Chapter 8

The Earl of Ivor’s butler showed Hal into a small receiving room, decorated fancifully in a pink, yellow, and green color scheme to resemble a garden filled with flowers that seemed to leap from the walls. Celinda’s mother’s handiwork, he must assume. Assuredly that was where his cousin got her eccentric streak. Hal meandered over to look more closely at the jonquils that made one wish to reach out and touch them.

“Good afternoon, Hal.” Celinda bounced into the room, her smile stretching from ear to ear. “What brings you here to call on me?”

“You do, cuz.” He bowed low to her. “After you berated me for taking you away from your amour at the last entertainment, I dared not repeat that means to speak to you. You instructed me to call upon you, ‘like normal people do.’ And voila ,” he spread his arms out wide, “I am here.”

“Well, it’s good to know some old dogs can learn new tricks.” She giggled and gestured to a pair of chairs drawn up before the fireplace. “Will you sit down, Hal?” She perched on one, and he sank into the other. “So what really brings you here?”

“I have some rather startling news about Mademoiselle d’Aventure.”

Celinda inclined her head toward him, a sudden gleam of interest in her eyes. “Will this astound me, Hal?”

“Oh, I believe it will.”

As he related Gabriella’s tale, Celinda alternately leaned forward and reared back, gasped, and clutched his arm.

“I told you she had another reason for wanting to meet His Grace,” she said, gathering her shawl around her once more when he had finished. “‘Childhood dream’ indeed.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Do you think it’s true?”

“It’s certainly possible. The part about him being impatient and donning a disguise smacks very much of Rother, although I confess I’ve never heard anything like this tale from him. Then again, we do not belong to the same clubs.” Hal sighed. “Do you know of anyone who might be able to verify it? Would he have told no one?”

“I will say the timing seems correct.” Celinda settled herself, a pensive frown on her face. “According to my mother, the duke, then Marquess of Poole, spent the years 1798 through 1800 on his Grand Tour.” She shook her head. “My mother said his wildness made a March hare seem tame when he was a young man.”

“How does your mother know all this?” He’d no idea Lady Ivor would be such a fount of knowledge.

“She keeps a journal with information on all the eligible gentlemen on her special ‘marriage list’ for me and my sisters.”

“And Rother is on that list? But he’s your godfather.” Were such things done? It sounded scandalous.

She raised one gracefully arched eyebrow. “He’s less blood relation than you and I, and you proposed to me.”

“That was a spur of the moment decision. Do you know if I am on that list?”

Celinda merely laughed and continued. “Where was I? Oh, yes, he married Lady Jane Fallow, daughter of the Marquess of Buckland, in the spring of 1801. They’d had no children when she died of smallpox in 1810. He remarried two years later and now has two sons, however, his second wife died shortly after the second was born, so he’s searching for another wife this Season.” She paused, tapping her fan once more. “I wonder if Mamma has heard a rumor about an affair with a French girl. I shall have to use my best wheedling in the next day or so.”

“I have every confidence in your talents, my dear.” If her mother knew anything, Celinda would find it out. “Have you heard from Rother?” Hal was more and more concerned about this meeting now the stakes were so incredibly high.

“Yes.” Celinda sighed and shook her head. “Unfortunately, he can only meet me here on Thursday afternoon.”

“Thursday? Why the dickens can’t he meet you on Sunday?” Hal’s nerves had stretched tight at her words.

“I have no idea, Hal. And I didn’t think it proper or wise to try to dictate to a duke, even if he is my godfather.” Celinda slumped in her chair. “What can we do to make this work?”

Hal sat lost in thought. How could he get Gabriella out of the house in the middle of the week? “Lady Chalgrove’s at home day is Thursday, isn’t it?”

Celinda nodded. “That’s when I spoke to her last week.”

“Did she summon Gabriella at any point during that time?”

“No. She was too busy talking, sipping tea, and eating cakes.”

“Excellent. Did the duke give you a time to meet?”

“He said he would be here at half past one.” Celinda cocked her head. “What are you thinking, Hal?”

“That Gabriella will not be missed between one and two o’clock. That is when you must act.”

Celinda’s eyes widened until the blue circles swam in a sea of white. “What do you want me to do?”

Hal looked at her sheepishly. “You will have to do double duty, I’m afraid. First, you will need to enlist your mother and some of your friends to create a subterfuge to mask the meeting.”

Her eyebrows swooped up alarmingly. “I am to do double duty for you?” She poked her lips out in a pout. “Then it is only fair that you assist me in my pursuit of Lord Finley. Quid pro quo , and all that.” Celinda straightened her shoulders and looked at him innocently, all big blue eyes and cherubic smile.

“Done.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I shall do everything within my power to help you in the leg-shackling of the Viscount Finley.” He drew a cross over his chest. “So help me, God.”

“Very well. So, what role will you play in all this?”

“Unfortunately, none whatsoever.” Hal groaned when her frown returned. “It cannot be helped, my dear. Miss d’Aventure still believes me to be my valet. I can hardly then be present at the meeting. Rother knows me.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Celinda stared at him, her narrowed eyes indicating her displeasure. “What does my mother have to do with this?”

“We need Lady Chalgrove to have so many callers that they distract her from wanting Gabriella for anything. If your mother and perhaps some of her friends stayed a bit longer than the normal fifteen minutes, it would keep the lady occupied until you and Gabriella can meet Rother and return. It will also keep your mother out of the house so she won’t wonder what’s going on between Rother and a lady’s maid.”

“How do you propose we travel to our house? We cannot take Mama’s carriage. And neither can we sprout wings and fly.” Celinda was looking at him quite skeptically.

Why did women never have any faith in him? Well, most women. Gabriella seemed to be the only woman who believed he would prove good as his word. “I will hire a carriage to pick you two up at one o’clock. So you and your mother must arrive no later than five minutes to one.” Hal paused, trying to think what else might need to be done. “Once your mother has begun her call, sneak upstairs and whisk Gabriella out to the carriage.”

She patted his hand. “You are sorely out of your element, aren’t you, Hal? Don’t worry. Once you have a wife, she will take care of everything for you.”

“Can you promise me that?”

Celinda laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no. But the odds are in your favor. Now, tell me about this subterfuge. What do you have in mind?”

****

Hal stood once more in front of the dreadful chinoiserie desk in his father’s study, dressed in a manner that would’ve done Brummell proud. Hands clasped behind his back, he stood stiffly, his plea to his father chasing round and round his head. Hopefully, his appearance and sober mien would impress upon the duke how seriously he took his request.

“So have you found this young woman’s family at last, Halford?” His father held several sheets of paper, staring at one through his monocle then abruptly tossing it onto the table and perusing the next. “You seem quite engaged in finding her antecedents. Didn’t I see you less than a week ago? Never known you to be so bullish about a woman.”

“I love her, Father. I want to marry her.” Hal put every ounce of determination into his voice. No doubt, no wavering, only strength and determination. His father would respect that.

“That may be. However, if she’s not of good family, you won’t be marrying her in my lifetime.” He dropped the monocle to stare at Hal with glassy blue eyes. “And I mean to remain above ground for a very, very long time to come.”

“Fortunately, her parentage is not an issue. As it turns out, she’s the daughter of a duke.”

The look of surprise on his father’s face would’ve been comical had Hal’s guts not been gripped by an iron fist.

“Is she indeed? A French duke, I take it.” The old man nodded, though his countenance didn’t soften. “They’re scarce as hen’s teeth since the revolution.”

“An English duke, Your Grace.” Hal stared straight at his father. If he showed weakness now, he and Gabriella would be lost.

“Ah, an English duke. Even better.” His father continued to peruse the documents in his hands in a maddeningly slow fashion.

Drops of sweat trickled down the back of Hal’s neck, but he held his pose. Let his father make the opening move.

“You are aware that I am conversant with the progeny of every duke in the Peerages of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Great Britain?” At last, his father raised his gaze to Hal’s. “As I turn over the names of marriageable young women of the correct age whose fathers are, in fact, dukes, I find the list extremely short. Two females only come to mind. Lady Margaret Seaton, the Duke of Starkland’s daughter, who is actually six months older than you, and Lady Anne Kerwick, the Duke of Polden’s daughter.”

Hal knew both ladies, although he’d not seen Lady Margaret for some years as she'd ceased to show herself during the Season. She was more taken with gardening in Cumberland. Lady Anne he’d seen last at Lady Hairston’s ball a week ago, in the arms of the Marquess of Canterbury. He’d wager his father knew these facts as well. “Neither of these ladies has caught my eye, Father. I’m certain you know that.”

“I do. Indeed, I do, Halford. When last we spoke, you astounded me with the statement that your bride-to-be was French. The only way either of those ladies have French blood is if it came over with William the Conqueror.” The duke’s voice rose, rattling the glasses beside the crystal decanter. “What the devil are you playing at?”

“Believe me, Your Grace, I do not play. My future bride is Gabriella d’Aventure—daughter of the Duke of Rother.” He stared at his parent evenly, awaiting the firestorm.

“Halford, I have given you too much leniency in your short life. You will cease these games and give me a straightforward answer.” The vein in the duke’s forehead popped up like a thin, purple snake.

“I am sorry to make this hard for you, Father, but I have given you the truth. I have good reason to believe that Miss d’Aventure is indeed the daughter of the Duke of Rother and his paramour Veronique Dubois. Mademoiselle Dubois subsequently married a wine merchant and Miss d’Aventure was raised as his daughter in France. Rother knows nothing of this—yet.”

The Duke of Brixham sat back in his chair, twirling the monocle by its chain. “Why do you believe this girl’s story? Does she have proof? Does she resemble Rother?”

“Not a bit. She must take after her mother. And she has no proof, per se , but her information about where and when the affair took place is consistent with Rother’s movements that year. Have you heard him speak of a carriage accident during his Grand Tour? Or that he spent time in the Aquitaine during the summer of 1800?”

The duke shook his head. “Rother’s much younger than I. We’ve met socially and in Parliament, of course, but rarely otherwise.” The duke’s stare rested on him so long that he shifted in his highly polished boots and looked away. At last, his father leaned forward. “You didn’t say why you were inclined to believe her.”

“I did, Father. The facts, such as they are, seem to confirm her mother’s tale. The date of Gabriella’s birth matches, Rother’s supposed actions certainly match his character. And Miss d’Aventure tells the story convincingly. I don’t just want to believe her. I do believe her.”

“Because you want to marry her.” The duke chuckled, a grating sound. “I have never seen you so determined about anything, Halford. If I give credit to the girl for nothing else, I will give her that. She’s managed to make you take something seriously for the first time in your life, and that is quite an accomplishment.”

“Does that mean—” Hope fluttered in his heart.

“It does not.” The duke sat back in his chair, arms crossed.

Hal slumped. He should have known better than to believe for one instant that this wily fox would agree to the marriage simply based on Gabriella’s influence on his actions.

“You say Rother has no idea of this young woman’s claim. When will he know?”

“Soon. Lady Celinda is arranging a meeting for Miss d’Aventure with him.” He shrugged. “We will see what the duke has to say then.”

“Do you think he will acknowledge her?”

Again, Hal shrugged. “I suppose it depends on whether or not he believes she is his.”

His father rose and stretched, tossing his monocle onto the papers on the desk and reaching for the decanter. “Then we shall all wait and see what Rother has to say. If he acknowledges her, I will give my consent to your marriage. If he does not, I will not. As simple as that.”

Hal nodded. He’d expected nothing less. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will inform you in either case.” He bowed and grabbed his hat.

“Very good.” The duke poured himself a cognac, reseated himself, and picked up the papers.

With a sigh, Hal turned to the door.

“Halford.”

Hal stopped at the threshold.

“Should Rother deny Miss d’Aventure, I will still require you to marry and produce your heir in the next year.”

“I suspected as much, Father.” Hal rounded on the old man, shooting him a piercing look. “I suppose then you’d better pray to God that Rother accepts her. I should hate like hell to disappoint you, but if Gabriella cannot be my bride, I’ll have none. Cut me off, disinherit me if you like. I won’t live without her.” He strode from the room, the image of the duke’s bulging eyes and slack jaw following him down the corridor and out to his waiting carriage.