Page 5 of Her Passionate Duke

Jeremy winced, and took a deep breath, before going to the sideboard and serving himself a plate of food which did not appeal at all, but which he knew he should eat. Once settled at the table, he met his mother’s eye again. She was waiting, and he knew that she would watch him in stony silence until he answered her questions.

“I… ah… no I did not set out to offend them all. But if the truth is offensive, then so be it. You cannot deny the truth of my words, now can you Mother?”

She sighed, and actually looked away. His words had hit home, it seemed.

“No, I cannot. But I can decry the rather insensitive manner in which you phrased that truth. We want them to feel for the poor, and choose to donate, not feel insulted!”

“They can feel insulted, so long as they also feel guilty enough to donate. I am happy to propound upon their good works to anyone who will listen, if they need to feel important for their generosity – but I cannot restrain my passion when I speak of the injustices we seek to redress.”

“Especially when you are more than half foxed on good canary wine?”

“Especially then.”

He had the grace to look chagrined, and she smiled, her demeanour softening.

“We shall see how many of them actually donate, and how many give us the cut at the next social event we attend, I suppose. But please, Grantsham, attempt to drink less in future, when something important depends on you. It is time, my son, for you to face reality. You are twenty-seven – past time to find a wife, and give up your rakehell ways – those ways do not help our charity work. This Season, choose a girl to marry – please?”

Jeremy shuddered, his mind filling with the images of all of the young women who had so single-mindedly pursued him, since the moment when he had assumed the title at seventeen. He did not like any of them. But perhaps there would be new ones this year? A sliver of memory came back to him from the previous night, of a partially overheard conversation – some chit having the audacity to say that marrying him would not be the worst thing she could do, if he had it right. He did not even clearly remember who it had been – except that she had been pretty, and that he did not remember ever seeing her before.

He pushed that thought aside, and swallowed some food, before addressing his mother.

“I will look. But I do not promise to marry. They are all so… unprepossessing…”

His mother sighed, and lifted her teacup, knowing that his words were the best she was likely to get, at that point.

***

On the day after the dramatic dinner at Grantsham Hall, Linnet and Lady Caroline planned to visit a modiste on Bond Street.

Lady Caroline arrived at Linnet’s home early, accompanied by her maid, and shared coffee with Linnet in the breakfast-room.

“I hope that you’re not still worrying about last night,” said Lady Caroline. Through the bay windows they could see the morning sun casting a golden glow over Grosvenor Square. “I’m sure that you were the least of His Grace of Grantsham’s concerns.”

Linnet had slept only fitfully the night before. She’d kept running back over every word of the conversation in her head, until she had accidentally committed it to memory.

She’d also found her mind replaying that moment when she’d first seen the Duke, and the heat she’d felt when she’d wished that it was her cheek he was kissing.

“I’d rather not talk about it. If I’m lucky I won’t ever have to see him again and eventually we’ll both forget about it.”

“In that case, let us talk, instead, about what happened last night after you left - your mother did decide to drag you away home very early. Sometimes I really don’t understand her – she wants you to meet gentlemen, to marry, but then she takes you home when the evening is only half done.” Lady Caroline shook her head, and set down her cup, trying hard to suppress a smile. “Monsieur Fournier said that he would like to see me again before he returns to Paris.”

Linnet was so consumed with her own thoughts – thoughts of kissing - that it took her a moment to grasp the implications of this statement.

“But only as friends, of course?”

“I think he may have had something more than friendship in mind.”

Linnet stared at Lady Caroline in dismay and horror.

“But you can’t!” she exclaimed. “You’re already betrothed.”

“If you can really call it a betrothal,” said Lady Caroline with a dejected shrug. “Lord Brandon only sporadically replies to my letters, and he refuses to say when he’s coming home from Italy. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found out that he had fallen in love with some other girl on the continent.”

“Maybe, but that’s no reason to break your betrothal vows.”

For the first time Lady Caroline looked irritated.

“There were no vows when we agreed to be married. And no contract exchanged at that point, although I am sure that my father has one all drawn up and ready. The only vows we’ll ever make are the ones we make at the altar, assuming we reach it.”