Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

" I told you that I would be busy today," Frederick sighed while doing his best to look as busy as he claimed. Head bent over his desk, papers strewed across the table, quill in hand, he thought he was making a rather good go of it.

"And I told you that I did not care," Esther said pointedly. She stood in the middle of his study, door open behind her, bearing down on him as if she meant to grab him under the shoulders and drag him from his chair herself. "I have been planning this party for days, and the least you could do is show up."

"Grandmother…"

"Oh, do not grandmother me!" He was not looking at her, but he could see out the corner of his eyes the way she crossed her arms and looked down her nose at him. "Think of how it will look if you do not show."

"I suspect everyone will be glad for it."

"They will talk," she said. "A party at His Grace's own home, and he could not even bother to come down. For five minutes! That is all I ask. Make an appearance. Shake some hands. Show off that charming smile of yours. Frederick!"

He suppressed a groan and looked up, caught off guard by how dressed up his elderly grandmother was. She looked as if she was going to a ball, wearing a frock of red and yellow with a pattern stitched into it that made the dress look as if it had caught fire. Elegant and regal, opulent and lavish, it was almost certainly too much for a mere garden party. But he supposed that had always been his grandmother's way.

"What?" She smirked when she saw the look on his face. "Surprised that your grandmother has still got it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Did you ever stop to think that there might be a reason I do not want to attend this garden party? Please, do not take it personally."

She frowned. "Well, I know how much you hate social engagements, but that is not a reason to avoid them all together. You are a duke, Frederick. These things are expected. And I guarantee you, half the people downstairs do not want to be here either."

"You are really selling it."

"What I mean…" She sighed, her expression softening. "… you, as well as anyone, know the importance of title. Furthermore, you know the importance of appearances. Most people, dare I say, would rather spend their days locked away indoors, doing as they please, but you, as well as everyone else here, are not most people. And if you mean to set a good example for your daughter…" she trailed off, no need to finish that point.

He curled his lips. "That is a dirty trick."

"A clever one though, no? If you expect your daughter to behave a certain way, should you not do the same?"

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "It is not that I do not wish to be seen nor that I would rather sit up here and work."

"What then?"

What could he even say? Nothing that would change his grandmother's mind? If anything, his reason for not wanting to go to said garden party was the exact reason she might insist. A point made often now, becoming more and more prevalent the older he became.

It was time that Frederick found a wife. It was time that he married, had a male heir, and went about securing his lineage as was expected. A mode of operation that even he could not find a reasonable argument against, even if he hated the idea to its core. But not because he was against marriage per say, rather, because he had tried it once already, failed miserably at it, and wasn't sure he could go through it again.

His last wife had hated him. Despised him. Loathed the ground he had walked on. If not for Isabella, Frederick would have liked to have never thought of her or that marriage again. Especially the end of it… what had happened… the guilt he still felt and the pain it brought him when he even considered the chance it might happen again.

"Fine," he sighed as he pushed himself back, collapsing into his chair, body sinking in defeat. "I shall attend. For one hour only."

"Wonderful!" She clapped her hands together. "I knew you would see things my way."

"Being as persistent as you are tends to have that effect. I need to change clothes first," he said.

"Take your time; take your time," she crooned. "We shall be here all day."

"Do not say I never do anything for you." He shook his head at her.

She laughed. "Oh, so magnanimous of you. And it might be nice if, for once, you chose not to be as you are and instead be as you should."

He frowned at the cryptic comment. "Meaning?"

"These are my friends," she said. "People who I admire and who admire you. They will be expecting to meet a duke who is the epitome of proper etiquette and poise— nice ," she emphasized. "A proper host."

"I am not the host if you will remember."

"Please, Frederick," she pressed on him. "You know what you are like—you scare people, dear."

He snorted. "I hardly think that is accurate."

"It is," she said rightly. "People know of your less than hospitable demeanor, and I have seen grown men shake at the mere thought of speaking with you."

Frederick could not help but smile at that. "Is that so?"

"It is not anything to be proud of, and… and if you insist on behaving that way, well…" She clicked her tongue. "Then you can stay here."

"If that is the case…"

"I was speaking exaggeratedly!" she hurried. "But it should not be too much to expect you to be polite. And affable. At the very least, do not say anything that will force me to spend the rest of the day explaining away your behavior. Please, Frederick. For me…" She pouted at him.

"I promise I will behave," he said with a bereaved sigh. "For you only, grandmother."

"And…" She waltzed to the door, reached it, then stepped through before turning back. Her eyes flashed at him, and he knew exactly what she was going to say before she said it. "Just so you know, I have made sure to invite many a young lady too. Many a single young lady."

He fixed her with a glare. "Do not even start."

"What!" she cried. "I am just saying…" She pumped her eyebrows at him. "It could not hurt to meet a few. You are not getting any younger."

"Neither are you."

"Ha! Fine, have it your way." She clicked her tongue, shook her head, and was about to leave when she poked her head back through. "Oh, and one more thing…"

"What?" he said, bracing himself.

"Caroline will be there also." She winked at him and then, before he had a chance to respond, was gone.

Frederick sat frozen behind his desk, mind racing as he tried to puzzle out what his grandmother meant in saying that… not that it was not obvious. Frederick tried to tell himself that it made little difference, for he was not going to this party to meet women, and the idea of marriage was as far from his mind as was possible. And yet, the mention of Caroline's name…

Perhaps he might bathe before choosing a new outfit, also? Yes, Frederick thought to himself as he rose from his chair, stomach fluttering in ways he did not like. A bath and a shave… just to be safe.

Frederick was having a hard time concentrating. While he was trying his best to be present as his grandmother introduced him to the various guests at her party, his eyes continued to stray across the garden at the one person he knew he should not be looking at.

"Your grandmother has not been able to stop speaking of you, Your Grace," Lord Chesterfield said carefully. An elderly gentleman, Frederick had met his son on many an occasion but knew little about him. "Doting is the word I might use."

"Oh, I have not been that bad," his grandmother chuckled.

"Worse," Lord Chesterfield said rightly.

"You cannot blame the woman," Lady Chesterfield cut in. She and her husband stood back a small way, as if worried to get too close. As if Frederick might bite their head off should they do so. "It was such a kindness of you, allowing your grandmother to stay here with you as you have."

Frederick did not respond, for his eyes were wandering to places they should not.

"Ah…" Lord Chesterfield looked to his grandmother for support. "Perhaps this is a bad time?"

"Nonsense!" his grandmother insisted. "Frederick—Your Grace," she corrected, "Lord Chesterfield is speaking with you."

"It is quite all right," Lord Chesterfield hurried. "If His Grace is ah… indisposed, I do not want to distract."

"What distract?" his grandmother said. "He wants nothing more than to speak with you. Right, Frederick—Your Grace."

"Hhmm?" Frederick pulled his focus back, noticed the five pairs of eyes watching him, and forced a smile. "Oh yes, very much."

"See!" his grandmother said happily. "Now, Lord Chesterfield, what were you saying earlier about you granddaughter?"

Lord Chesterfield's eyes went wide. A quick glance at Frederick, panic seeming to take over. "Oh… nothing, really. Just ah… well, if His Grace might be amenable—honestly, it is not a bother if it is too much trouble."

"Lord Chesterfield has a granddaughter," Frederick's grandmother explained for him, rolling her eyes at the shaking lord. "And he was saying she might be perfect for you, Your Grace. At the very least, the two of you should meet."

"Is that so?" Frederick said, feeling a sudden desire to free himself of this conversation. He curled his lip without realizing, an act which had Lord Chesterfield and his wife's faces paling.

"He would love to meet her," his grandmother said. "Perhaps later today if time permits."

Lord Chesterfield looked hesitant. "That is… I cannot wait to tell her."

Frederick fixed the man with a cold, dispassionate look. Not done purposefully, just one he was used to giving to men whom he did not wish to speak. And Lord Chesterfield, typically, jumped in fright.

This party was going about as well as Frederick had expected. That is to say, not well at all.

He had stepped outside exactly thirty-five minutes ago, expecting to spend an hour at his grandmother's garden party. Surely that would give him enough time to say hello to a few people, have his face seen, not embarrass or anger his grandmother in any way, and then head back inside before anything untoward should happen.

Thirty-five minutes in, and he was beginning to get the impression that if he wished to leave this garden party at a reasonable time, he might have to start being rude… or more rude, for he was doing his best to be polite but dammit if it wasn't hard to do.

From the second his foot touched grass, his grandmother was on him, forcing him to join various circles and meet various guests. That alone would have been painful enough were it not for the fact that none of these guests seemed eager to meet him. Oh sure, they forced themselves too, for he was a duke, and it was expected, but none appeared happy about it.

They were scared of Frederick was why. Known for his cold temperament, his short temper, and his general lack of care when polite conversational formalities were concerned, it was little wonder that his reputation had proceeded him to such a degree that he was a pariah at his own home.

But his grandmother persisted, for she was his grandmother and loved him dearly… and was desperate to show him off. She led him by the arm from group to group, forcing him into monotonous conversation that always went down the same path. First, they would hesitate in speaking, shaking as if worried he would snap. Then they would find bravery and compliment him on his home—a safe topic. Next his grandmother would force their hand, always mentioning a daughter or niece or cousin whom the lord was related to that would be perfect for Frederick! And then, it was onto the next.

More than once, Frederick thought to lean into his reputation and simply scare everyone away. A steeled gaze. An angered glare. A snarl. Surely, these little groups that his grandmother was leading him to would dissolve before he arrived at them. But his grandmother kept a close eye on him, and he had made her a promise.

Also, and this was very important, he was a little too distracted for that.

"Come!" His grandmother took his arm and pulled him from the circle. "It was lovely speaking to you all, but His Grace is a hot commodity."

"Oh good—I mean, a shame," Lord Chesterfield hurried to correct. "A shame, Your Grace, but ah… it was ah… excellent meeting you."

Frederick looked at him plainly. "I highly doubt that."

The man's eyes went wide, but his grandmother was pulling him away before he could say anything else.

"Gosh, that Lord Chesterfield…" His grandmother clicked her tongue as she led him through the garden. "He could talk the ear off a corpse."

"Shall we put that theory to the test?" Frederick muttered. "I volunteer."

"Oh, nonsense…" She slapped his chest as she led him. "Admit it, you are enjoying yourself."

"Is that how you see it?" he scoffed. "Or are you choosing purposeful ignorance."

She chuckled. "Just a few more people, dear. Then, I promise you can leave. Now, where is Lord Harrowbrooke…"

Frederick's back garden was a hive of activity the likes of which he had not expected when his grandmother had told him of her plans. Spread from the back door, through the garden, and onto the field that surrounded the back of the property, Frederick had been to Seasonal Balls less lively than this.

He counted four separate awnings, each large enough to comfortably fit two dozen people. He guessed there to be at least thirty waiters walking about serving drinks and snacks to nibble on. There was an area set aside for a game of crochet, plenty of tables and chairs which had groups sitting about them as they gossiped and drank, a darn orchestra set up on a small stage, and of course, a space left exclusively for dancing.

"Who are these people?" he asked as his grandmother led them.

"I told you, friends and acquaintances—ah! Lord Harrowbrooke!" she called out, keeping a hold of him as she led him toward a small gathering of elderly lords and their wives. "You simply must meet the host!"

Frederick groaned but forced himself to smile as he was led into the circle, many of whom were quick to say hello and then make some excuse to leave. Thankfully. That was, unfortunately, save for Lord Harrowbrooke whom Frederick had known since he was a lad and thus didn't scare as easy as the others.

As Lord Harrowbrooke spoke endlessly about some political nonsense that he was involved in, clearly trying to get Frederick involved, Frederick looked over his shoulder, beyond the row of hedges that wove through the garden, catching sight of perhaps the only person here who he might have liked to speak with.

Even if he doubted that she wished to speak with him.

"… and I know that you know the right ears to whisper into," Lord Harrowbrooke was saying. "Nothing untoward, of course. I am certainly not suggesting bribery."

"I would hope not!" another lord whom Fredrick did not know chuckled bravely.

"Is that so," Frederick said vaguely.

"Just a few of the right words spoken to the right people. You know what I am saying."

"Yes, of course…"

"And if the votes should go my way because of it, happy days."

"Very happy days…"

She looked better than Frederick could have imagined. More beautiful than he might have thought possible, even in his wildest fantasies. A picture of perfection. An angel come down from heaven to tempt him. The most beautiful woman at this party, and it was not even close.

Of course, he was talking about Miss Dowding.

The green dress she wore was elegant in the way it flowed down her body; seeming to shimmer in the light, spreading about her legs and fluttering in the breeze. But it was also tight, hugging her waist, cinching under her bosom, pushing her chest up. And with the very low neckline that the dress featured… it… was darn scandalous. No sleeves. Backless, also. As she turned, Frederick felt his chest tighten, his eyes skimming down her bare back and over her buttocks…

"Frederick, are you paying attention?" his grandmother nudged him.

"Hhmm?" He tore his eyes from her and focused them on Lord… Frederick did not even know the man's name. Nor did he care. "I am sorry."

"It is quite all right," he tittered. "I was just saying, my granddaughter would love to meet you. She is not here today, but there is a ball coming up next week. Blast, I cannot remember who is playing host."

"Oh yes, a ball…" He could not help himself, eyes again drifting.

"I shall have your grandmother let me know if you are going, yes?" the lord was asking. "And if you are, perhaps my granddaughter and you…"

Miss Dowding had been alone since he had come outside. For thirty-five minutes now, she had stood off to the side, a drink in hand, looking awkward and out of place in a way that he recognized only too well. It made him want to go and speak with her while knowing that he probably should not. It was dangerous to do. Darn irresponsible with how he was feeling whenever he looked at her. And yet the sight of her in that dress…

He did not even notice the conversation around him ending. Nor did he notice the other lords and their wives leaving him and his grandmother. He did, however, notice his grandmother watching him with a very unamused look.

"I thought you promised to be polite?"

He grimaced. "I am, am I not?"

"You call that polite?"

"I—" He bit into his lip. "I am sorry, grandmother, but can you really expect me to feign interest in such drab palaver as that? I am doing my best, I promise, but I can only do so much."

She shook her head. "Well, at least you tried. I suppose that is all I can expect."

"So…" He sighed. "Who are we speaking with next?"

"Nobody." She half-turned from him and stuck up her nose. "You have made a terrible companion so far, and I would not wish to burden any of my friends with you. Be gone…" She waved him away. "… before I chase you out."

"Grandmother…" He winced, feeling bad now. While he did not care what these lordlings thought of him, he did still care what his grandmother thought. "I will try to be more interesting, I promise."

"No, no, you had your chance. I relieve you, Your Grace…" She took a step back and pretended to bow for him. "Thank you for coming."

He pushed his lips together. "Well, if you say so…"

"Oh, before you go…" She smirked to herself, looking a little too pleased. "Do me a favor will you, stop by Caroline and make sure she is doing all right? She has looked as bored as blind man at the theatre, and I would hate for her to be having a bad time."

Frederick swallowed, daring to glance at Miss Dowding. "You… you wish for me to check on her?"

"If you do not mind? That is, unless there is a reason that you cannot?" She knew what she was doing. Oh, how she did.

And Frederick, as stubborn as he was, would not back down because that would simply be an admittance of how he felt… was feeling… was certain to feel if he went and spoke with Miss Dowding.

"I would love to," he said, doing his best to ignore his grandmother's smug expression. "I would hate for Miss Dowding to be having as unpleasant a time as she is. Especially on such a fine day."

"Wonderful," his grandmother smirked and fluttered her eyelashes before waltzing away.

And Frederick, committed now, had no choice but to approach Miss Dowding. But it would only be for a moment. The conversation would be short and unpleasant, he knew. And hopefully, he would make it out the other side without saying or doing anything that he might come to regret. Whatever that might look like.