The Duke's Christmas Vow: Regency Romance Page 3

  “I gave my word, so I will choose one. But not until the very last day, unless I do truly become taken with one of them. Between now and then, I will continue to spend equal time with each one, if I can, and to avoid, very vigorously, any attempt on their part to trap me in a compromise – for I am sure that some of them will try that tactic.”

  “Thank you. And yes, they likely will. As far as I can tell, the rumour has already circulated amongst them, that you plan to choose a bride here. I would suggest that you are cautious around Lady Anne Brooks – she strikes me as rather determined and forward, and I know that her family are not as wealthy as they like to imply.”

  “Thank you for the warning, Mother. I have no particular concern for the wealth of my bride’s family, or the size of her dowry – we do not lack for wealth – but equally, I will not be manipulated into having to rescue her family from the depredations of a wastrel father, grandfather, or brother. If I help her family, should it be necessary, then it will be by my choice.”

  “Very wise of you, Rafael. Truthfully, I would not have invited her, had we not been so short on remaining possibilities for ladies you had not already rejected as unsuitable.”

  “Well then, you can cross her off the list of candidates now – I assume that you do have a list, Mother?”

  His mother laughed softly.

  “Of course I do – you know that I am always organised, if nothing else.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I will leave you to contemplate your options. But don’t attempt to hide away here in your study for too long.”

  “I won’t. But I will stay here for a little while, and do as you suggest – contemplate them all. I rather think that quite a few will be crossed off that list quickly.”

  His mother sighed at those words, but nodded, and left the room. Rafe sat, staring at the family portrait which hung on the study wall – it showed his parents, with him and his sister Mercy, when they had been children – before Rafe had gone off to Eton. His mother was right – he did not wish to allow his father’s legacy to be lost. He needed a wife, and an heir. He had hoped for the sort of happiness which Mercy had found, for she had married for love, some seven years earlier, but it seemed that he was not to have that, so he had best resign himself to his fate.

  He mentally ran through the list of young ladies present – there were ten, each with one or both parents attending with them. Most were very much typical of the ton, with middling figures, dressed in pale colours, with hair of various shades from mid-brown to pale blonde, and pale skin, enhanced with careful cosmetics to cover freckles and the like, and make them seem flushed with health.

  They were like so many children – each vying for his attention, each wanting the prize, each thinking only of herself.

  Not all.

  The thought came again.

  Lady Charity Pemberton seemed different – her skin was flushed with genuine health, with no artifice needed, her hair was a rich dark red, and her garments, whilst rather plain, were well made, and seemed to feature slightly stronger colours – enough that he noticed her, in any room. And she did not simper at him, did not push herself forward – had, in fact, been barely visible.

  He had only noted where she was because, since their meeting in the lane, he had found himself looking for her.

  Could she be a suitable option?

  He did not know. He knew nothing of her family, beyond the fact that the Warkworth March was an old title, and he had not ever heard gossip about it… wait, he had, but just once – something about Lady Charity’s father being far older than her mother, and society having been a little scandalised by their marriage at the time. Nothing beyond that – and a scandal more than twenty years gone was irrelevant to today.

  Perhaps he should seek her out, and speak to her more – but he would need to be careful, lest the other young women see it as him preferring her. He would not be at all surprised if some of them were capable of quite malicious actions towards one they saw as competition – and he would not wish to bring that upon Lady Charity.

  She deserved better.

  That thought surprised him, yet he felt it to be true.

  He rose, and left the room – he was no further ahead in his deliberations, beyond that intent to seek out Lady Charity, and it was best that he steel himself, and go back to interacting with them. He would never reach a decision if he simply avoided all of them until Christmas Day.

  *****

  Charity had spent the morning in her rooms, carefully constructing a rather flamboyant feathered piece for her mother’s evening wear. Her mother liked wearing the turban like headdresses, for the simple reason that they could be economically repurposed, over and over again, by changing the feathers attached, and adding or removing some layers of cloth.

  The previous day had been cold, with a drizzle of rain in the morning, and she had not ventured out. All day, she had made sure that she was inconspicuous – listening to the other young women discuss the Duke, and finding herself rather offended on his behalf by their attitudes. Which was ridiculous – he was, in no way, hers to defend.

  Tomorrow, she would go for a walk in the early morning again – so that she need not take a chaperone, and could search for feathers as she liked with no one the wiser. It was rather improper of her to go out alone, but she would do so, nonetheless, else she would go quite mad. Her mother had looked at her just this morning, and shaken her head sighing, then asked her quietly if she could at least try to capture the Duke’s attention.

  Charity had said that she would, but in all honesty, she could not imagine how she might manage it.

  Now, as afternoon approached, she set the finished piece carefully on the dresser, beside her mother’s turban, and called Maggie to help her change. It was time to go downstairs, and mingle with the other guests.

  The parlour was full, with some of the older people playing cards at a table set to one side, and the other young women clustered in two groups. One group were gathered near the fireplace, and the other in the corner, not far from the bay window. Charity paused a moment just inside the door. Her mother was at the card table, and obviously deeply engaged in the conversation there, as well as the game. Which meant that going to her was not an option.

  Charity considered the room again. The bay window seat seemed her best choice. She had a small journal in her pockets, and a pencil – she could sit in the bay window seat, being thereby partially hidden from the others by the curtains, and sketch designs for feathered brooches and hats. If anyone saw them, they would simply think her a little eccentric, to sketch such things rather than the view out of the window – they would certainly not suspect that she sketched them with the intent of making them later.

  She moved across the room, as usual, barely noticed by anyone, for they were all too busy with their conversations. Upon reaching the bay window, she was tempted to slide back onto the seat, and curl her feet up under her – but with a little inward sigh, she reminded herself that she should not – that to do so would be far too casual and childlike for a proper young lady. So she sat to one side, leaning back against the wall – which meant that she was very much tucked behind the curving bundle of the tied curtains on that side - but she did not care, for being inconspicuous was her preference, anyway.

  The Duke, she realised, was not in the room – she looked for him, almost unconsciously, each time she entered a room – so that she could avoid him, she told herself – certainly not because she cared what he did. Still, her mother would be disappointed…

  The other side of the curtain which hid her, someone stood talking. Charity realised that she could hear them very clearly – perhaps it was some trick of the shape of the room, and the position of the curtains, but their conversation seemed to be funnelled towards her, along the wall, and past the edge of the curtain. She should ignore them – it was impolite to eavesdrop – but curiosity drove her – and if she moved from here, where else in the room might she go?

&nbs
p; At least one of the voices seemed familiar, and after a moment, she realised that it was Lady Anne Brooks. Lady Anne struck Charity as being very sure of her own charms, and very forward – but perhaps that was simply a perception created by the comparison to Charity’s own rather reticent nature. The voices continued, and even as Charity sketched a hat, she listened.

  “You must try harder, Anne! He spends no more time with you than any of the others – that will not do at all!”

  “But Mama, I do try! Unlike other gentlemen, he does not seem to even notice my bosom, nor does he even really look at me when we speak together. Nor has he kissed my hand. How can I garner more of his attention when he behaves like that?”

  “Perhaps one of your more daring gowns? And you must discover what he is interested in, and ask him to tell you about it – men like talking about themselves, and you can look adoring and fascinated.”

  “I have tried Mama – but he has no interest in hunting, nor in telling me about the size of his estates, nor any of the other things that gentlemen will usually talk about!”

  “Then… perhaps, if he does not begin to show interest soon, we will have to apply more drastic measures.”

  Charity had almost ceased to breathe – she should not be overhearing this, yet she could not move without potentially revealing her position. The conversation sickened her, for it was obvious that the two women spoke of the Duke, and Lady Anne’s attempts to ensnare his affections. The very idea that they sought to manipulate him was horrifying – what kind of marriage would a person have, if it was based, from the start, on deceit and manipulation? And that last remark… what had Lady Chilwinth meant by ‘more drastic measures’?

  After a moment of silence, Lady Anne spoke again.

  “Mama… you don’t mean…?”

  “I do. If it takes a suitably arranged discovery of you, with him in an unequivocally shocking situation, to bring him up to snuff, then so be it.”

  Charity bit her lip in her effort not to gasp. They were talking about trying to intentionally compromise the Duke! She had heard of such things happening, but had never expected to meet a person so unscrupulous as to attempt something so dreadfully improper. Lady Anne was speaking again.

  “Mama… how might we achieve that? Will it not be difficult, if he does not attempt to spend any time with me?”

  “It will, but I will think of a way – I will watch closely everything that he does, what the routine of his days is like, and discover something that we can take advantage of. There will be something, I am sure.”

  “I will watch also, whilst I continue to try to attract him – what kind of man does not respond to flattery?”

  One worth knowing.

  The thought slipped into Charity’s mind. There were very few men she had ever met about whom she would have said that, but the Duke of Oakmoor definitely qualified. Should she warn him? But how could she, without being alone with him? Which was most unlikely to happen. It worried her – she would not wish to see him trapped by the likes of Lady Anne, yet she could see no way that she could act to prevent it. She would simply have to be alert to both what chances she might have to speak to him alone, and to what Lady Anne was doing.

  Lady Anne and her mother moved away, and Charity breathed easier – but she could not concentrate on drawing – her mind was too busy, replaying what she had heard, and worrying.

  *****

  Rafe stepped into the parlour and, as usual, all eyes turned towards him. He forced himself to smile. Now for the difficult bit – he could not go directly to any one group where one or more of the young ladies were engaged in conversation, or that would be interpreted as preference, so he would need to engineer a more casual approach to conversation.

  Fortunately, his mother stood near the card table, and, as he moved in her direction, it appeared that the current game concluded, and various people rose, as others took their places. By the time he reached his mother, she was speaking with Lady Warkworth.

  Who was joined at that moment by her daughter.

  Rafe felt oddly pleased – if he had to speak to these young women, Lady Charity would be his first choice of them all – for she would not, he already knew, blather on at him about inconsequentialities. She looked up, and met his eyes, hers filled with some consternation. He frowned, wondering what disturbed her so.

  “Good afternoon Mother, Lady Warkworth, Lady Charity. I trust that you are well today?”

  He bowed, and they curtsied in return, all save his mother. As she rose, Lady Charity spoke, her voice quite soft and melodious.

  “I am indeed well, Your Grace, thank you.”

  It was as before – she seemed simply to answer when spoken to, with no thought to flattering him, or simpering, or… anything but the simplicity of truth. It was, in comparison to other women, quite startling. He smiled at her, suddenly pleased, and for a moment, she met his eyes again, with that open regard that he had first seen in the frosty lane. Then, after mere seconds, that clouded over into uncertainty again.

  He had to find out why.

  Chapter Four

  Charity cringed inside. There was nothing pretty or elegant about her speech – she always just blurted out the simplest answer. Yet the Duke had smiled at her… she turned her eyes away. He was just being kind to her, kind to the awkward, plain girl. She was foolish to think that she might ever get to speak to him privately enough to warn him of Lady Anne’s scheming, yet she felt that she should try.

  He did not deserve to be trapped by the likes of Lady Anne. Yet… she did not know what he wanted, and it was most arrogant of her to make presumptions on the matter. If he was truly seeking to choose a bride, what manner of woman might he want? Did he care for love? Or did he only care for her appearance, and the other practical qualities which the woman might bring to the marriage? Most men of the ton, as far as she knew, did not regard love as important. And a Duchess should be polished and socially skilled – so perhaps someone as adept at manipulation as Lady Anne would be a benefit to him?

  She shook her head, frustrated.

  The Duke was saying something to her mother – something about there being plans for some more formal dinners, and dancing, over the next week. Charity barely prevented herself from shuddering – more chances for her social ineptness to be on display, in a room full of beautifully polished young women. The conversation finished, and the Duke moved on to speak to another group of people. Charity felt as if the warmth in the room moved with him – suddenly, she was cold, and more disconsolate than ever.

  She watched him move around the room, and could not help but study the moment when he reached the group where Lady Anne stood with Lady Chilwinth. Lady Anne immediately assumed a bright smile, and blushed becomingly when the Duke bowed to her. She appeared to be chattering away about something – what on earth did she find to talk about?

  The Duke, however, rather to Charity’s surprise, looked almost bored – perhaps he had no interest in whatever topic she spoke of?

  Watching was pointless. Charity made herself turn away – only to discover her mother watching her.

  “So, daughter, you find him of interest, do you? That is most unusual for you.”

  “I… ah… well… he is not so… overbearing… as most men.”

  Her mother lifted a hand to her chest in mock surprise.

  “There is hope yet…”

  “Mother! It is not as if he will notice me anyway – not amongst all of these oh-so-polished young ladies.”

  “Nonetheless…”

  “I know. I will try.”

  At that moment, one of the older ladies approached to speak to her mother, and Charity allowed herself to sink back into silence, simply observing the room. Which was why, an hour or so later, she noticed Lady Anne exit the room not long after the Duke had done so.

  Her heart beat harder, and her mouth went dry – was this arranged between Lady Anne and the Duke? Or was her leaving the first step in her attempting to trap him? If it was
the latter, then she simply could not let it happen – not without trying to do something!

  Charity whispered in her mother’s ear that she needed the necessary, and slipped quietly across the room, and into the hallway. To one side, she saw a flash of movement – the tail of Lady Anne's skirts disappearing through a door. Moving as rapidly as she could, she went in that direction.

  It seemed that she was just in time, for she reached the door to see, before Lady Anne had a chance to close it, the Duke rising from his seat behind his desk. He spoke, sounding somewhat shocked, even as his eyes found Charity, where she stood in the hall.

  “Lady Anne! What are you doing here?”

  Charity chose that moment to ‘accidentally’ bump against a side table, causing it to thump against the wall. Lady Anne looked around, startled, and for a moment her expression was such that, if looks could kill, Charity would have perished on the spot. Then she turned back, assuming a startled and innocent expression, and gasped.

  “Oh, Your Grace, I do apologise… I was looking for the necessary, and I must have taken a wrong turn!”

  The deceitful girl even managed to flush with apparent embarrassment at having to mention something so improper to a man. Charity spoke up.

  “Lady Anne, it just so happens that I am on my way to the necessary too – let me guide you.”

  The Duke gave Charity a very grateful smile, and bowed.

  “There, Lady Anne, a solution to your problem. Do not let me delay you.”

  Lady Anne, left with no options, turned with the appearance of good grace, and stepped out into the hallway. The Duke closed the door behind her, and Charity heard the click as it locked. How very wise of him.

  “It’s this way, Lady Anne.”

  The woman glared at Charity, and it was very obvious that retribution was likely, later – Charity would need to take great care. But what could she have done? She could not simply have allowed the unscrupulous woman to trap the Duke!