This Duchess of Mine(112)

“I shall dower them,” Villiers said. “I am one of the richest men in England, and much of it is unentailed. They shall marry whomever they please.” He heard the arrogance of his father, in his voice, and his father’s father—and didn’t give a damn.

“That’s not going to be easy,” Jemma said. “Perhaps a nice widow?”

“No,” Elijah said slowly. “The duchess would have to be of equal stature to Villiers.”

“I see. If we could find a duke’s daughter,” Jemma agreed, “between the two of you, you might be able to compel the ton to accept the children.”

“I doubt that the Puritanical will ever accept the children,” Elijah said.

Villiers felt a wave of rage in his chest. “They are my children,” he said tightly.

“Illegitimacy is well-nigh impossible to overcome.”

“So I need a duke’s daughter,” Villiers said, ignoring his doubts.

“The problem is finding eligible ducal offspring,” Jemma said. “Not to mention ones who might be convinced to marry a man in your situation.”

“You show me an eligible woman, and I’ll take her,” Villiers said softly.

“You can’t just take her,” Jemma said, scowling at him.

“Watch me.”

“There’s the Duke of Montague’s daughter,” Elijah offered.

“Actually, Montague has three daughters,” Jemma said. “The eldest one is Eleanor. She’s apparently quite proud. I’ve heard tell that she won’t even consider those of a rank below an earl.”

“I am above an earl,” Villiers said. “Are the other two as superior in their thinking?”

“I’ve met the youngest Montague daughter only two or three times, but it seems to me that she was as full of her own consequence as her sisters. I believe it’s a family trait.”

“Doesn’t the Duke of Gilner have a daughter?” Elijah asked. “I always liked him. He comes infrequently to the House, but he’s thoroughly intelligent.”

“Her name is Lisette. But she’s ineligible,” Jemma said.

“Why?” Villiers asked.

“She’s mad. Quite mad. She has never had a season. And everyone says it’s because she can’t appear in public at all.”

“There must be others.”

Jemma shook her head.

“Then I shall choose among the Montague daughters. Did you say the eldest is called Eleanor?”

Jemma nodded. “Eleanor, Anne, and Elizabeth. They’re named after three queens. I don’t believe they’re in London at the moment, but I shall invite them to the house for tea upon their return.”

“I would appreciate that,” Villiers said. He was beginning to feel worried about Tobias, as if the boy might flee if he left him alone too long. “I’m happy to find you so well,” he said to Elijah. “Now you should have a footman fetch that miraculous medicine.”

“We owe you thanks, since you found the doctor who directed us to Withering.”

“I shall take that as confirmation that I no longer need feel guilty about the fact you saved my life last year, after that duel.”

They didn’t embrace. English dukes didn’t flaunt affection, even under circumstances like these. But Elijah accompanied him to the door and their shoulders jostled together, just as they had in their boyhood.

The Duke of Villiers walked into the watery morning sunlight, thinking about duke’s daughters named for queens.





Chapter Thirty-one




Two months later, mid-June

1784

All of London was talking about the Duchess of Beaumont’s benefit costume ball for refurbishment of the old Roman baths. It was rumored that at least four duchesses would attend, and perhaps even the King himself. Everyone, of course, would be dressed in proper Roman attire.

Mrs. Mogg and her friends were waiting outside the gate of the baths hours before the ball was due to begin.

They watched as scores of footmen carried in countless garlands of flowers.

“They’ll wrap them around the trees, I’ve no doubt,” Mrs. Mogg said importantly. “The Duchess of Beaumont did just that at a party she had in Paris.” Her friends all nodded. Mrs. Mogg was considered something of an expert on the Beaumonts. After all, she’d talked to the duke himself twice. And she seemed to know everything there was to know about the couple.

“That was when they were living apart,” she continued now. “The duchess was over in Paris, by herself, see, and the duke was here. But then she came back and they fell in love, just like a fairy tale.”

“She’s the best chess player in all England,” Mr. Mogg put in. He had discovered that if he didn’t go along with his wife’s obsession with the ducal family, they had nothing to talk about. So in his own way, he had become an expert too.