Chapter 5

Chapter Five

M iss Nottingham's suggested method for dissuading Frederick's overly enthusiastic pursuers was a fascinating and unexpectedly promising suggestion. Any tactic, in fact, that allowed him to be able to grow in acquaintance with prospective brides without having to be forced to meet matrimonial expectations was exceedingly welcome.

But Frederick still liked to think that he would not have to stoop to employing such strategies just yet. He liked being sincere, and he liked to think that most ladies would prefer it if he were sincere. Whether or not that sincerity would land him in a favorable or unfavorable circumstance remained to be seen.

The picnic today would prove fertile ground to test his progress without resorting to such measures just yet.

"Your Grace."

"Ah, Your Grace."

The greetings began the very moment Frederick dismounted, even yards away from the main gathering place. He responded as graciously as he could, his mind scrambling to remember the names and faces spread throughout the well-attended event. Apparently, Lady Rodworth rarely did things by halves. He would hardly be surprised to be informed that she was currently carrying twins.

"Your Grace," the Beckhams greeted him.

"Your Grace, what a pleasure!" The Zachreys exclaimed.

Frederick marched on, smiling and nodding and acknowledging the people as politely as he could. He was grateful that the outdoor setting allowed him more room to breathe. The company was becoming very stifling very fast even without ballroom walls hemming him in.

"Ah, Burgess! You have come." Percy exclaimed as soon as Frederick reached him. Percy, ever the cousin most comfortable in a crowd, beamed happily in the center of a wide ring of people, his betrothed on his arm. Miss Greyson, it seemed, did not mind sharing her fiancé's company with the other admiring ladies, and she smiled with what looked like genuine happiness at Percival St. John as he towered over the plumes and fans and bonnets.

All it took was Percy's greeting, however, to redirect all of the admiring gazes—save Miss Greyson's—towards Frederick instead. It was all he could do to not groan aloud.

Were all women so clawing?

A small part of his mind reminded him that it was unfair to be so cynical, not when Sarah Greysons and Rose Nottinghams still existed in the world. But given how small a minority those particular women created in contrast to the rest of their species, it was still altogether a rather depressing outlook.

"We have quite the lovely crowd here today, do we not?" Percy prompted when Frederick was close to slipping into an outright frown.

Frederick looked up. Expectant eyes followed his every move. He tried to smile, though his desire to sigh instead ended up weighing down his attempted smile into some sort of awkward grimace. "Indeed. I heard that Lord and Lady Rodworth elicited your assistance in curating such a remarkable guest list."

"It was not I, but Sarah here." Percy smiled at the woman on his arm, looking unusually lovestruck. "My dearest has a great many friends—and family too."

"And I do hope you find their company pleasant," Miss Greyson said gently, her smile everything sweet. "Percy has been quite insistent that we set Your Grace at ease."

Percy's mischievous grin informed Frederick that his cousin had thought no such thing. But Frederick had solicited Percy's help for his hopeless attempt at bride-hunting, so he could hardly begrudge him now.

"I am most honored by your thoughtfulness," said Frederick.

"We would love to know what else we can do in your service, Your Grace," the first nameless, unidentified female said to Frederick's left.

He barely had time to acknowledge her before a second one harped, "It is indeed a foremost priority that we set you at ease, Your Grace."

"Quite," said Frederick.

"Would you prefer a seat, Your Grace? A spot with my family is most comfortable," said yet another woman.

"Indeed." The first one stepped closer. "Please do inform us if we could offer you any sort of assistance, Your Grace."

"Perhaps refreshment, Your Grace?"

"Or a promenade—for air?"

"There is a pleasant spot by the Serpentine."

"A most perfect view. "

"If I could be so bold as to suggest a ride? My family brought a barouche."

Frederick only noticed when he nearly tumbled into a low bush that he had been consistently walking backwards away from the collection of women. Was this what soldiers felt like when cornered on the battlefield? He ventured a look across the cluster of elaborate headwear to meet Percy's eye. His cousin, safely attached to his lovely bride-to-be, responded with little more help than a wry smile and a one-shouldered shrug.

Now Frederick groaned in truth.

Had Lady Rodworth not made sure that today's guests comprised only the best of the London marriage mart? Why were the desperate misses still here?

His breath short, Frederick perused the attire of his aggressors. They were dressed impeccably, every lady the very emblem of good taste. Their enunciations were pure, their smiles adequately feminine and serene. It was clear, from the material of their accoutrements to the quality of their bearing, that these young women were from long-established, noble, or wealthy families.

In those terms, Lady Rodworth had certainly achieved her goal.

Frederick only wished that desperation to land a duke was something one could list as grounds for refusing someone an invitation.

Then again, it was ironic for him to think so. Did he not wish to find a bride? What better place was there to find a duchess than a place where all the people who wished most to become duchesses were assembled in a convenient little bunch?

Frederick sighed.

"Excuse me, ladies!" He cried far more loudly than was strictly necessary. "I shall speak to my groom for a moment."

Percy stifled a laugh, though his eyes looked mostly sympathetic, just as Frederick turned on his heel and marched towards the nearest knot of trees. He had no idea where his groom was, but he hoped that the uneven ground would prevent the pretty ladies with their pretty hemlines from trailing after him.

The lovely, wooded walkway, in other circumstances, might be considered a pleasant or even a romantic location. Given Frederick's current agitation, however, the trunks felt too close to one another, the branches appearing almost sinister. The air of Hyde Park, designed to provide refreshment in the midst of a bustling city, stopped feeling fresh a good quarter of an hour ago.

Frederick marched to a halt about ten yards deep. He braced his arm against the nearest tree, panting. Were all women so cloying? Was this the best London had to offer?

His brother had met his wife during the London Season seven years ago. Their courtship had been straightforward and mutually amicable. At least, Frederick thought it had been. Was the search for a wife always so difficult? Or was it proving difficult only for him?

Frederick groaned as he turned around. He lolled his head back against the tree, allowing the tree bark to chafe the tight curls cropped close to his neck. Even as a second son, he had never lacked for confidence. He liked his reading and his academic pursuits. He loved knowledge and history and the respect he earned from his teachers and tutors. Once upon a time, he had a place in the world that he liked very much. It had been, perhaps, a little lonely. But staying in touch with family members and with other scholars had allowed him enough human companionship without ever having felt the urgent need to marry. The servants he hired ran his cottage well enough to his tastes .

Now he was surrounded by human companionship, and he wanted nothing more than to be alone.

"Your Grace," a breathless female voice called out.

Frederick tensed instantly. He looked up, straightening as he did. The woman speaking to him stood a few feet away, the distance polite and mostly appropriate, yet rendered inappropriate by their wholly unchaperoned state. He squinted under the sporadic sunlight seeping through the crowded boughs above them. This was one of the ladies earlier, the one who had spoken first to him after he'd greeted Percy and his betrothed. At the time, the lady had appeared slight, willowy, and wholly unthreatening. Now, with a calculating look in her steady gaze, Frederick felt dangerously cornered.

He swallowed. He bowed his head. "Greetings."

"Greetings, how sweet." The woman cooed. She drifted closer. Her strong perfume almost had Frederick choking. She narrowed her eyes—eyes that had looked placid and uninteresting just moments earlier. "Perhaps we could take the opportunity to be further acquainted. You might happen to find me just as sweet, Your Grace."

"This—this is hardly the place." Frederick cursed himself for not remembering even how to address his sudden aggressor.

"Is it not? This grove is prettier than most ballrooms." The woman trilled. Her calculated look persisted despite her affected giggles. She tapped a glove, held rather than worn, against his forearm. "And one hardly needs instruments to do a waltz."

Frederick tried to step back, only to bump his head against the tree. Why had he chosen to stand so close to the stupid plant? He stepped to the side. "Pardon me, Miss, I believe that I must?—"

"Speak to your groom? I do not think he is to be found here."

"That, uhm, is not my intent. But I?—"

"Miss Desmond!" A clear, firm voice called out from the entryway to the wooded walk. Frederick felt his feet turn to lead. Was this all part of the plan then? Had the woman arranged for a gossip to come across them and declare them betrothed?

Being so suddenly betrothed might, perhaps, manage to at least cut short his miserable attempt at finding a duchess. But Miss Desmond was rather too shrewd and too slight for his tastes. If Frederick had to pledge himself to remain with a woman for better or for worse, in good fortune and bad, he would have preferred someone he could at least be happy to call a friend.

Determined female footsteps approached, and Frederick closed his eyes, repressing his personal wishes as he prepared to face his foe. He did not want to marry Miss Desmond, but he had precious few excuses to provide for their solitary situation. He would either be forced to marry her—or to dishonor his father by ruining the Burgess name mere weeks into the London Season.

An angry huff had Frederick opening his eyes once more. Far from looking pleased, Miss Desmond looked distinctly annoyed and angry.

Frederick glanced behind her. The angled sunlight made the task more difficult, but he soon identified the approaching third party not as an angry mother or a conniving gossip, but rather Miss Rose Nottingham herself. The relief that flooded him was instant. He did not know how Miss Nottingham would react to the dilemma he found himself in, but he at least knew that he would be able to count on her believing his side of the narrative.

"Miss Desmond," said Miss Nottingham again, "I fear that you might have gotten lost."

"I most certainly have not." Miss Desmond whirled around, exhibiting a surprising amount of strength for her tiny frame. "I was here to meet His Grace, as he had asked me to, and I do not see why that is any business of yours."

"His Grace?" Miss Nottingham pretended to look around them, her eyes glazing over Frederick's tall frame altogether. "I do not think I see a duke here, do you?"

Miss Desmond huffed, her color rising. "You must think yourself so clever."

"No, I do not," answered Miss Nottingham calmly, her hands pressed to her modest waist. She was adorned simply in comparison to the other ladies at the picnic today, but the sight of her proved more pleasant than that of anybody else. "I am only stating an observation."

"Do you think yourself some sort of savior?" Miss Desmond marched towards Miss Nottingham until they stood toe to toe. "You—the plainest daughter of a dead viscount—do you think pretending to be honorable can gain you any favors with the Duke of Burgess? You were never eligible to begin with, and you most certainly are not now."

Frederick moved to protest, but Miss Nottingham spoke before he could, "I hold no such delusions. I am fully aware of who I am and what station I hold in life. It is not I who am grasping here, Miss Desmond."

The slightly chilling tone in which she uttered the last two words had even Frederick feeling vulnerable. Miss Rose Nottingham might appear unassuming, but the woman had hidden steel in her bones.

It was steel well-employed in Frederick's favor, for Miss Desmond, after another withering, angry glare, promptly marched out of the shaded walkway and back towards the rest of the crowd. There was no danger of her heralding Frederick's position now, not when it would only cause him to be caught alone with another unmarried lady instead.

Frederick emptied his lungs with a deep sigh of relief. He smiled at Miss Nottingham. "Thank you. "

A small smile graced her face. "You are welcome. I noticed your exit earlier—and how quickly Miss Desmond had followed after."

Frederick sighed. "It was foolish of me to back myself into a corner."

"There is no harm in learning a lesson—although it is perhaps fortunate that there were no more permanent consequences."

"Very fortunate." Frederick swallowed. "She is right, you know. You are my savior."

Miss Nottingham laughed gently. "Hardly. It was merely the act of a good Samaritan."

"A selfless good Samaritan."

An unreadable look passed over her face briefly. Then she was smiling once more. "You trust too easily, Your Grace."

"I do not like walking around suspecting people at every turn."

"It is a noble preference."

"Though not a very wise one, I suspect?" Frederick met her gaze.

Her sigh sounded sympathetic without being condescending, though Frederick had no doubt he deserved any condescension she might send his way. He had been acting rather like a dunce.

"It would be nice if one could carry on without having to worry about such things," she said kindly.

"Very nice, yet highly unrealistic."

"Much as I would like to assure you that things could be otherwise, I do not think it within my power to curb the behavior of all of London."

Frederick smiled wryly. "I was told by many that my title would allow me such powers—and yet here I stand, an unwitting victim of the ton ."

Her sweet, sympathetic smile returned. "Let us hope you can find ways to outwit them then."

"I appreciate your faith in my abilities."

"A little optimism never hurts, Your Grace."

Frederick nodded, finally calmed from his close encounter with Miss Desmond. "Thank you, Miss Nottingham."

"I leave you to enjoy the picnic, sir." She curtsied.

Frederick bowed. And when he lifted his face once more, she was already gone.

He managed to survive the rest of the elaborate picnic with an impressive degree of composure. The ladies all clamored for his attention, but at least no one else dared to act as brazenly as Miss Desmond had. Percy had raised a brow upon Frederick's return, more likely curious over his friend's sudden, uneasy mood. But there was little they could discuss given the crowd, and Frederick had been forced to fend for himself for the rest of the afternoon.

At long last, with the sun set, the lawn games concluded, and the majority of the food consumed, the guests began to disperse. Lady Rodworth, despite being the hostess, had been forced to retire early due to her condition. In her place, Percy and Miss Greyson managed the end of the event with a collaboration that heralded well for their future life together.

As for Frederick, he sank into the cushions of his carriage after the event with a welcome sigh. Considering the guest list had been procured for his benefit, it was extremely ironic that he most likely suffered the most amongst all the guests today. A single tap sent his carriage rolling, and Frederick was briefly jealous of his coachman for knowing exactly where he was meant to go.

He closed his eyes just as a memory of Miss Rose Nottingham flit through his mind. After her opportune rescue, she had mostly steered clear of Frederick, choosing instead to stay with her sister and the more matronly attendees. A small part of Frederick wanted to accuse her of deserting him to the wolves, but it was not as if he could claim a right over her company.

He kept his eyes closed, indulging in a moment's reprieve from the chaos of Town society, but an unholy cacophony of sounds outside his carriage refused him rest. Unlike the lush surroundings of his humble country cottage, London was always in a frenzy. People rushed from location to location, barely able to catch a breath, whether they be street urchins, aristocrats, servants, or ladies dressed in all their finery. It was frankly exhausting.

The fact that he had to constantly be on his guard against raising undue expectations only made matters worse.

'Every young lady, however eager to become a duchess, has certain personal reservations that might dissuade her of such an ambition.'

Miss Nottingham's words flit across his mind. Her suggestion had sounded intriguing, if a little superfluous, in the safety of the drawing room at Rodworth Place. Given his close encounter with Miss Desmond today, however, Frederick was beginning to wonder if he did need to take better charge of the situation, if only for his own safety. Miss Nottingham had claimed no credit and called herself a good Samaritan for her timely rescue. He did not quite want to take advantage of her, but perhaps he might yet be able to come up with some way he might prove to be of service to her.

A rut in the road sent a jolt through him.

The sooner he managed to find a suitable bride, the sooner he would be able to focus on his Parliamentary roles and retire to the dukedom's country seat for the summer. Even that was a far cry from the privacy of his cottage, but it was a far better prospect than the cutthroat life in Town.

That thought alone had to be motivation enough.