only occasionally remembers to respond to my letters. But he’ll be coming home at the end of the year and then we’ll be married in the spring,” she added, without much conviction. “I told him that we have to be married, even if he meets some gorgeous Florentine, because I have already promised my sister Maggie that she will be my attendant at the wedding.”

“He would be a fool to back out,” said Monsieur Fournier, swirling the wine in his glass. “One doesn’t meet a woman like you every day, not even in fair Florence.”

Lady Caroline didn’t seem to know what to say to this, but she blushed and stammered a few words of thanks. Meanwhile at the other end of the table, the Duchess of Grantsham had risen to her feet.

“Now that my son is, finally, here, I can say what I’ve been wanting to say. As some of you may have already heard, Grantsham and I have been raising money on behalf of an orphanage, St. Agnes’ Home for the Abused and Orphaned. We feel very deeply—”

But here she was interrupted by the Duke, who had appeared suddenly behind her, smiling affably. He held a glass of canary wine in one hand as though not wanting to be parted from it.

“Isn’t this a wonderful scene? I think that, if we could grasp even for a moment how lucky we all are to be sitting in this room, with such a feast before us, it could change the world.” Someone nearby gave an embarrassed cough. Linnet wasn’t entirely sure what the Duke was trying to say, but she had the feeling that he was slightly foxed. Shaking his finger excitedly, he added, “Not one-tenth of one-percent of the British population gets to dine like us — gets to live like us! We are, truly, the blessed of the earth.” There was some appreciative murmuring at this. Everyone liked to be reminded of how lucky they were. “But!” He brought his hand down on the table, rattling the dishes. There was a passionate quiver in his voice. “With great privilege comes a responsibility to the less fortunate. Our Lord had harsh words for the man who, having been given a single talent, buried it in the earth and failed to use it for the betterment of his fellow man.”

He paused for a moment, making certain to meet every eye, and many looked away from that piercing gaze. Then, after a sip of his wine, he went on.

“I know that none of you will make that mistake. That’s why I’m sure that I can count on each and every one of you to assist in the continued funding of St. Agnes’ Home. There are thousands of London children who lack basic necessities, who have never picked up a book, who couldn’t read even if they did. I’ve seen their hollow faces staring up into the shop windows at food so rich that they will likely never eat anything like it, indeed, perhaps they have no food at all. But no one thinks of these children. No one has ever bought so much as a roasted goose for these children. When they die, as they often die, no one comforts the bereaved mothers of these poor children.”

Linnet stared around at the faces of her fellow guests. Some looked attentive while others looked outraged. They had been invited to dinner, and now they were being given a sermon. She leaned close to Lady Caroline, and whispered very quietly in her ear, “I do not think that the guests are happy,” as the Duke went on.

“And yes, I know what some of you are thinking,” said the Duke, raising his hands to motion for calm. “You’re thinking, ‘Since when it is our job to care for the poor, verminous, diseased children of the earth? Did they not drive themselves into poverty through their own follies? Are we our brother’s keeper?’ To which I can only say: every child who starves within the gates of a great city like ours brings shame on the men and women of that city, who could have fed him, who could have clothed him, who could have taught him to read and write, but did not. And on the final day they will hear in their ears the words that were spoken 2,000 years ago: ‘I was hungry and you gave me no meat; I was thirsty and you gave me no drink; naked and you clothed me not.’”

He sat down again and raised the glass to his lips, peering out over the table as though to gauge the general reaction. Linnet wouldn’t have described it as favourable: one old woman seated near her was practically seething, while another shook her head in surprise and said, “Oh, my!”

The Duchess of Grantsham, perhaps sensing wisely that there was no way to improve on her son’s speech, or, indeed, to immediately mitigate its effects, thanked the guests mildly and returned to her seat.

“I can’t imagine that she was happy about that,” said Monsieur Fournier. “He offended every guest here.”

“I wish I knew what she was thinking,” said Linnet.

She could see the Duchess of Grantsham whispering to Lady Caroline’s mother from behind a jewelled fan, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“I wish I knew what he was thinking,” Monsieur Fournier replied.

The Duke’s speech proved to be the only thing that anyone wanted to talk about for the rest of the night. After dinner Linnet and Lady Caroline stood together near the bookshelf in the parlour. Lady Caroline was explaining her maid’s method of dyeing white woollen garments to create a shade of red when Lady Chelmstone came striding up to them.

“It looks like there’s trouble afoot,” she said in a whisper. “Lord Carlton just confronted the Duchess of Grantsham in the hallway — said no one had ever spoken to him like that in his forty years of life and they weren’t going to start now!”

“Maybe it’s high time someone did address him like that,” said Linnet. “We could all stand to be reminded of the plight of the poor and afflicted now and again.”

“Don’t let anyone else hear you say that,” said Lady Chelmstone, glowering at her beadily. “Those who are privileged don’t like being told they need to give it up, not even a few pennies of it.”

Linnet waited until her mother had moved on before whispering to Lady Caroline.

“Honestly, no one is asking them to give it up. One can maintain a certain level of comfort and still tend to the basic needs of one’s fellow man. Indeed, what most members of the ton spend on one article of clothing would likely feed a poor family for a year. None of these people would even notice the loss of such an amount – surely they cannot begrudge donating?”

“You’re beginning to sound like the Duke,” said Lady Caroline. “Perhaps you should marry him.”

Normally Linnet would have baulked at the notion; but she was getting tired of hearing the Duke disparaged and felt an instinctive need to defend him. She did not examine that response too closely, lest she discover things she was not ready to admit to.

“You know, I could do much worse than marrying someone so compassionate. He and his mother are the only people here who even seem to care that there are children starving in London.”

“You ought to talk to him about it,” said Lady Caroline with a small smile.