Of course, there was always the problem of some of those lovely ladies fluttering their eyelashes and delicately hinting that they might not mind becoming his duchess.
He’d got very experienced at dodging those subtle displays of feminine wiles. He would not be caught until he meant to be caught.
Exactly when he might mean to be caught, he could not say. He was well aware of his duty to produce an heir. There had been no end of ladies he might have taken on as duchess. But it was hard to tell them apart, so many of them were the same, as if they’d all had the same tutor and were taught the same conversations. Was he to chain himself to a lifetime of such uninteresting exchanges?
How many of those conversations he’d had—the weather, the traffic, how lovely the park was, or even more irritating, how edifying Fordyce’s sermons were.
It was England, he hardly thought the fact that it was raining to be notable nor surprising. It was London, of course there was too much traffic on the streets. The park was a park, and generally crowded. As for Fordyce’s sermons, it would be refreshing if some lady were to pronounce them what they really were—tedious.
And then there was another matter to consider when he thought of marriage. It would be nigh impossible to keep his activities for the queen hidden from a wife. Women sniffed out secrets like dogs sniffed out a fox. It would be inconvenient to have some lady handwringing at the door when he left for the Rats’ Castle. It would be really inconvenient if she could not keep the secret to herself.
“Do you attend Almack’s on Wednesday?” Henri asked, interrupting his thoughts and taking his empty champagne coupe from him.
Balthazar rose and Henri draped a towel round his shoulders and handed him another for his waist. “Of course I must attend. Conbatten must go to Almack’s just as the sun must rise in the east. One does not like to disappoint the Patronesses.”
Henri nodded. “Signor Ribaldi brings your new coats on the morrow. I have arranged he come disguised as a grocer and enter through the servants’ door, as I believe there is at least one gentleman who has set a watch on the house in an effort to discover who your tailor is.”
“Poor sots,” Balthazar said. “If they were ever to discover it, they would also discover that I pay Ribaldi not to tailor for anybody else. The arrangement suits us both.”
“This is why you are Conbatten and they are not,” Henri said, thoroughly satisfied with the idea.
Balthazar smiled to himself. He knew his valet to be satisfied with the idea that there was only one Conbatten because that meant there could be only one Henri.
He was not particularly opposed to the opinion. He rather favored having a valet who was superior.
The fellow was remarkably good at tying a neckcloth and had traveled throughout the continent to finally locate the finest tailor. Ribaldi was found in Rome and Henri offered him such compensation that the fellow could not refuse. He’d done the same with his chef, practically smuggling him out of Paris. If one wished for the best, one only had to send Henri to find it.
Furthermore, if one had the great good luck to be born to a dukedom, one ought to have the sense to act like it.
*
The house onPortland Place was just as Rosalind remembered from last season. Though, at the same time, everything looked different too. Last year, she had been the younger sister staying at home and listening to late night reports from Beatrice about this or that outing.
Now it would be she who would sally forth and bring home her own reports to her sisters. It was positively thrilling.
They had gathered in the drawing room before dinner, awaiting Darden’s arrival. Their father had sent a note to The Young Bucks Club, a gentlemen’s club that Darden had himself founded. Darden was to know that his family had arrived to Town and he was expected to dinner.
“I do hope our dear little Bess is comfortable in the kitchens,” Cordelia said.
“I do not see why she wouldn’t be,” the earl said, “what more could a stray cur hope for—to be rescued by a gaggle of young ladies and deposited in the warmest room in the house, which also happens to be the place food is so helpfully located.”
“Tattleton,” Viola asked their butler, “how does our dear Bess get on?”
“When I left,” he said gravely, “that canine was stretched in front of the hearth and gnawing a chair leg. Young Charlie has promised to keep her from devouring all of the furniture.”
“Charlie has taken a shine to our Bess,” Cordelia said.
“Very predictable,” the earl said. “The poor boy was rescued from his own unfortunate circumstances and must find sympathy with a creature in a similar situation.”
“Oh I am glad they have found each other as friends,” Viola said.
Rosalind could not help but notice that Tattleton did not seem to be as joyful over it. She supposed the butler was suspicious of any new animal coming into the house on account of the four kittens that had come along with Charlie last year. While Charlie had proved himself to be ever so helpful in the kitchens, the kittens had been less so and had got up to much mischief.
Tattleton would see, though—lovely little Bess was an absolute angel. She had not filled their carriage with barking even one time on their journey. Shehadfilled it with fumes, but then, everybody had their problems.
They all heard the front doors crash open and were on their feet in a moment.
“Darden!” Juliet cried.
