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“If only my dear Herbert would grow his hair until it touched his collar,” Diamond said.
“If only my Charles would pad his jacket. And his thighs. And his bum!” Ruby laughed wickedly.
“I doubt very much that there is any padding on the duke’s person,” Diamond said.
Ruby peeked at him over her fan. “If only he would stand up with one of us so we could get a hand on those shoulders.”
Two bucks of vintages separated by at least twenty years waited out the current set. “He may be among us, but he will not stay as much as an hour. My valet would thrash me did I not pass at least three hours allowing the entiretonto remark upon his prowess,” the aging young buck opined.
“And yet, he is dressed to a turn, his linen pristine, his coat of the latest cut,” the actual young buck replied.
“His linen may be,” scoffed his elder, “but there is something queer in the lineage.”
“Lineage!” One old gent bleated to another as they made their way to the card room. “Hodgepodge more like. A ragbag of dependents of no known origin, a mishmash of retainers, a mélange of—”
“Yes, yes.” His companion flourished his cane. “My own family claims quite a healthy acreage near to Lowell’s shire, and ne’er the twain shall meet, I can tell you.”
“I do not take your meaning,” Gent the First said.
Gent the Second put his hand on his friend’s arm and leaned in. “My nephew’s housekeeper’s brother’s wife’s granddaughter is from the neighboring village and says there is never a house party, never a ball, and never a need for outside help. And we all know what that means.”
“Penury.”
“Not a groat to his name.”
Along the mirrored wall, an older matron rustled her organza. “He is rich as Croesus, although the origins of the fortune are suspect.”
Her bosom friend gasped. “Surely it does not come from trade?”
“He keeps no sheep, he tends no crops—well, he has no people to do such things. Even he is not so far gone to propriety to engage in animal husbandry firsthand.”
“Some say the entirety of his holding is a gold mine, a literal gold mine.” Bosom Friend looked ecstatic at the notion.
“Hardly,” Matron replied. “There’s not a nugget of gold on this island; the Scots mined it eons ago.”
A merry widow and her ardent admirer lingered near the drinks table. “No one I know has had him, and I know everyone who has had anyone of import,” Merry grumbled.
Ardent moved closer. “Is he…?” He gestured to a group ofvery goodmale friends clustered in the corner.
“Quelle tragedie, if so,” said Merry. “It is true that he is seen nowhere without his steward, Bates, by his side.”
“He, too, is a favorite amongst the ladies.”
“No one’s had him, either.”
And so thetonsups from the same old scandal broth, thought Alfred. He’d heard every word without having moved so much as an inch from his place near the entrance to the ballroom. No creature with hearing such as his would need to do so. The rumors and speculation built in strength the longer he did not take a wife, but it was not merely a wife for whom he searched.
Searched he had, far and wide, all across Europe, as far as the Far East, a duke of the realm wandering the earth like a common journeyman—but it had to be done, for no one could find his lady for him, identify her for him, take the place of her. He found himself back in England after five years of endless travel, thwarted yet somehow not disheartened despite being here again. Here, almost to the man and woman, were the same faces he’d seen upon entering society after coming up from Oxford, faces that were beginning to resemble one another; he feared they’d all been intermarrying rather too closely for comfort.
His own family line was a different breed, and to explain his clan’s uniqueness to most in this room would result in panic, fear, and an atavistic desire to obliterate any trace of him and those like him, for all time. To expose their distinction would put all under his care in the most perilous danger—a paradox, as that difference made him more powerful than any human being.
Yet, here he was among them, bracing himself for the possibility that the one sought by him and his inner creature, his essential self was of their number. His wolf stirred within him, impatient, vexed by the delay in finding their mate, held in check when all it wanted to do was hunt and hunt until they found the one whose heart and soul called to them, belonged to them, whose presence would set things right at Lowell Hall.
“Your Grace.” His steward, Matthias Bates, appeared at his shoulder.
“Animal husbandry…” Alfred murmured, and Matthias gave a low laugh. Alfred regarded his closest friend and right-hand man—the perfect second-in-command, aligned with him in thought, yet with enough independence of spirit to challenge Alfred as needed. Bates stood as tall as he, at several inches over six feet, although the steward was blond where he was dark, lean where he was excessively muscular. None of the gossips had gotten around to that criticism this evening: What well-bred male of his status sought to gain such brawny proportions?
“I believe thehaute tonneeds to stop marrying itself.” Alfred began to wander, Bates at his side.
