Bewitching The Forbidden Duke (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 2

  My dear Patrick,

  You may hear some rumors about me as you go about your business today. I pray that you take no notice of it. I shall speak with you more on this later.

  Regards,

  Your Father

  Chapter 2

  A Bit of Intrigue

  Patrick’s brow furrowed as he read the note again, wondering what his father could possibly mean by it. He felt his heart rate speed up with anxiety as he worried for The Duke’s wellbeing. He was aware that his father had many enemies who might like to see him destroyed. He knew this because his father had told him so.

  He got to his feet, breakfast forgotten and strode toward the door, his butler scurrying behind him with anxious questions.

  “I need my coat. Have a coach brought around,” he declared brusquely, not bothering to turn around.

  “Yes, m’ lord,” his butler overtook him in his haste to get to the coat rack, while simultaneously gesturing for the footman to go around to the mews for the coach and six. He held out Patrick’s coat to him, his face twisted with anxiety. He clearly wanted to ask what had gotten his lordship so riled up but was too well trained to impose on his master in such a manner.

  Patrick grabbed his coat, striding out the door without waiting for Andrews to drape it over his shoulders. The day was windy but he hardly noticed. The coach came around from the alley between his house and the next. He hurried forward, not waiting for the tiger to open the carriage door, but doing it himself.

  “Take me to White’s Gentleman’s Club,” he called to his coachman as the tiger leaped onto his platform. They took off in a rush, understanding that Patrick did not want to waste any time. It did not take long to get to the club and he, again, bounded out of the carriage without waiting for assistance. He blew into the club like a gale, his eyes seeking hither and thither for his father.

  The man in question was sitting with a group of noblemen as they played a game of cards, seeming quite unperturbed by any rumor that might be making the rounds.

  “Father,” Patrick murmured softly, coming up behind The Duke. His Grace turned his head, rolling his eyes comically in order to see Patrick.

  “Bergon? What are you doing here?” he snapped.

  “I...” Patrick was at a loss. The tone of his father’s note did not match his current devil-may-care attitude. He frowned; his eyes narrowed as he tried to figure his father out.

  “Well?” he Duke prompted.

  “I received your note. I thought we might discuss it further as it was rather short on details.”

  His father’s eyes first widened, and then narrowed. “Well, this is hardly the place for that discussion. Perhaps we can meet later in your home. I am rather busy at the moment.”

  Patrick bowed his head. “Of course, father.” He turned on his heel and walked out, feeling quite wrong footed.

  * * *

  As much as her mother had ambivalent feelings toward her, Thalia Alford, Duchess of Greyfield was determined that nothing would ruin Melissa’s birthday ball.

  Like a whirlwind, she swept Melissa up in her preparations. First stop, Mrs. Thomas’ where she was made to stand still while the dressmaker poked, prodded and stuck pins in her one more time, just to make sure her dress was a perfect fit. Next, they had to pick up their hats from Mrs. Bell, before stopping by Wood for their footwear.

  Once the clothes were sorted out, there was still accessories. Melissa was to wear an emerald necklace from Rundell and Bridge, exclusively designed for the occasion. It would complement her burnished-gold gown and bring out her tan skin as well as cause her hazel eyes to shine. It was the linchpin that pulled her look together and an excellent talking point for her guests.

  Melissa would have preferred to have a nice tea with her best friend, who was also her lady’s maid, Brynn, and call it a celebration, but that was never going to happen. Her family had an image to maintain in spite of anyone’s–her mother’s–personal feelings for her.

  She and Brynn were as close as sisters but sometimes Melissa would look at her own sister with regret. The relationship she shared with her lady’s maid should have been one she shared with her real sister. Instead, their mother had them at loggerheads, forever in competition for their mother’s approval. Rose always won that race, and Melissa had reached the point where she was resigned to that outcome. It still hurt her, however, that she could not have a warm, loving relationship with either of them.

  Why does she hate me? Melissa often pondered this, for as far back as she could remember, her mother treated her with cold resentment and impatient irritation. What did I do to deserve this?

  Her heart twisted with pain even as she thought it. There was a brisk knock on her door and then Brynn was bustling into the room, talking a mile a minute.

  “It’s time Melissa, for us to get you ready for your big day. The footmen are bringing the large tub so that you can soak in hot water and rose petals while I lay out your clothes.”

  “Are you trying to say I smell, Brynn?” Melissa grinned at her lady’s maid.

  “You certainly do not smell like roses, but you will after your bath.”

  Melissa sighed. “It’s all so tedious.”

  Brynn gave her a sympathetic glance. “Oh, Lady Melissa, you should be excited. It's like you’re a princess. Everyone’s attention will be on you, they will pamper you and toast you and give you presents. How can you not like that?”

  Melissa tried to smile, unsuccessfully. “I suppose I sound very ungrateful to you.”

  Brynn hurried forward to rub at Melissa’s arm. “No! Of course, you don’t. I know why you don’t like all this. You’re a simple girl at heart who would rather have something real than something ostentatious. But that should not stop you from enjoying the prezzies!”

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “I wish we could change places. You would enjoy this much more than me. And where did you learn a word like ostentatious?”

  Brynn snorted. “Please. Do you think I don’t read all the same books you do? You taught me to read so why are you surprised that I know words?”

  Melissa grinned, squeezing her arm. “I’m not surprised that you know them. I’m taken aback that you use them.”

  Brynn shrugged. “When it’s just you and me, I can use any words I want. Other people might think I was bein’ uppity.”

  Melissa shook her head. “It’s a lonely life isn’t it.”

  Brynn smiled wide at her. “Not really. I have you, don’t I?”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the maids of all work, carrying pails of hot water. It was time to get ready for the ball.

  When the maids had left, Melissa stripped down to her birthday suit and lowered herself into the heated water. The tub was next to the fire and she lay back, luxuriating in the warmth, appreciating the lap of water against her flesh. Her hand brushed against the butterfly birthmark against her waist and she traced it languidly as Brynn spread rose petals in the water.

  She sighed, closing her eyes. “I don’t ever want to leave this tub.”

  Brynn laughed. “Eventually, the fire will die down and the water will get cold, you’ll change your mind.”

  Melissa smiled, her eyes still closed, her head resting on the edge of the tub while dark hair hung in cascades, outside the tub. “That sounds like an analogy for something.”

  Brynn snorted. “Analogy? What does that mean?”

  Melissa’s eyes opened and she gave Brynn a look. “Ah, so now you pretend ignorance. Convenient isn’t it?”

  * * *

  Thalia Alford, Lady Greyfield, tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for her daughters to join her for a light meal before the ball. Her husband had been scheduled to join them but he had sent a note that he was delayed at Whitehall.

  He had been summoned for an impromptu meeting. Closeness to the crown had its advantages, but His Grace was forever at the beck and call of the Prince. It irked Thalia to no end.

  Her firstborn, Rose, entered the room
and Thalia smiled with approval. Rose was already dressed for the ball in blue and silver, a perfect foil for her sister’s gold and green. If only Melissa would comport herself like a lady for one night, they might just end up having the premiere ball of the year; one which Thalia could boast about for a while.

  “You look well, Rose.”

  Her daughter curtsied prettily. “Why thank you, Mother. That’s kind of you to say.”

  While her silver necklace had not been designed specifically for this night, unlike Melissa’s, Rose’s was garnished with blue diamonds that shone against her alabaster skin. She and Melissa were night and day in every way; Thalia could not fathom how she had birthed two people who were so different.

  Even as she thought it, Melissa came rushing into the room, a flyaway curl in her face, walking too fast, breathing too hard. Thalia felt a familiar bolt of irritation streak through her and she frowned.

  “Slow down Melissa. That is no way for a lady to move.”

  Melissa’s mouth twisted, further irritating Thalia. Nobody liked a bad-tempered girl.

  “Yes, mother,” she replied biting off the ‘s’ as if it were Thalia’s finger. Lady Greyfield stiffened in her seat and opened her mouth to snap at her daughter but stopped as she spotted the butler enter the room.

  “Your Grace,” he said with a bow, “your mother has arrived.”

  Thalia sighed, rolling her eyes. Of course, her mother was early. For some reason, the dowager Lady Belford had a soft spot for Melissa. Thalia could not imagine why.

  “Send her in, Biggs. And bring in some refreshment for the girls and me.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Biggs backed out of the room and not a moment later, Thalia’s mother was bustling in, kissing her grandchildren and generally making a nuisance of herself. Thalia looked away from her mother and focused on her breathing. Tonight, was a big night and anyone who was anyone in the realm was invited.

  Thalia’s heart sank as she thought of two men she was not looking forward to seeing. One had blackmailed his way onto the guest list, the other was a close friend of the Prince as well and could not be left out. She feared that the evening might prove too much for her what with having to deal with her daughter’s peccadillos already. She was exhausted and the ball had not even begun.

  * * *

  Melissa opened the dance on her father’s arm. He twirled her across the room, a proud smile on his face, while the assembled audience watched. The ladies whispered behind their fans as they simpered at the gentlemen. Melissa spotted Brynn and the other servants walking about with trays laden with champagne, sherry, and strawberry cordial. Brynn winked when she spotted Melissa’s eyes on her and Melissa almost grinned before remembering herself.

  She turned to her father, a smile on her face.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, father. Everything is lovely.”

  His eyebrow rose. “You have your mother to thank for that, you know?”

  Melissa exhaled sharply, “Oh, father, do stop.”

  Her father was forever trying to reconcile Melissa and her mother. She did not know why he had not realized by now, that it was a waste of energy. Her mother hated her, for reasons unknown to Melissa–and she had long since stopped trying to change Lady Greyfield’s mind.

  “Hope springs eternal,” Lord Greyfield hummed as he swept her across the room.

  “Perhaps I shall find a husband tonight and then she shall not have to deal with me for much longer,” Melissa grumbled.

  Her father laughed. “Well, unless you plan to find a husband for your sister as well, your hopes might not come to fruition as fast as you might wish.”

  Melissa harrumphed, “Rose would be married by now if she would only accept one of the many offers she has received.”

  “Our Rose is very particular, as are you.” Lord Greyfield raised both eyebrows at her in challenge.

  “Yes, well.” Melissa looked away because she could not dispute his words. As daughters of the most powerful Duke in the land, the offers of marriage had poured in from the first day of both their coming-out balls. Her father was indulgent of them and let them decide which to accept. So far, both girls had not found a fitting suitor amongst the many.

  “Never fear my dear, you have plenty of time. Now, this is your night, so turn that frown upside down and smile for me, my dear daughter.”

  Melissa did as she was bid. Her father was right. This was her night and she would enjoy it to the maximum. All she had to do was avoid her mother for the rest of the evening.

  * * *

  Patrick stepped into Greyfield House behind his father and straightened his tailcoat compulsively as they were announced. He accepted a glass from a passing serving girl before stepping into the ballroom proper. He looked around; eyebrows raised at the ostentation. Patrick knew the occasion was more about business than pleasure since his father had neglected to bring his new wife with him.

  Everything was draped in gold and green; from the floor-length curtains framing the windows to the sashes draped around the servers who were also dressed in green, their white gloves gleaming in the light from the gold chandelier above. The marble floor of the ballroom was crisscrossed with gold-leaf inlays, now filled with dancing couples.

  He looked around for their hosts, intending to pay his respects. He turned to say as much to his father and found that he had crossed the room and was now in deep conversation with The Duchess of Greyfield.

  “Oh, looks like you beat me to it,” he murmured to himself.

  “I beg your pardon?” a light voice asked from his right. He turned to find a young lady, dressed in a blue gown, her neck, and ears adorned with silver and diamonds.

  “Forgive me,” he bowed to her, “I do not think we have been introduced.”

  “Indeed, we have not. However, if you ask me to dance, we would not have broken propriety.”

  Patrick smiled at her forwardness, as well as her cleverness. “You are right.” He held out his hand to her, “Would you do me the honor of this dance, lady?”

  “Greyfield. Rose Greyfield,” she said placing her delicate small hand in his.

  Chapter 3

  Awkward Meetings

  They took their places on the dance floor, smiling politely as strangers do. “Rose Greyfield you said?” Patrick ventured to ask, “Are you a relation of the birthday girl?”

  Rose’s mouth twisted. “I am her sister.”

  She did not seem too pleased about it. Patrick lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

  “Is she younger than you or older?”

  Rose smiled coyly at him, her eyelashes fluttering. “Are you saying I look younger than nineteen years?”

  Patrick had been saying no such thing as he had not actually been aware of the age of the birthday girl. Yet he knew he could not say that so he just murmured noncommittally.

  “She’s my younger sister actually.” Rose was still giving him that pleased smile and Patrick did not know what to do with it.

  They whirled around the dance floor until the song came to an end, and then Patrick dutifully deposited her on a chair. As they had not been formally introduced, he simply took a bow and left in search of his father.

  * * *

  “They do make an excellent couple, don’t they?” Lord Cheshmill whispered in her ear, his voice full of glee.

  “I don’t see it.” Thalia looked away from her dear daughter and the man she was dancing with–who was apparently Cheshmill’s son. She had no intention of giving in this time. He could not make her ransom her daughter.

  “Don’t you? Personally, I think they are a perfect match. You should think about it, Lady Greyfield. I’m sure you’ll come to agree with me. And look at how she is regarding him with so much adoration already. I feel quite sure Lady Rose will have no objection to this match.”

  Thalia exhaled a breath sharply from her nose as she flew her colors. There was very little she could do if The Duke insisted on going this route.
He had her well and truly backed into a corner and they both knew it.

  “What could you possibly want with Rose?” she hissed.

  “Surely you must have heard those ugly rumors about me that are doing the rounds,” his eyes were scanning the crowd and he barely moved his lips as he spoke.

  “I have no need to listen to gossip,” she snapped.