Chapter 4

Aaron cursed as he fiddled with his stock before the looking glass. It would not fold as he wanted tonight, but he had already sent away Simmonds, his valet, and was loath to call the man back for something so trivial.

"Don't turn into a damned dandy, Dawford!" he said to his reflection sternly.

He could not bear to be one of those men who fussed over their appearance like girls at their first ball. It was undignified for an adult man, in his opinion. In general, Aaron preferred that his valet kept his clothes and shoes in good order, provided a clean shave each morning, and left him to dress himself.

"The stock will do well enough," he announced, again only to himself, as he stepped away from the glass to don the freshly pressed and brushed jacket that Simmonds had laid on the bed for him a few minutes ago.

It was only a dinner party at a neighbor's house, and they were hardly people whose opinion should matter to him one way or another. If they judged him by his neckwear, it would indeed show that they were not worth his time and energy in the future.

The son of the family was exactly what might be expected from the heir to a country baron's estate—ambitious, pedestrian, and dull. Patrick Hoskins even looked as though he dressed from his father's wardrobe, or possibly his grandfather's.

Aaron smiled. He himself might not be a dandy, but at least he had a modicum of civilized taste.

With Hoskins garbed from the late eighteenth century, why should he worry about a slightly uneven stock? Would old Lord Prouton perhaps be dressed from the seventeenth century?

At this thought, Aaron laughed aloud, but then thinking of old-fashioned dress brought forth the scene in his drawing room with the Hoskins daughter a few days earlier. That recollection reminded him of a whole host of other reasons why he was not looking forward to tonight's meal…

"I always like to hear you laughing, Aaron," said his mother's voice, and he saw that she had opened the bedroom door a crack and was watching him from outside. "I never hear you laugh enough. Are you looking forward to your little dinner party?"

"Not so very much," he admitted. "I expect it will be awful, and I wish you were coming with me."

"Oh no, I could not!" the Dowager Duchess exclaimed in horror as if he had proposed leaving immediately to visit the Queen. "I would not know anyone there, and I do not like to go out among strangers, not since your father died, Aaron."

"Dorothy Hoskins will be there," Aaron reminded her. "You remember the young lady who found you in the garden? You seemed to like her."

Mary only looked blankly back at him, the episode already evidently lost in her confused mind.

"I went to school with a girl called Dorothy, but her name was not Hoskins, nor was that the name of the man she married. I cannot think of any other Dorothy in my acquaintance. How puzzling!"

"Never mind, Mother," Aaron said gently and bent to kiss her on the cheek. "If you are in bed when I return tonight, then I shall tell you all about our new neighbors at breakfast."

"Don't drink too much wine, and don't smoke any cigars at this dinner. Cigars were your father's one vice, and whatever the physician said, I do believe they killed him."

"I never smoke," he assured her, "and I am always moderate in my appetites."

"Of course you are, Aaron—Oh, Louisa! There you are. I wondered where you had gone."

The birdlike Miss Hughes had now ascended the stairs and appeared on the landing.

"We're having an early dinner tonight because His Grace is dining out, Your Grace. I thought you were following me downstairs."

"Silly me! Are you dining out, Aaron? I suppose you might be going to your club. Well, don't drink too much there, and certainly don't smoke any cigars…"

Aaron looked sadly after his mother as she went down the stairs arm in arm with her companion, the dinner with the neighbors at least temporarily wiped from her mind. He had always hoped that with peace, rest and comfort, her mental state would improve over the years, but it sometimes seemed to be getting worse. If only his father had not died so young and so suddenly…

Once more, that thought drew him back to the portrait of his parents and then to his unfortunate encounter with Miss Hoskins. It was difficult to make sense of their exchange.

Aaron was not accustomed to finding unchaperoned young ladies inspecting artworks in his drawing room. Even less was he accustomed to young ladies who treated him with so little deference. Unbidden, her words came back to him.

"Tell me, as a sophisticated gentleman of rank, what's the excuse for your own rudeness today, Your Grace?"

Her insolence had been quite breathtaking but also somehow… a source of excitement.

Never mind Miss Hoskins' audaciousness, or naivety, in entering a gentleman's house alone, without any invitation or chaperone. If he'd been a different kind of man, anything could have happened to her…

In his mind's eye, Aaron saw again the defensive gesture with which Miss Hoskins had pulled that wrap around herself after their hands had touched. He could even visualize the brown eyes flecked with gold and the impudence and agitation dancing together in them when they stood so close to one another in that tense silence.

Does anyone even know that you are here?

Dear God, he had wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless at that moment, knowing she was defenseless even if she did not fully realize it herself. He could not remember ever having such a strong and instant response to a woman. Thankfully, he had kept his self-control and had nothing to reproach himself for.

Aaron closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Such thoughts would not do when he would shortly be sitting down at dinner with this young lady and her family.

Whatever manner of awkwardness and discomfort awaited him in the Hoskins household, it was far too late to cancel now.

Accepting the inevitable, Aaron went downstairs, donned his hat, and headed out into the warm late May evening.

The Duke of Dawford paused at the gate before Lord Prouton's house, noticing for the first time the significant changes made by the new occupants.

"Like a different house, isn't it?" said a cheerful voice.

Aaron turned to see Laurence Taylor, the Earl of Granford, a cheerful man of middling height with sandy-colored hair and pink cheeks. He nodded and smiled back at the Earl, with whom he was on friendly, if not close, terms. Lord Granford gestured to the building in front of them.

"Front garden entirely replanted, house front repainted, and look at the size of those new lamps at the front door. The families in the row opposite have little need for candles in their drawing room now. The Hoskins family must intend to light the road all the way to St. James' Palace, don't you think?"

They both laughed a little.

"I had not noticed any of this before, Lord Granford. We only returned to London last week after wintering in Surrey, and I've been too busy yet to stroll around the neighborhood and note such changes. We didn't see Lady Carreford leave nor the Hoskins family arrive."

"It was past time, I suppose, for Lady Carreford to move in with her daughter. She and the house were both rather the worst for wear in their ninth decade. In contrast, my younger sister says that the Hoskins family has done nothing but redecorate the place from the moment they arrived. Quite the modernizers, it seems."

Aaron glanced again at the completely refreshed property and grounds. "I can quite believe that, Lord Granford. Are you also here for Mr. Hoskins' dinner? If so, let us make our presence known."

Receiving an affirmative, the two men walked together up the path and stopped before the front door, their eyes drawn to the modern doorbell and a somewhat vulgar brass knocker in the shape of a fish, replacing old Lady Carreford's ancient bell pull.

"Lord Prouton and his family have money and like to spend it," Lord Granford observed with a wry smile as he rang the bell.

"Mr. Hoskins told me that himself in not so many words," Aaron said quietly, recalling his conversation with Miss Hoskins' older brother. "His principal interests are all in business and investment, although I am not sure he could tell you why this should be so, nor what wider purpose it serves."

For Aaron, wealth was the means of ensuring a secure and comfortable life for his mother, and independence for himself. For Hoskins, it had appeared to be an end in itself.

"Ah, one of those," Lord Granford said knowingly. "Often the way with the sons of these country families on the rise. The father is an invalid, I hear, and my mother tells me that the daughter is a beauty. Have you met her?"

A disturbing image of Dorothy Hoskins flashed again in Aaron's mind, her eyes flashing their challenge at him, oblivious to the strong impulses she had unleashed in his body.

Thankfully, he was saved from answering this question by the manservant who opened the front door.

Patrick Hoskins welcomed the two men enthusiastically, ushering them inside and shaking their hands vigorously until his guests withdrew their arms, Lord Granford politely and Aaron perhaps more pointedly.

One of those indeed, Aaron thought as their host led them through the hallway, which was lined with an array of golden lamps, vibrant silk carpets, and copious paintings. The latter were largely modern works, painted by the most fashionable Society artists and framed in gilded wood. As with the front of the house, it seemed more a display of wealth than taste, and was tinged with vulgarity.

He remembered what his old schoolmaster, Dr. Jenkins, had once said to him within the walls of that man's own plain, solid and decent home.

"It is not so much the money itself that is significant as the power and responsibility its possession confers on a man, Your Grace. A sensible man of principle and fortune is beholden to none but himself and God…"

Dr. Jenkins had welcomed Aaron into that plain house and guided his hand in his early petitions to the court for the appointment of a new financial guardian. He had been the man who crystallized Aaron's already nascent thoughts on the purpose of wealth into a coherent philosophy.

"You've made the place your own," Lord Granford commented pleasantly to their smiling host.

"Indeed," Aaron added in a neutral tone.

He actually found the Hoskins' home meaningless and unpleasant in its undiscerning aggregation and display of expensive objects for their own sake. He admitted to himself that he was also disappointed in his search for something notable by its absence—the person of Dorothy Hoskins.

Aaron had assumed the young lady would not tell her family of their first encounter. From Hoskins' untroubled welcome, this assumption had thankfully been correct. Still, it also meant that in a few moments, they would likely have to perform the charade of a first introduction. His heart beat faster at the thought, hoping they were both up to the task.

"We are in the drawing room, Your Grace, Lord Granford." Hoskins smiled broadly, likely imagining that they were both looking around and appreciating the decor and artwork. "My father awaits us with our other guests. He looks forward to meeting you very much, indeed."

Aaron and Lord Granford both nodded their assent and followed Hoskins along the hallway and into another sumptuously decorated space.

"He likes to spend," Lord Granford again whispered in Aaron's ear with an arch smile.

The drawing room curtains were heavy silk of a pale and steely lilac color, embroidered with silver thread. Sofas and chairs were upholstered in stripes of a similar color against a cream background, and the rest of the room was filled with the same kind of expensive pseudo-artistic clutter as the hallway.

"Gentlemen, I believe you already know His Grace, the Duke of Dawford, and the Earl of Granford…"

Patrick Hoskins' voice was a little too loud as he made the introductions. In his home, the Duke rarely answered the door himself, leaving it to Toynton to lead the guests inside and announce their names. This was just another example of the Hoskins' unfortunate manners, he supposed. The man likely couldn't help his gaucheness, and guests would have to endure it politely.

Sitting comfortably on a sofa, a generous measure of pre-dinner sherry in his hand, was Simon Penderton, the Earl of Hinderton, who lived with relatives on a nearby square. Meanwhile, Gareth Wardle, the Marquess of Lensbury, and also heir to the considerable silver fortune of the Urridge family through his mother, conversed with an elderly man in a bath chair.

Aaron and Lord Granford accepted their own sherry glasses and nodded to the men of their acquaintance around the room. But where were all the women?

Aaron remembered Patrick Hoskins mentioning that his mother was dead, but he certainly had a sister. All the young men in the room had mothers, sisters or aunts at home who might have accompanied their men if invited. Aaron's mother was permanently indisposed, of course, but the same could not be said for Lord Lensbury's vivacious mother and sisters, or Lord Granford's.

"Father, I would like you to meet the Duke of Dawford, our nearest and most illustrious neighbor," Patrick announced proudly, as though presenting his father with some great prize. "Your Grace, this is my father, Lord Prouton."

"Welcome, Your Grace," Lord Prouton said, raising an unsteady hand in greeting.

"Thank you for inviting me tonight, Lord Prouton." Aaron nodded, shaking the old man's hand carefully and noting that he struggled with his grip. "I don't believe this house was ever opened at all in Lady Carreford's time."

"Well, we plan to do plenty of entertaining here, don't we, Father?" Patrick prompted, and the old man nodded in agreement.

"Whether business or pleasure, my son Patrick always has plans," Lord Prouton said, smiling. "Do you entertain often, Your Grace?"

"No," Aaron replied, shaking his head. "My mother's health is delicate. It is best that I don't disturb her peace with entertainment. I amuse myself elsewhere and at the indulgence of other kind hosts, like yourself."

"Very wise, very wise," the older man praised and seemed to stifle a yawn, maybe wishing himself already in bed with hot cocoa.

The dinner was certainly his son's doing. But why this particular group of guests, and not others? Aaron speculated as he sipped sherry and exchanged pleasantries. The sociable Viscount Charles Lunsford lived only across the street. Hoskins must surely know him if he'd met Lensbury and the others.

Above all, why no women? Aaron suspected tonight was probably going to become some gentlemen's investment networking spree That would explain Lunsford's absence—poor Charlie was pinning all future hopes of fortune on marrying an heiress.

When the door slowly opened again, Aaron barely looked up, expecting another affluent neighbor to appear. Instead, he was stunned to find himself facing the radiant vision of Dorothy Hoskins in pale gold silk, her heavy hair pinned up with pearl pins, matching the rich antique pearls adorning her throat. She smiled around the room without meeting Aaron's eyes and then proceeded towards her father.

"Ah, here's my sister, the final member of our party tonight," Patrick said aloud, looking pleased with himself. "Do come inside, Dorothy."

The gentlemen all stood politely at her entrance.

"My mother was right," Lord Granford whispered to Aaron with a smile. "How very right she was."

Miss Hoskins carried no wrap tonight, and Aaron's throat ran dry at the sight of her partly bared bosom in the evening gown. Even as his desire surged, instinctively imagining the full shape and weight of those splendid breasts, his rational mind was trying to make sense of her appearance at all.

A conclusion arrived quickly, in spite of his distraction. This was no men-only networking event. The evening was planned around a single woman—Dorothy Hoskins. All guests were male, unmarried and highly eligible…

Good Lord, how could anyone be so crass? Well, clearly Patrick Hoskins could, and Lord Prouton hadn't stopped him. Patrick had gilded and presented his sister just like the damned furniture, lamps, picture frames and anything else in this house. He clearly had no shame whatsoever.

"Watch out, Granford, or else they'll have you," Aaron whispered back to his neighbor. "You must know what's going on here."

Lord Granford only chuckled as his eyes followed Miss Hoskins, along with those of all the other guests in the room.

"If they want me, they can have me," he answered, and Aaron did not think he was joking.

Despite his indignation at being a puppet in his neighbors' little show, Aaron's eyes also remained glued to Dorothy Hoskins as she kissed her father's cheek and then joined her brother's side. While truly beautiful tonight, she had equally excited him last week in her plain day dress, radiant with the fire in her eyes. How strong would such charms be when in her shift with her hair unbound?

At this borderline indecent thought, Aaron finally exerted some self-control, tearing his eyes away with almost painful effort. Lusting after this particular young lady was not a sensible road to go down unless he too was willing to allow the Hoskins men to catch him in their snares.

"Before we go into dinner, I should introduce you to our guests, Dorothy…" Aaron heard Patrick saying and steeled himself, guessing he would be first on the list, as indeed he was.

A moment later, Miss Hoskins curtseyed before him as her brother made the introduction, her eyes still downcast modestly. Aaron bowed his head, averting his own gaze and preparing to utter some anodyne compliment suited to a first meeting, but not encouraging further acquaintance.

Beauty aside, he knew that Miss Hoskins herself might be complicit in her family's plans, just like so many other unmarried young women, batting their eyelashes and flirting innocently with him on their parents' instructions, in the hope of becoming the Duchess of Dawford. Aaron never flirted back with some women, marriage being part of some distant future plan he was determined to steer for himself.

As he and Miss Hoskins both lifted their heads at the same moment, their eyes finally met, and Aaron felt another, even stronger stab of desire that made it a miracle he could speak at all, never mind utter a coherent sentence.

"Miss Hoskins, how kind of you to grace us with your presence tonight," he made himself say.

"The honor is ours, Your Grace," she answered, her expression conflicted, as though she were in the middle of some inner struggle of her own.

Could Miss Hoskins have realized the attraction he felt for her? Aaron sincerely hoped not and decided it was unlikely. She was likely only self-conscious at the manner of their previous meeting, or the necessity of deceiving her brother now.

Young ladies rarely knew anything of a man's desires or their own. That was a large part of why he preferred to spend his time with widows and other older women of means beyond the ton.

Aaron almost groaned when Hoskins asked him to walk his sister into the dining room, although he should have seen it coming as the man of the highest rank at such an indelicate gathering.

"That would be a privilege," he agreed after a slightly overlong silence, dreading the sensations he knew would experience when Miss Hoskins stood close and put her hand on his arm.

At least they were both wearing gloves tonight, but Aaron remembered too well the feeling of their bare hands entwined for those few seconds in his drawing room. Skin on skin and the challenge in her eyes that said, "Kiss me, if you dare…"