Chapter 12

At breakfast, a pile of cards and notes were waiting on the table at Dorothy's place.

"Look at that!" Patrick had crowed as his sister took her seat and poured herself hot coffee from the pot. "Now the whole ton wants to know us. I have received five more invitations for events this Season this morning alone. Five!"

"Very good, Patrick," she remarked rather dully. "Can you pass down the bacon?"

"You must open your correspondence too." He frowned. "If there is anything from ladies of high station, it must be answered immediately, remember. After all, you are not the Duchess of Dawford yet, although I have no doubt your intended will obtain the license quickly. I believe him quite eager for this wedding, from what I have seen. He is wonderfully taken with you, is he not?"

Dorothy shot her brother a baleful glance and began to open the letters, judging social engagements a preferable topic of breakfast conversation to his speculation on any feelings the Duke of Dawford might have for her. His words about wanting something more than kissing were still echoing in her mind and body, sparking both desire and trepidation.

"Lady Lavinia Greyson invites me to tea on Thursday, and Miss Susan Thompson on Saturday," Dorothy said without enthusiasm as she read the first two cards, knowing these young ladies by name only.

"You may answer those two as you wish," Patrick pronounced. "As long as you prioritize engagements with those of higher rank."

"How good of you," Dorothy answered smoothly, knowing that he was too thick-skinned to detect her sarcasm. "The Countess of Marleigh is having a musical evening on Friday, Lady Dedham would like to call this afternoon…"

"Accept both of those," Patrick instructed. "Although we may be late to Marleigh House. I have a dinner meeting at my club beforehand—a good chance to drum up investment for my latest scheme."

Dorothy didn't answer, caught up in reading the final item of correspondence, a short letter in neat, clear copperplate signed with a large ‘L.' As she read it, she frowned, and then she smiled before smoothing the paper and laying it down on the table.

Patrick was still rattling away about stocks, bonds and interest rates, and she had a chance to take a few mouthfuls of food before he remembered her.

"What was your letter?" he finally inquired.

"Only a message from my friend, Lauren. Do you remember the tall, blonde woman who was so very kind during my first Season and helped me find my feet? She is always so well-dressed and knows everyone. I will call on her today."

"Are your friend's family significant?" her brother asked. "Otherwise, you must prioritize Lady Dedham today, Dorothy. Her husband is influential in the Lords and could be a great help to me in establishing my credibility on?—"

"Naturally, I will prioritize Lady Dedham," she assured him. "But there are four-and-twenty hours in a day, and I can spare one for The Honorable Lauren Talbot."

"Oh, that Lauren, the daughter of the Viscount Frampton… Well, yes, an hour would be appropriate in that case. But you must also be fitted for your wedding dress. Have you made an appointment yet?"

"I have not," Dorothy sighed. "Since we do not yet have either a wedding license or a wedding date. Do I really even need a wedding dress? I have so many new and unworn gowns for the Season. Surely one of them will do well enough."

"This wedding is not just about you, Dorothy." Patrick took her to task severely. "Your dress will reflect on me, on Father, and most importantly of all, on the Duke of Dawford."

"I don't believe that the Duke of Dawford would care if I turned up…"

Dorothy bit her lip and stopped herself before she could say the word naked. That would enrage her brother, and it also felt somehow too close to a disturbing and exciting truth. She knew well enough that husbands and wives moved freely within one another's bedchambers, and the Duke would therefore likely soon see her naked. Something instinctively told her that he would like that…

"He wouldn't care if I turned up in my oldest clothes," she said instead.

"Don't talk nonsense, Dorothy. You speak in very bad taste. But you are correct that we should consult him before we decide. His mother might also have views, even given her bad health."

"Then I'll leave that to you, shall I?" Dorothy suggested. "Since your taste is clearly superior to mine."

"Yes, I'll see to it," her brother agreed, once again missing the sarcasm in her tone.

Finishing her breakfast, Dorothy took her correspondence to the library to compose her replies.

"Dorothy!" Lauren smiled, opening her arms wide to her old friend as a maid showed Dorothy into a large and comfortable parlor.

"Lauren! It has been too long."

Dorothy hugged the other woman, genuinely glad to see her friend once more. While eight-and-twenty, an age when most young women would be considered hopeless spinsters, Lauren's beauty, vivacity, and cleverness seemed to have preserved her in the first flush of youth. Indeed, in the company of Dorothy and other newcomers last Season, no one could have told Lauren apart from the younger women.

"Far too long. I haven't seen you since the final ball of the Season last year. My father insisted on staying the full winter in the country last year. I think he was hoping that our neighbor would ask for my hand, but he didn't, and I can't say I'm sorry. Nor is Father now that the man has lost his fortune."

"Viscount Carfax?" Dorothy inquired, vaguely remembering a man of around fifty with unfortunate facial hair who had paid Lauren special attention at last year's balls.

"Yes, that's right. He was friendly with Father for a while, but now he has had to mortgage his London house, rent out Carfax Manor, and move to Italy, of all places. I suppose I shall just have to find another beau this Season. Ideally one twenty years younger and with less mustache!"

They laughed together at this.

"You're not sorry, and I can't say I blame you, Lauren. Anyway, you should have no problem finding a husband to your own taste if you want one."

It was a sincere compliment rather than mere flattery. Lauren had long, thick waves of blonde hair, an alabaster complexion, and sky-blue eyes, her bone structure as fine as that of a Greek statue.

"There's the problem, my dear Dorothy. How does one find a man truly to one's taste?"

She gave a laughing little shrug and rang for tea.

"Of course, you can tell me the answer to that conundrum now, for you have found such a man, haven't you? Or am I wrong?"

Lauren looked at her with knowing eyes, and Dorothy felt herself blush.

While Lauren could merge herself into a group of younger women, sometimes her greater age and experience reared their heads unexpectedly. Now, Dorothy felt that Lauren could look into her heart and see all the emotional conflicts and confusion that assailed her.

"I am betrothed to the Duke of Dawford," Dorothy said, sticking safely to the facts. "We shall be married in a matter of weeks, I expect."

"I was so worried when I first heard the rumors," Lauren sighed, drawing Dorothy down beside her on a comfortable chaise longue. "I would have written to you then, but I did not know what I could say that might bring you comfort."

"That was an awful day," Dorothy admitted. "It felt like the whole world had turned against me."

"But now, everything is well again, and you shall be the next Duchess of Dawford!" Lauren smiled. "It might all have… taken you by surprise, but he is a handsome man, is he not?"

"Yes, he is," Dorothy admitted, seeing the Duke in her mind's eye as he had been in her garden the day he proposed, his blue eyes filled with understanding, intensity, and that strange hunger. "I don't know that I have ever seen a more handsome man."

Lauren clapped her hands delightedly at this confession. "You have found yourself the hat-trick of what all young ladies seek—a husband who is rich, titled, and handsome. You will be much envied around the ton, you know."

"At least they will envy me when the Duke is in good humor. In ill humor, he can seem another man entirely."

Lauren nodded sagely. "He has always been that way," she said, startling Dorothy with this revelation.

"You know the Duke of Dawford? I had no idea."

"Yes, our families knew one another for a long, long time, although we've had little contact in recent years. I doubt he remembers me at all now."

"Has he always been so… distant and disdainful of company?"

"Do you mean antisocial and unmannered with his peers?" Lauren suggested. "I hope I do not speak out of turn."

Dorothy laughed and nodded her head, glad to find someone else who seemed to understand.

"Yes, he has. Your Duke cares little for Society and its members, and has no time at all for the social niceties that others value and perhaps rely upon to give structure and guidance to their lives. We cannot all be as correct and independent in our conduct as the Duke of Dawford, can we?"

Lauren's voice was arch but also understanding and not unkind. Dorothy felt inclined to listen to what her friend had to say.

"I've read a little about the Dawford line, but it seems you know the family better than I, Lauren. His early life sounds like a real tragedy."

"Maybe, but it's not so very different from a thousand other tragedies, in my view. The previous Duke of Dawford died young, and your betrothed inherited the title as a boy. The Dowager Duchess struggled after her husband's death and almost drove the estate into bankruptcy. Despite all attempts at assistance from her friends, she went into a decline from which she never recovered."

"Yes, I've met the Dowager Duchess," Dorothy said. "It's a sad case."

"Then, young Aaron Clark took up the reins of his estate, performed the financial miracles of which our menfolk still speak with wonder, and became the man you know today—respected in business, influential in politics, and much sought after in Society for his intelligence if not his personality."

"You draw a perfect pen picture," Dorothy commented. "But I do wonder how a wife fits in with the life he has built for himself."

"I doubt he knows himself," Lauren said. "Other than in the bedchamber, of course. I dare say he knows well enough what he wants from you there…"

She let out a light laugh, ignoring Dorothy's blushes, and then continued.

"I can only advise you to make your own role and persuade him to accept it. It is what all ladies of intelligence and character must do in marriage. As the Duchess of Dawford, you will have great wealth and influence at your disposal. Think how you might use that, whether for yourself, your family, or your friends…"

"What do you mean?" Dorothy asked, unsure what Lauren was insinuating with her raised eyebrow and half-smile.

"Well, you can help me, just to begin with," Lauren said, smiling more openly. "Does the Duke of Dawford have any eligible friends under fifty and without mustaches that resemble caterpillars?"

Back on firmer ground, Dorothy returned her friend's smile. "I shall see who I can find for you, Lauren. You have been a good friend to me, and I shall be the same to you."

"I know you will," Lauren said sweetly as the tea arrived, and their conversation turned to the Season ahead.