Seven Minutes in Heaven(110)
The door opened again. Knowing it was a foolish hope, he turned to see if possibly the Marquis and Marchioness of Broadham—and their daughter, Eugenia—would enter.
The Beaumont butler announced, “Her Grace, the Duchess of Villiers; His Grace, the Duke of Villiers.”
Villiers would never pause in the doorway, but he had no need to, because every person in the room turned at the sound of his name. He was famous for his flamboyant dress, but tonight he wore a dark plum coat with no embroidery whatsoever.
“Leo, what on earth has come over you?” their hostess cried, running over to them. “You are practically funereal.”
The duke made a magnificent bow. “It’s my hair,” he said, straightening. “White hair and black eyebrows. I assure you, Jemma, that putting on some of my favorite coats is like putting finery on a crow.”
Her Grace kissed Villiers’s duchess on both cheeks. “Sweetheart, how are you? I heard that Theo fell off his horse and broke an arm.”
“Taggerty’s Traveling Circus came through the village,” the Duchess of Villiers said with a wry smile. “Naturally, having seen it once, Theo thought he could stand on his horse’s back too.”
Ward walked forward. “Your Grace,” he said, kissing the Duchess of Villiers’s hand. He bowed to her husband. “I am truly grateful for your support.”
“You sound like a campaigning sheriff,” Villiers observed, raising a thin eyebrow. “Have you some tin mugs to give away?”
“I’m afraid not,” Ward said evenly.
“They could be engraved with a pertinent saying. I would suggest ‘fools are wise until they speak.’” His tone couldn’t have been more acerbic.
“Stop being such a curmudgeon,” their hostess said, linking arms with Villiers. “Come. I must show you an attacking combination I have just learned that has no fewer than three sacrifices.” With a smile at his wife, she drew Villiers over to a chessboard set out in the corner. Only her ballroom—and perhaps Villiers’s—would include a gaming table.
Ward turned to the Duchess of Villiers, an extraordinarily beautiful woman whose hair was still as gold as a guinea even after raising eight children, if one included her husband’s six bastards—and one did, because she and her husband had gathered them all under their roof.
“That’s the last I’ll see of my husband tonight,” she laughed. “Those two talk only of chess if they’re within each other’s orbit. I’m so sorry not to have seen more of you in the last few years, Ward.”
“I lived abroad for some time before I began teaching at Oxford.”
“You’re being very modest. Your father has endlessly boasted of your paper-rolling fortune.”
Ward ignored that. “I apologize if the Duke of Beaumont prevailed upon your husband to attend the House of Lords tomorrow against his wishes.”
“Villiers is Eugenia’s godfather, so he’s feeling grumpy,” she replied in her direct manner. “But he will fight for you in court. We have six illegitimate children, Ward. The House of Lords cannot be allowed to delude themselves that we would allow illegitimacy to overthrow a will such as the one written by that poor young lord.”
“I am indebted,” Ward said.
The duchess smiled at him. “Villiers believes you will make Eugenia happy.”
“That is not what he indicated to me.”
“He is of the belief that competition can drive a man to recognize his own folly.” She tapped his shoulder with her fan. “If you must know the truth, he’s peevish because he wagered that you would climb to her window after that scene at Fonthill . . . instead, you returned to Oxford.”
“Your husband wagered that I would ruin Eugenia’s reputation by surprising her in her bedchamber? That is reprehensible, Your Grace.” He shouldn’t be so blunt, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“Ward,” the duchess said with a sigh. “Do remember that we’ve known you most of your life, won’t you? You must call me Eleanor. Of course, Leo thought that. He is so certain of his command of human nature; it does him good to be mistaken from time to time.”
“He’s not entirely mistaken,” Ward allowed. After all, he fully planned to climb to her bedchamber window if need be.
“After I banished Villiers years ago,” the duchess said, “my future husband put on a plain black coat—anathema to him to this day, as you can tell by his complaints—and wrote a note under a different name asking me for a drive in Hyde Park. I was in that carriage before I grasped my suitor’s identity.”