Chapter 4

Chapter Four

" I know you are inclined to think well of people, Rose, but can you at least acknowledge the audacity?" Violet declared from the largest chair in the drawing room at Rodworth Place, her rounded belly far more defined in her regular morning dress than in the new ball gown the night before. The room might be smaller than its counterpart at Nottingham House, but there was a delicacy to the way Violet decorated her home that lent it an airy elegance. She always did have the most aesthetic sense amongst the sisters. "Delilah Dunham might have a countess for a mother, but she is hardly the sort of woman one might consider for a duchess."

Rose smiled as she picked on some uneven stitches she'd found on the embroidered blanket she held. Brooke had declared the gift to their future niece or nephew complete last night before entrusting Rose to bring it this morning. Rose should have known not to trust her sister when it came to such traditional, feminine pursuits.

Violet prattled on about Lady Newport's audacity as Rose tried to mend the edge of the mangled leaf. Rose's calls at her other family and friends' homes usually involved far more playing and reading to old ladies. But Violet, while technically nearing her confinement, was, as ever, more invested in the social scene than in delicate music or polite conversation. Lady Rodworth might no longer be the prize of the London marriage mart, but she most certainly had plenty of thoughts about its current characters.

"Is it not up to the duke himself to decide whether or not Miss Dunham qualifies as a prospective bride?" Rose asked calmly as she tidied up the edge of the flower petal. "I know Rodworth has asked you to assist him in His Grace's search for a bride, but it is hardly necessary to feel aggravated on the man's behalf if he himself does not think much of the offense."

"That is only because he is new to the London scene."

Rose shrugged before folding the now-finished blanket. "I do not think two daughters of a late viscount are in the position to say so about one of the most prominent members of society."

"But Burgess himself said so," Violet remarked with so much nonchalance that it was almost comical. "Did he not look frightfully uncomfortable when Lady Newport accosted him last night?"

Rose wished to disagree. But it was rather difficult to disagree with something that had been so obviously true.

"Perhaps he is only finding his feet. Not everyone is born adept with social graces. These things can take time for the less gregarious among us."

"Well, if he has any hesitations to overcome, it is rather important that he do so soon. The hunters are marking their prey."

"Must we truly use such predatory terms to describe these women?"

"Is it in any way inaccurate?"

Again, Rose shrugged. She packed away her borrowed needle. "I suppose not. "

"Then we have no reason to hold back." Violet grinned. "Lord knows they do not."

"Violet—"

"I will never say so to their faces, of course."

"Won't you?" It was Rose's turn to grin. "I fear your husband's frankness and tendency to insult people within their hearing is beginning to rub off on you."

"Clive is a man devoid of artifice."

"Who successfully, publicly insulted the woman he would eventually marry before sharing so much as a dance with her."

Violet grimaced, and Rose laughed. She would never tire of wheedling her sisters—especially when Violet responded so deliciously petulantly.

"He has apologized," said Violet.

"I know."

"Plenty of times—plenty of groveling."

"I would certainly hope so."

"Though sometimes I fear I mention it a bit too often." Violet bit back a visible smile.

Rose chuckled. "I take it your husband does not appreciate such a reminder."

"No, he does not. Men do love to be right." Violet laughed. "But a good teasing or two that results in some good kisses would not be remiss."

Now Rose rolled her eyes. "You two are hopelessly lovesick."

"Good. We do strive to be." Violet smiled, her face as radiant in her motherhood as it was at the height of her debut. "Now, about the Duke of Burgess?—"

"What about Burgess?" said a familiar male voice, and Rose looked up to see Rodworth and the aforementioned duke himself march into the room. Her brother-in-law, as always, appeared lean and graceful, a gravitas grounding his otherwise boyish features. The duke, on the other hand, looked tall and broad beside his friend, even as his gentle smile appeared almost shy. Rose hoped she did not look too embarrassed herself when the men greeted them both.

Violet, of course, had no qualms about having discussed the men so openly just moments ago. "I was telling Rose that Lady Newport is a pain."

"Ah," said Rodworth, no doubt accustomed to his wife's exaggerated manner of speaking. He dropped a kiss on Violet's cheek before dropping into a chair beside her. He gestured at the duke, prompting His Grace to lower himself onto a vacant chair nearer to the door, thus creating an almost perfect square cornered by the four of them. "Is there any reason why Lady Newport's machinations have to do with poor Burgess?"

Rose met the duke's eye, and an almost understanding twinkle shimmered back at her. She smiled.

"Did you not see how she acted at the St. John ball?" Violet decried. "The woman all but accosted poor Burgess."

Rose watched the duke offer a helpless, acquiescent shrug.

"His Grace seemed perfectly capable of fending for himself," Rose remarked before her sister could continue her merciless, if wholly unintended, emasculation of her guest. "I don't think Lady Newport dared approach him for the rest of the evening after he ended their conversation."

"But the other ladies most certainly did not stop," the duke lamented. All eyes focused on the unassuming nobleman, who merely responded with a wry, self-deprecating smile. "As much as I admire Miss Nottingham's kindness, I have to admit that Lady Rodworth is not entirely misguided in her assessment of my situation."

Rose felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Any other person in his shoes would be more than eager to bask in the attention, but the poor dear—handsome and charming as he was—looked well-nigh terrified.

"Thank you," Violet acknowledged. She patted her unborn child as if for solidarity. "We shall have to do something about it, of course. We shall gather only the most eligible ladies of the ton for your next event, and that ought to help communicate what qualities one needs to be a duchess."

"Are you planning this for the picnic next week?" asked Rodworth.

"With Percy and Sarah's help, yes. The guest list does look promising."

"Have we managed to be rid of Lord Hapsbury?"

"It was the first thing I did."

"Good."

"We do not need the old man trying to draw all female attention to himself. We need them directed to Burgess."

Husband and wife dove headlong into an animated, strategic discussion of the apparent picnic, and Rose stole another glance at the duke who looked all but ready to break out in cold sweat.

She bit her lip. Then she cleared her throat softly, too low to disrupt the Rodworths' planning. "Would you like some tea, Your Grace?"

The commonplace offer seemed to send a look of relief over the duke's face, and he let loose what appeared to be a very long breath. "Yes, please. Tea would be marvelous."

Frederick tried to stay focused as Miss Nottingham graciously asked for his preferences and prepared a cup accordingly. He had been in London society for all of three weeks, and he very nearly wished to faint at the mere thought of yet more events with swarming females in colorful plumes and artfully balanced coiffures. A picnic, he supposed, was not as terrifying as a ball—given that he would at least have the diversion of the outdoor scenery if he were ever called upon to promenade any of the ladies. He did not like walking as much as he liked curling up on his sofa with his books, but he liked being ogled on the dance floor far less.

"Your Grace," Miss Nottingham called out with a gentle smile.

"Thank you. I am much obliged." Frederick reached over. The brief brush of their fingers as he accepted his cup was entirely accidental—unremarkable, even. But Frederick tensed nervously at the unintended contact until Miss Nottingham dismissed it with a shy smile.

Frederick released yet another tight breath. Other women might be more than eager to make much out of such a trifling matter. It was with great relief that he concluded himself safe from such overreactions from Miss Nottingham.

"I apologize on behalf of my sister," Miss Nottingham whispered, "although I suppose there is a limited number of times I can do so without beginning to sound insincere."

Frederick smiled, a little abashed. He sipped his perfectly steeped tea before responding, "Not to worry. If anything, it is I who owe you an apology, Miss Nottingham."

"Whatever for?"

"A gentleman is only as good as his word, and I fear I'd neglected to keep mine over our promised dance."

"Oh, that." She blushed slightly, looking almost embarrassed. "I would never hold such a thing against you, Your Grace."

"I can think of many women who would revel in such a boon."

"Perhaps, but that is hardly an excuse for doing so myself. "

"Is there nothing you would like to request from a duke? No favors or gifts?"

Miss Nottingham smiled, her cheeks flushed in a pretty little shade of rose. Did Lady Rodworth say her sister's name was Rose? He would have to check with Percy later. People had far too many darn names to remember.

"Perhaps you can consider my magnanimity a repayment—for your generosity at the drapers'."

"Ah, yes." Frederick bowed his head, remembering once more the humble circumstances in which he had first encountered the quiet soul that was Miss Nottingham. "If you are willing to let me off with so slight a punishment—then I suppose I would be a fool to insist otherwise."

"You are no fool, Your Grace."

"I sometimes feel like one." He shrugged a shoulder. Across from him, Lord and Lady Rodworth were still thick in their own conversation. Was a picnic worthy of such elaborate planning? He would never understand the ton . "Give me a book, and I would gladly wax poetic over every detail of every page. But put me in a ballroom, and I feel rather like a dunce."

"Not everyone is built for society."

"But it seems as if a duke is expected to be."

"Perhaps," she acquiesced, "but none of us are ever born already doing what is expected of us. We learn, we grow, and we improve."

"You speak wise words for a young lady," Frederick complimented. "May I know where you have gleaned such wisdom? I cannot think the third daughter of a viscount could be raised with many demands upon her shoulders."

"No, I was not." An almost wistful look passed momentarily over her face before disappearing. "But I was raised to know music and art and all sorts of social manners. I was taught to manage a household and to nurture a home. I was raised to find a husband, preferably one in London. And yet, with my father's passing, I seem to have achieved half of my purpose with little chance of completing the latter half."

"You are hardly a spinster, Miss Nottingham."

"Perhaps not, but a woman is rarely considered a fresh prize once she has reached her majority."

"It is difficult, is it not—this marriage business?" Frederick sighed. He sank deeper into his chair and sipped his tea before it ran cold. "I came to London with the express purpose of understanding Parliament and finding a bride. I had thought the first task harder, but now I see that it is the second one that is infinitely more challenging."

"If the rumors are to be believed, sir, you have every eligible young lady and widow waiting for the favor of your hand."

"And that's exactly the problem, isn't it? How can I grow to truly know anyone—anyone at all—without raising expectations?"

"A dance or a conversation or two would hardly place your honor at stake."

"True. But it is frightfully difficult to get to know a young lady when the words 'future duchess' are being bandied about whenever I so much as walk past a female with anything except a scowl on my face."

Miss Nottingham chuckled, though she looked as if she was attempting to smother her laughter. Frederick smiled to ease her embarrassment.

"And just think, Miss Nottingham, of the scandal if I were to take a lady aside to grow to know her privately—or perhaps call enough times at her house to establish an actual acquaintance."

"Not without family members privately arranging to have the banns read, I would think. "

"Exactly." Frederick sighed. "If I were to indeed wish to marry a lady, then such expectations would perhaps not be remiss. But what if I were to discover that she and I do not suit? What then? Shall I play the heartless rake and disappoint her? Or shall I force myself to endure a marital alliance that I do not wish to enter?"

"Not many men would think so thoroughly about the consequences of their actions."

"Perhaps, but that is hardly an excuse for doing so myself," he borrowed her earlier words.

Miss Nottingham shook her head and smiled. "I suppose I cannot argue with that."

"Not without sounding sanctimonious yourself."

She smiled once more, and Frederick felt at ease in the presence of a gentlewoman for the first time since assuming his title. For a comforting, wordless moment, they both sipped their tea and listened to Rodworth and his wife continue to talk themselves into a flurry. Percy might think Frederick and the viscount similar in how seriously they took their duties, but Frederick could hardly imagine going through life with the intensity of the young Viscount Rodworth in things apart from one's core duties.

The master and mistress of Rodworth Place had just managed to come to an agreement about parasols and boats when Miss Nottingham said quietly beside him, "There is a way to discourage the ladies without harming your honor."

"Is that so?"

Miss Nottingham seemed to have to take a moment to consider her words before looking up again. "If Your Grace would like to know, there are more— roundabout ways to have your suit declined if you wish for it to be so."

"Pray, tell. I am all ears." Frederick leaned closer.

Miss Nottingham appeared flustered for the first time in their brief acquaintance, but she eventually met his eye. "Every young lady, however eager to become a duchess, has certain personal reservations that might dissuade her of such an ambition. It might be a person or pet that they find indispensable—or perhaps a personal disinclination caused by certain events in her experience. But everyone, as long as they breathe, has such preferences."

Frederick nodded sagely, understanding dawning. "And if I were to be able to discover these preferences—I might be able to persuade a lady that we do not suit, without disappointing her directly."

"Indeed."

Frederick nodded again, just as Rodworth and his wife seemed to finally conclude their discussion.

"Thank you, Miss Nottingham, that is a truly illuminating suggestion."

Miss Nottingham smiled, as serene as ever. "At your service, Your Grace."