How to Capture a Duke(36)

"Rosamund said it was easy to convince any man to marry someone. One had  five paths to do it. The first path was dazzling them, by being pretty  and feminine and everything wonderful." Sir Seymour turned and kissed  his wife's hand. "Just like my lovely, beautiful bride."                       
       
           



       

Percival nodded, and a cold chill spread through him. By Zeus, it was  bloody difficult to see Sir Seymour as completely lacking in morals. Not  when he treated his own wife with such consideration. His shoulders  sank, and he wondered if just perhaps Sir Seymour might be saying  something of importance after all.

"And the second cause is by befriending them-feigning delight in the  things that interested them." Sir Seymour paused. "I take it that my  niece did not do that?"

"No." Percival shook his head, but Sir Seymour merely chuckled. The  baronet curled his lips upward, revealing teeth tainted by likely  frequent consumption of sweets.

"The other method is by ignoring them. Clearly she didn't do that.  Otherwise she would have let you be in the coach." Sir Seymour chuckled.

Percival stilled. The horde of elegantly attired people seemed to arch  toward him, and he was conscious of the faint fluttering of ladies'  fans. The decorative items' proclivity toward feathers and dramatic  colors did not mask their owners' open interest in the conversation.

Sir Seymour turned to his wife. "Now what were the other tricks? It was  all most clever. Most clever indeed. Ah ha!" He steepled his fingers.  "The other trick was mystifying them-well, there may have been a bit of  that. But you know what I truly think she did, the clever minx?"

Sir Seymour's wife tugged the man's arm. "Do you truly think you should be telling him all that?"

Sir Seymour grinned. "My niece is married. She won't mind if I reveal all her insights."

"But His Grace might not appreciate-"

"His Grace will appreciate not being married to a calculating madwoman. I think His Grace should be ever so thankful to me."

"I highly doubt that," Percival said.

Sir Seymour tilted his head. "And still you stand here before me, even though your leg must hurt ever so much."

Percival stiffened. The throbbing intensified under the baronet's fixed stare.

"The last rule is simple. Capture them! Keep them alone." Sir Seymour  chuckled. "I thought it was a joke myself. I thought surely no one would  do that. But didn't Rosamund give the list to her sister? And didn't  Fiona capture you? And force you to be in her company? Taking you in  that tiny sleigh to Harrogate? Only to turn around? The magistrate said  she even insisted on spending the night with you."

"You shouldn't speak about your niece like that." Percival whitened and  leaned forward. "I am afraid we are of great risk of being overheard."

People tittered behind him. Percival didn't recognize the people, but he  knew they were important gentry in Yorkshire. It wouldn't be long  before word would spread to London, haunting him, haunting Fiona.

"She's not here to defend herself," Percival said. "Don't speak of family in that way."

"Oh, I wouldn't call her family." Sir Seymour shook his head. "Relation  perhaps, but I'm going to hope that the relationship remains ever so  distant."

"I am sure she feels similarly toward you," Percival said, though he did  not put much force in his words. Perhaps Fiona had calculated  everything, learned of his trip by some deceitful method, and waylaid  the course. Perhaps all the emotion he felt toward her was completely  false.

"It's a foolish man who does not heed warnings."

"She doesn't desire marriage. She's not some fresh debutante eager to  connect herself with a titled man. She's content with her work. She's  amazing." Percival smiled now, eager to distract himself with thoughts  of Fiona. Pondering her easily led to smiling.

"On the contrary, she's in desperate need of a husband. Once her  grandmother dies, she might not have the opportunity to live at  Cloudbridge Castle anymore."

"Surely you would not force her out! She adores the castle."

Sir Seymour sighed. "And yet she is not my daughter, merely my niece,  and one who thinks I do not notice when she rolls her eyes at me. I  adore my wife. Very much. I've no desire to taint the time we have  together by having a niece whom neither of us are fond of live with us  so she might tear up the beautiful apple orchard."

"I am quite fond of apples," Sir Seymour's wife added.

"You see?" Sir Seymour asked. "My hands are tied."

"Thank you for informing us. We are most appreciative," Arthur said.  "You can be assured that my brother will have nothing else to do with  her."

Sir Seymour nodded. "You are quite welcome." He paused. "My wife is quite fond of Sussex, should you ever see fit to invite-"                       
       
           



       

"I doubt we will see you again," Percival said. "Unless we are at a  ball, in which case I would hope that we can put sufficient space  between us."

"Ah . . . This is most unpleasant business," Sir Seymour said.

"Indeed." Arthur gave a curt bow and dragged Percival toward the exit.  Bows had become a more difficult thing in recent months, and Percival  did not deign to attempt one before the baron.

Lead seemed to have replaced his heart, and he strained against the  pressing weight constricting his chest. He attempted to force Sir  Seymour's words from his mind, but they kept on returning. The baronet  believed them. That much was evident. He believed Percival had been  woefully manipulated and that it was his aristocratic duty to warn him  about her. And perhaps the man was indeed correct.

Percival's shoulders sagged. Perhaps Percival had been too eager to be  flattered, too eager to believe a woman existed who might admire him for  his own merits, even when that included a leg count that ended in one,  and even when that consisted of a woman not knowing, or not believing he  was truly a duke.

He shook his head. He'd been warned there were women everywhere who would be eager to join themselves to his money.

Perhaps Percival was simply naïve, unsuited for the role of duke.  Perhaps it would be unwise for Percival to completely ignore their  opinions.

Even if Sir Seymour lacked gallantry toward his niece, the man was  likely held with more than a modicum of respect in his own circles. His  own wife seemed pleased with him, which was more than Percival could say  for many aristocratic marriages. More than he'd hoped for in his own  marriage with Lady Cordelia.

His brother turned to him. "Let's go."

Percival followed him through the crowd of men and women, their satins  and silks gleaming in the flickering light of the eight-hour candles.  His wooden leg clicked against the unfamiliar black and white marble  floor, and his leg ached as he pushed through the swarm of guests. The  faces ranged from sympathetic to curious, but he didn't want either  emotion from these people.

His hands tightened around his cane. This wasn't supposed to be his  role. He wasn't supposed to become a duke. He was supposed to live a  simpler life, and perhaps the dowager was correct in her ill-masked  worry about the fate of the dukedom under his surveillance.

He'd been so close to giving the ring to Fiona. So close to divulging  that he wanted nothing more than to join their lives together, to have  her spark and her empathy always by his side.

His shoulders sagged. He'd been a fool. He should have learned at  Waterloo that it was wrong to hope for anything more. He should have  learned then that his life should only be focused on fulfilling the  dreams of his cousin. Bernard had sacrificed himself for him, and he  should not repay that sacrifice a mere six months later by tying himself  to a chit who had found herself hauled off to the magistrate's prison.

Arthur held the door open for him, and they exited the ballroom. They  pulled on their great coats and top hats in silence. The servants eyed  them, curiosity visible. He wondered what story they would spread to the  downstairs workers.

Fiona was right to be frightened of the ton. Unless she wasn't frightened and only wanted to isolate him . . .

He shook his head. He needed to speak with her. Even now, that's all he wanted to do.

"Soon you'll be with Lady Cordelia, and this will all be in the past.  It's a good thing you wrote," Arthur said. "Seems like you got yourself  embroiled in something quite nasty."

"I-"

Arthur sighed. "Look. You're my brother. Of course I'm bound to worry  about you. But I don't like the manner in which your eyes soften  whenever anyone mentions the woman's name. And I don't like how  argumentative you were with the baronet."