How To Seduce A Duke

Chapter 8

Bond Street

The next morning

“Look there, Anne.” Elizabeth gestured to Mary, who stood in the middle of Madame Devy’s elegant dressmaking shop, arms curled upward as if she’d been balancing a Roman water urn on each shoulder. “Blackstone’s garden statue has followed us here.”

Anne brought her hand to her lips, but Mary heard the muffled giggle anyway. She was not the least amused.

She craned her neck to see past the petite modiste and brocade privacy screen to glimpse the table clock.

Two hours. They’d been here for two mind-numbing hours.

First they’d spent an hour poring over countless fashion plates from La Belle Assemblée. Then, once a design had finally been selected, the modiste had begun draping her with fabrics, ribbons, and lace.

Two horrid hours had passed-and her sisters had not yet taken their turns standing beneath the modiste’s assessing gaze.

Mary could endure no more.

“Are we nearly finished, Lady Upperton? My arms feel leaden and my back is beginning to ache. And, truth to tell, I do like this silk quite a lot. So why don’t we choose it and be done with it all, hmm?”

Lady Upperton clucked her tongue as the modiste finished draping a swathe of rose silk over Mary’s shoulder. She took the sight in for several moments, considering, before shaking her head. “No, Madame Devy, the color does not suit her. The hue is too bold and mutes the natural rosiness of Miss Royle’s cheeks and lips. No, no, it will not do. Have you a softer shade in the same palette?”

The round old woman, immersed in her duties as fashion counselor, did not seem to hear Mary.

Mary crinkled her nose. “Lady Upperton?”

“A more demure shade? Oui, my lady, I do.” The modiste whisked the silk from Mary’s body, then ordered her assistant, a quiet young girl with mousy-brown hair and a pointed nose, to fetch yet another bolt of silk from the shelves.

Silently, the girl eased the roll of silk into the French modiste’s arms, then assisted her in unfurling several lengths and wrapping it around Mary three times.

“That’s it!” Elizabeth’s eyes went bright. “Oh, yes, that’s the one. You will see, Mary. The gown in this fabric will become your favorite.”

“Mademoiselle has a sharp eye. I think she is correct. What say you to this, Lady Upperton? Parfait!”

“Oh, yes, madame. I think this will do very well for the Heroes’ Fete next week.” Lady Upperton’s plump face suddenly looked very concerned. “You can hurry the gown along and deliver it in plenty of time? You promised me if we came to the shop and selected everything at once you could rush completion of the gowns.”

The modiste looked at the hand-colored fashion plate on the table nearby, then at the lengths of silk wound around Mary. She looked a bit concerned. “One gown, oui, but three?”

“Whatever it takes, I shall pay it. We must have three new gowns for the event.” Lady Upperton whisked her reticule from the table and shook it so that the coins inside jingled. “Can you finish in time?”

The modiste nodded. “Oui. I shall engage every seamstress in Town if I must to deliver the misses’ gowns before the ball. Is it true, my lady, that Wellington himself might attend?”

“I do not know. Though his attendance would make the affair most exciting, would it not?” She slanted an eyebrow at the modiste. “Even more reason to turn out these gels in the most stunning gowns possible, eh?”

Mary tensed. “Lady Upperton. Please do not do this. Do not spend your money on me. I can pay Madame Devy myself…or better yet, wear the blue silk I wore to the Brower rout.”

Lady Upperton clucked her tongue again. “Nonsense, dear. He has seen you in that gown. Mustn’t let him think you have but one proper gown for evening.”

“Why not? ’Tis true.”

Lady Upperton looked up at her. “Yes, dear, I am aware of that-which is why we are here today. If you are to receive an offer by the end of the summer, you will need a proper wardrobe right away. Today’s selections will be the first of many, of that you can be sure.”

“But-”

“Do not even bother to try to dissuade her, Mary.” Anne fingered a pale lavender ribbon. “Lady Upperton knows her mind. I intend to comply. So should you.”

“Besides, Mary. Lady Upperton is quite correct. You must admit, even our best Sunday frocks that we wore in the country are not at all suitable for London’s drawing rooms.”

By now, Lady Upperton was circling around Mary like a bird of prey. Her face was pinched with concentration, her little fingers steepled, and the ridiculously high heels of her Turkish slippers were clicking maddeningly on the wooden floor as she moved about.

“The silk perfectly complements your complexion, dear. The gown will turn the head of every lady and gentleman in the Argyle Rooms.” Lady Upperton rested her hands on her wide hips and smiled brightly. “Why, I daresay, the duke shan’t be able to remove his gaze from you.” Then she tossed Mary a sly wink.

No, surely, she could not have heard the old lady correctly.

“I-I am rather confused, Lady Upperton,” Mary said. “You mentioned the duke. But…in truth, you meant Viscount Wetherly, did you not?”

Anne and Elizabeth set the lace sample cards they held in their hands on the counter and leaned closer to listen.

Lady Upperton did not immediately reply. Instead, she handed a sash of ivory satin to Madame Devy, who wrapped it around Mary’s ribs. “No, not enough dash. Let us try the claret satin.”

“Oui, my lady.”

Then the tiny, plump woman turned her eyes up to Mary. “No, dear. I meant the duke.” She smiled at Mary and gave her a little nudge. “He called upon me yesterday for permission to squire you about in his brother’s stead. Very gentlemanly of him, don’t you agree?”

“He called upon you yesterday-during the day, not that evening?” Mary was stunned. “What hour was this, might I ask?”

Lady Upperton’s eyes wedged to one side and she tapped her index finger on her lower lip as she thought. “I suppose it must have been around one o’clock in the afternoon.” She glanced back up at Mary. “Why do you ask, dear?”

“Because he came to Berkeley Square in the morning to apologize for kissing me-then he called again at three o’clock for a phaeton ride in Hyde Park. But Lord Wetherly did not call until…” Mary narrowed her eyes.

“Oh, dear.” Elizabeth’s gaze locked with Anne’s. “Do you know what this means?”

“I do.” Anne cringed.

“Well, I do not!” Lady Upperton scuttled over to Anne. “What consequence does the time of the duke’s visit with me hold?”

“Lord Wetherly did not call upon Mary to inform her of his promise to escort Lady Tidwell to the season’s events”-Anne’s gaze flitted over Mary with every third word-“and the duke’s promise to watch over Mary…until late last evening.”

Mary could not believe what she was hearing. “It means, Lady Upperton, that the duke is no gentleman. He has not changed at all. He knew Lord Wetherly would be asked to escort Lady Tidwell to events-well before his brother was asked for the favor.”

She grabbed a small tufted cushion from the modiste’s hand and started plucking out the pins that held the silk in place, jabbing them into the cushion. “He very nearly had me fooled into believing he was actually a considerate, well-mannered gentleman. But I was wrong. Oh! I was so wrong.”

Mary ground her teeth while she struggled to withdraw a pin just behind her shoulder. “Why, I believe this whole Lady Tidwell scheme was crafted by Blackstone’s hand as a means to keep Lord Wetherly and me apart!”

Finally, Mary pulled the last pin free and unwound herself from the silken cocoon. “The ton got the right of it when they dubbed him the Black Duke, for there is no one with a more wicked soul. But this time he has gone too far.”

Mary disappeared behind the screen and quickly dressed. Then, without a word of explanation to anyone, she snatched up her shawl and charged out the door, angrily muttering to herself.

“Go ahead and play your horrid little games, Blackstone, you…you brimstone beast. I can outlast you. I can. Two months is not so very long.”

“Yes, Miss Royle, I’m certain.” Mrs. Polkshank bobbed her double chin as she topped off Mary’s teacup. “The duke won’t be pinchin’ anyone’s bottom at the musicale this evenin’-oh, me language. I beg your pardon, Miss Royle, I did overhear that bit when you and your sisters were talking last night.”

“Are you sure he will not be there?” Mary asked.

“Oh, I am sure of it. He ain’t on the guest list at all.” She widened her mouth in a proud smile. “Only cost me a wee kiss to get one of the Harringtons’ footmen to slip above stairs and snatch that bit of news for you.”

“A kiss?” Mary narrowed her eyes. “What happened to the two shillings I gave you?”

Sheepishly, Mrs. Polkshank revealed the two shillings and slid them onto the parlor tea table. “I was thinkin’ that since I got the information you needed, that I might be able to…keep the coins?”

Mary sighed. A shilling here, a tuppence there.

Avoiding the Black Duke was going to get very expensive before the summer was through.

Still, she’d gladly pay a half crown every night if it could keep her from running into the all-too-clever duke.

“Very well, Mrs. Polkshank, the money is yours to keep. Thank you for your report.” She took a sip of her steaming tea.

Lady Upperton would be very pleased to see her at the musicale, especially after she missed Lady Holland’s dinner party the previous night owing to the sick pain in her head. “What have you heard about the Heroes’ Fete? Anything yet?”

“Far as I know, all of London society will be there, miss. And, seein’ as how Lord Wetherly is one of the heroes bein’ celebrated…”

“I must attend,” Mary said to herself, “for Lord Wetherly.”

“Well, yes. But what I was about to say was that his brother will no doubt be there too. Don’t you think so? I would certainly attend if everyone was makin’ a royal fuss about my brother-if I had one. Which I don’t.”

“What?” Mary looked up at the cook. “Oh, I believe you are correct, Mrs. Polkshank. By the way, I left several more invitations for you on the table in the kitchen.”

“Oh, thank you, miss.”

“You need not dread the task. I hid a few more shillings in the water bucket by the meat spit. Use them, or keep them for yourself-as long as you let me know whether or not the Duke of Blackstone will be attending the events.”

Mrs. Polkshank grinned, revealing the gap where one of her front teeth used to be. “As long as the household’s got footmen,” she puckered her lips saucily, “I can find some way of learnin’ if the duke is attendin’ or not.” The entire right half of Mrs. Polkshank’s face contorted as she winked. “If you get my meanin’.”

When Mary looked up, Anne was standing directly behind the cook.

Oh no. Mary rested her head in her hand. Redirect the conversation. Quick. “Yes, Cook, a roast would be perfect for our Sunday meal. Good day.”

“What? A roast? Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Royle, but this is short notice, Miss Royle.” Mrs. Polkshank picked up the near empty teapot. “I’ll have to see what the butcher has. Maybe give him a little sugar too.” She laughed heartily, then turned around to see Anne glaring at her. Her expression sobered at once.

“That will be all, Cook,” Mary managed. “Thank you.”

“Yes, miss.” Mrs. Polkshank slinked out of the parlor and headed below stairs.

“Well?” Anne folded her arms over her chest.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear that you, our frugal sister who will not even allow us to hail a hackney in the rain, is paying our cook…and housekeeper…to steal peeks at society’s guest lists!”

“Do you know of another way I can survive the next two months? I cannot abide the duke.”

Anne unfolded her arms and slapped a hand to the table.

“Yes. Act like a mature woman. Lady Upperton has provided us with unmatched entrée into society. You might be a little grateful.”

“I am grateful for what she is doing for you and Elizabeth, but I have already met the gentleman I intend to marry. What good can come of my attending events?”

“To help us, Mary.”

“To help you and Elizabeth scout for mates? How could I be of assistance with that? I know almost no one in Town. And the Old Rakes, who are fully ensconced in society, have already committed themselves to seeing each of you matched.”

“Oh, you are wearing blinders.” Anne sat down beside her. “You are clever, Mary. You are curious. We need your help to investigate the story we’ve been told. All we have is a document box filled with scribbles and letters, none seeming to relate to another.”

Mary laid her hand on the book sitting beside her on the table. “We also have Papa’s medical reference.”

“And two empty laudanum bottles,” came their sister’s voice.

Mary and Anne looked up to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway with two small, dark amber labeled bottles in her hand.

Anne stood and crossed to her sister. She took the two bottles and held them up to the bright sunlight streaming through the window.

“Where did you find these? I don’t recall seeing them in either box.” Anne handed one of the bottles to Mary.

“Nor do I.” Mary turned the bottle over in her hand, then looked at Elizabeth.

“This morning, I accidentally knocked Papa’s document box off the table. When it hit the floor, I heard a clinking sound,” Elizabeth began. “Documents and letters do not clink, so I emptied the contents onto the carpet. It was just as before, a ledger, some papers. Nothing that could have made the noise I heard. I knew something else was in that box. I just couldn’t see it. So I shook it, and heard it again, that faint tinkling sound.”

“I don’t understand. Where did you find the bottles?” Anne asked.

Elizabeth’s gaze brightened. “There was something I wasn’t seeing, so I ran my fingers all around the inside. Then I felt it-a tiny metal depression.”

She tugged at the ribbon she wore around her neck and revealed the key to the document box. She twisted the oval finger grip and removed it, revealing a hexagonal-shaped driver. “Do you remember what Lotharian told us, that Papa told him that the key opened a trapdoor?”

Mary came to her feet. “In our home in Cornwall.”

“Yes, that is what we all assumed. But we were wrong.” Elizabeth held the small driver out before them all.

Mary and Anne craned their necks to view the hidden portion of the key more closely.

“When I inserted this into the hole and turned it, the base suddenly sprang open. That’s when I realized that the box had a false bottom-a trapdoor. When I opened it, I found the bottles, wrapped up in a filthy cloth.”

“To mute the noise.” Anne gripped the back of Mary’s chair and steadied herself. “You do not think those bottles contained the laudanum used to…”

Elizabeth nodded her head slowly. “Drug our mother-Mrs. Fitzherbert.”

Slowly Mary returned her gaze to the bottle in her hand. She lifted the stopper and sniffed. “Nooo, this is not possible.”