Desperate for a Duke Page 13

  “I’m out of practice.”

  “It was beautiful, Heather. You are an accomplished musician.”

  “You are too kind.” She stood and he followed suit. Why was she so uncomfortable now? She tried to shake it off, but then he smiled at her again, and she felt a wave of warmth spread throughout her body.

  “We should return.” She hurried from the room and he followed. They returned to where her family waited, and Heather poured herself another cup of tea. She felt so odd, her thoughts and emotions once again aflutter over his simple act of giving them gifts. It wasn’t the gifts that had pleased her. It was the happiness it brought her sisters and mother. Little by little, they had watched their things disappear in an effort to pay her father’s debts—innocuous things, material things of no emotional value, but then there was nothing. One realizes how to appreciate a single pair of gloves but then mourns them as they slowly become frayed and stained, and there are no other gloves to be worn. She could still taste the desperation she would feel as she mended and mended those same gloves, praying her luck would change just enough to afford another pair. Even the string and thread she’d used had been of precious value.

  She released a heavy sigh, inadvertently drawing the attention of the others.

  “Is something amiss?” her mother asked with concern.

  “No, I was just thinking of something forlorn. Pay me no mind. It’s of no relevance now.”

  Her mother nodded and continued on. She was discussing the preparations for the engagement ball to take place in two weeks.

  “Whatever you need, you have only to instruct Faegan, and he will take care of it.” Fallon assured her.

  Heather looked down to hide the sudden dampness in her eyes. She had done exactly as she ought. She had procured a comfortable future for her mother and sisters by giving her hand to Fallon. She had prepared for the worst, but now she could see the strain of the past leaving her mother. Heather wished she could let go of her fear as well. Perhaps that would come in time. Compared to the future she had prepared herself for, this new future looked much brighter.

  Heather joined her family in the drawing room as the first guests arrived. She was delighted to see Anabelle and Hazel again. They took seats away from their parents, and Heather answered all their curious questions about how her engagement came to be.

  “Well, that is a relief,” Hazel said emphatically. “To think you would have had to marry an old man.” She shook her head. “Scandal or not, you’ve escaped the hangman’s noose.”

  Heather laughed half-heartedly. “I knew my previous circumstances were dreadful, but I never likened them to being sentenced to death. Though I am still a bit nervous of the scandal that may ensue, I too am relieved. He is really a very kind and generous man. I am very grateful.”

  Anabelle looked at her oddly. “Just grateful?”

  Heather gave her a speaking glance. “Yes, grateful.”

  Hazel giggled behind her hand. “Never mind the broad shoulders and handsome face.”

  “Hush, Hazel.” But Heather could feel herself blushing.

  New arrivals claimed their attention, and Heather felt a moment of panic when Fallon arrived with Lord Draven and Lord Rigsby. She had known they were coming, and vowed to herself to pay Draven no mind. Now that she saw him and that arrogant smirk he wore, her confidence faltered. She looked back at Anabelle and Hazel, astonished to find them positively glowering in the direction of the new arrivals.

  “Dear lord,” Heather whispered. “What is it?”

  “Draven,” Anabelle growled.

  Heather nodded. “He’s said awful things to you as well, I suppose?”

  Anabelle’s gaze snapped to hers and she flushed. “No, he’s done something far worse.”

  Heather’s eyes widened.

  “He told me very boldly that he told Lord Rigsby he had kissed me. He said it was for my own good.”

  “I’m going to skewer him with a fork,” Hazel said vehemently.

  “Why would he say such a thing?”

  Anabelle simply shrugged, but she was still looking Heather in the eyes, and her eyes said something far different.

  “Oh, dear.” She turned to see the group of gentlemen making their way over. Fallon smiled at her in greeting and introduced the gentlemen. Their reception was so cold, Heather almost expected to see her breath when she exhaled.

  Draven looked completely delighted by the awkwardness. He kept shooting glances at Anabelle, who studiously kept her full attention on Lord Rigsby.

  The tension was somewhat broken by more arrivals. That of the boisterous Pastor Andrews, and Heather’s two cousins, Sir Kenneth and his younger brother, Mr. Walters. Cousin Milton was not invited to their gathering, though her mother had begun to correspond with him again.

  Heather stood as she and Fallon were called over to greet them. Heather gave Anabelle a sympathetic glance before leaving.

  Fallon leaned close to her as they strolled. “Having one’s tooth dislodged by a kick from a goat is more enjoyable than that moment was.”

  Heather smiled. “Speaking from experience?”

  “Actually, yes. I was a boy, and the tooth was already loose, but I sported a hoof-shaped bruise on my face for weeks.”

  Heather covered her mouth to keep herself from laughing. “How awful!”

  “Faegan has a sketch of it. He has countless sketches of me growing up.”

  “I’ll have to ask to see one.” She looked up at him, and he looked down at her at the same moment. His eyes were so warm, she felt her whole body simmer in response. She was a little out of sorts when they reached the other group. Pastor Andrews beamed at her and loudly pronounced her the most beautiful bride-to-be he’d ever seen.

  “You are positively glowing, my dear.”

  Heather agreed with his assessment. She was sure her skin was the shade of a Maiden Pink flower.

  “Thank you. It has been some time since we last visited.”

  “Yes, but having known you since the day you were born, I still see the charming little scamp you used to be.”

  Heather laughed uncomfortably. Her mother quickly took up the conversational reins, saving Heather from further embarrassment. She let Fallon lead her to a chair, but just as she was about to sit, Cantour announced dinner. Being an informal dinner, they did not line up by station but strolled together to the dining room. Fallon led her to the chair beside his, and she took it bashfully, feeling very much the center of attention. She looked around as the others took their seats, glad to see none were paying her any mind and were enjoying their own conversations. She relaxed, determined she would make every effort to enjoy her meal.

  Lady Wellsford sat across from her on Fallon’s left and snared him in a conversation about Scotland. Heather looked down the table as other guests took their seats. Her cousin, Sir Kenneth, was pulling out a chair for Anabelle and intended to sit next to her. Suddenly, Lord Draven appeared and clapped the man on the shoulder, moving him to another seat and effectively taking his place. Anabelle stared in disgust as Lord Draven took his stolen seat and promptly turned to Heather. “Good evening, Miss Everly. I’m so glad we could further our acquaintance.”

  “I have no wish to be acquainted with you,” Heather said so quietly, it was almost inaudible, but she could tell he’d heard her by his answering smile.

  “Surely, all can be forgiven? You could say I was instrumental in the coming about of your engagement. You should thank me.”

  Heather cast a quick glance at Fallon, but he was engrossed in talk of his home in Scotland. She looked past Draven to address Anabelle, which was wholly improper, but it was Draven, so it didn’t matter to her.

  “I can make him leave if you wish it.”

  “Don’t bother. He will only fabricate some indecent lie to spread around,” Anabelle hissed.

  Draven leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “It seems you’re the only one telling tales, Lady Anabelle, if now Miss Everly knows of our—”
>
  “Lie? Your lie, to be precise?”

  There was a boom of laughter suddenly. Pastor Andrews was launching into one of his stories, and his voice carried across the table and then some, casting all other conversations to the shadows.

  “You are such an angel” was Draven’s only response.

  Heather’s brow furrowed in concern as Anabelle and Draven continued to stare at each other. She didn’t know what to do, but Anabelle was doing a poor job of hiding her hostility. Heather picked up her fork and jabbed Draven in the thigh under the table. He yelped, and those nearest turned in concern.

  Draven laughed as he turned and gave Heather a very peculiar look, before addressing those who had turned to them. “My boot pinched my foot, it is of no consequence.”

  They onlookers turned back to Pastor Andrews.

  Draven leaned close to Heather to whisper, “Are you mad?”

  “Are you? I’m about to be a duchess. How would you like to be cut from society?”

  He smiled at her but was clearly annoyed. “This is no business of yours.”

  “She is my friend, and you are hurting her on purpose for some lark. That is most definitely my concern.”

  His face changed to one of surprise. “I’ve no intention of hurting her.”

  “Look at her,” Heather implored. She nodded toward Anabelle, who was now staring miserably at her plate while Sir Kenneth tried to engage her. “That is hurt. You are playing with her future with such talk.”

  He spared Anabelle a glance. “A kiss cannot ruin one’s future,” Draven returned testily.

  “No, but it can certainly change it,” Heather returned.

  Draven caught her eye and something strange happened. He stared at her almost as if he had some kind of epiphany. His gaze shot to Fallon, and then he withdrew completely. Heather was dumbfounded as he sipped from his wine and began to sample his food, as if their entire heated conversation had been a figment of her imagination.

  Chapter 17

  Their evenings were hectic with parties and balls, and so were most of their afternoons. But on this particular afternoon, Heather found herself completely free of obligation, and decided a bit of exploring was due. She walked the halls of the townhouse, frowning at the number of portraits that she guessed had no relation at all to the Calder name. She walked through every public room, making a mental note of the things she would like to change. The house needed more color, more light. The furnishings were large and heavy, the colors dark shades that were mostly masculine but also slightly depressing. There was nothing inviting about the décor, but perhaps that was because there was nothing inviting about the man who had chosen the décor.

  An hour later, she reached the end of her exploration. Molly, a housemaid, preceded her into the attic room set aside for storage, and walked across the small room to push open the shutters, letting the waning afternoon light into the room. Heather entered with trepidation, but the attic wasn’t as spooky as she’d imagined. One side was stacked with covered furniture, and she made a mental note to peek under the holland covers to see what could be of use. One wall had stacks of covered paintings leaning against it. She eagerly walked to the paintings, lifting one and then another cloth to reveal landscapes, angels looking over children, and a couple strolling through a garden. Heather’s smile broadened as she revealed more and more beautiful paintings, far more interesting and cheerful than those stodgy portraits. At the end of the row was a chest, and Heather kneeled to open it.

  It creaked open, and Heather pulled away a cloth to reveal stacks of little miniature portraits. She almost closed the lid in disinterest, but one of the portraits of a boy with a charming smile on his face caught her eye. She looked again in astonishment, her hand carefully lifting the portrait into the light. She recognized him instantly, could easily see in him the man he had become. She smiled back at the portrait but then frowned. She looked down into the chest again, at all the little portraits of Fallon. She pulled more out and lined them up along the outside of the chest by apparent age. There were many of them—fifteen years worth, she presumed—as if one were done every year, from a young boy to a young man. But, why were they here if the duke had never cared to visit his son since he was a small child? Fallon had mentioned that Faegan had done sketches of him, so perhaps he would know.

  Heather left the attic in determined strides. Faegan was not in the house, but Cantour said he would return shortly. Heather thanked him and went to her room. She paced the rug in front of her bed and pondered the reasons for the portraits. Was it possible the duke had asked for them? Who painted them? Did Fallon know of their existence? She had so many questions and no one to answer them. Fallon would not be coming to dinner tonight. Her mother had encouraged him to seek other suitable interests while in town. That was all well and good except her questions were burrowing a hole in her patience, and she had no one to appease her. She groaned in exasperation and gave up for a moment to change for dinner.

  A half hour passed, and she was heading downstairs to meet her family. As she reached the landing, Cantour approached.

  “Mr. Faegan is awaiting you in the drawing room, Miss Everly.”

  “Thank you, Cantour. Please tell my mother I shall be a only moment,” Heather said in relief as she skipped down the stairs and hurried to the drawing room. Faegan stood as she entered, but she waved him to sit and took a chair beside him. He looked a bit unsettled.

  “You wished to see me?”

  “Yes, I have a matter to ask you about but don’t have much time, so I will get straight to the point.” Heather panted, before taking a moment to catch her breath. “I was in the attic with Molly, and I came across a chest of miniature portraits of Fallon. Do you know where they came from and why they are here?”

  Now Mr. Faegan looked supremely uncomfortable. He swallowed and pulled at the neck of his shirt. “Well, you see, it was my way of trying to convince the duke to be a proper father. I sent them to him for many years but gave up after no attempt was made to see the boy.”

  “Does Fallon know?”

  Mr. Faegan blanched. “No. He would be terribly irate if he found out.”

  Heather frowned in puzzlement. “But who painted the portraits then? How could he not know?”

  “I did. I painted them from the many sketches I drew of him. It wasn’t right of his father to just ignore him like that. Children need to know they are cared for and that someone cares enough to celebrate their life. That’s why I drew the sketches. I did my best to make him feel wanted.”

  Heather was speechless. She felt a swell of emotion for Fallon and the lonely boy he must have been, and for the man before her who had tried to fill the role of father for him. “Thank you, Mr. Faegan. Why didn’t you tell him about the portraits when you first started doing them?”

  “It’s a funny thing, my lady. From the moment the duke walked out on his son, that boy was determined to go his own way, to be his own man. He had a fierce heart even for a little scamp.”

  “But he didn’t do it on his own, did he? He had you, and he had Mrs. Ferguson.” Heather smiled fondly. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Faegan went scarlet in the cheeks, and his eyes looked a tad brighter. “It was nothing. He’s a good lad, and now he has everything he deserves.”

  Heather reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t keep you any longer.”

  He looked up at her with a frown. “Will you tell him? I always felt I betrayed him by sending them.”

  “You did what you thought was best. I don’t know if it is even my place to tell him. He talks about his father so rarely, but there seems to still be something there, some kind of wound.”

  “I know what you mean. If there is anyone who can heal him, I know it is you.”

  Heather was taken aback by that. She wanted to ask what he meant exactly but didn’t have the courage. “Thank you,” she said sheepishly. She stood and bid him good night. Her previous questions were now replaced by othe
r questions. She wasn’t sure she was ready for the answers, so she let them go as she arrived at the dining room and joined her mother and sisters.

  “What took you so long? I’m famished, but Mother said we had to wait.” Violet spooned more fish into her mouth.

  Heather looked over at Violet’s half-empty plate. “You survived. I had to speak with Mr. Faegan about pictures in the attic. I want to take all the frowning aristocrats of unknown origins down and hang some of the nice landscapes I found while I was up there.”

  “What a wonderful idea. This house could use a feminine touch,” her mother said.

  “Where is our knight in shining armor, anyhow? He promised to tell me about the ghost of the Sheepshead Moore.” Prim sighed in disappointment.

  “Mother advised him to go and do whatever it is that gentlemen do. He can’t spend all his time mooning over Heather.”

  “Violet!” Heather and her mother chastised in unison.

  Violet jumped and looked back and forth between the two. “Now that was scary.”

  “That’s enough, Violet,” Lady Everly continued. “I simply encouraged His Grace to take advantage of all the town has to offer a gentleman of his means. He could use a little town bronze.”

  Heather didn’t like the sound of that.

  “What entails town bronzing?” Prim asked.

  Lady Everly shrugged. “I don’t rightly know, but Lord Rigsby will lead the way. I would guess cards at White’s, a boxing match or two, a little gambling—responsibly of course. Ablehill has a good head on his shoulders.”

  “On very broad shoulders,” Violet added and Prim giggled.

  Heather threw her sister a reprimanding glare, though she quite agreed with her sister’s assessment. Fallon had a very pleasing physique. He was tall and strong, and she heartily enjoyed it every time his arms came around her. Most men of her acquaintance did not compare to him. He was so different from the men she knew, so much more vibrant and giving. He was one of a kind, and he was going to be hers.