Son of a Duke Page 2

  Duchess Lofton gazed casually in the direction that Miss Quinton pointed and felt a slight start when she saw the Duke of Lofton had left his post by the card room door. She quickly turned back to the conversation when she heard Stryden's voice again.

  "Perhaps. Unfortunately, I must do my civic duty and mingle in the society into which I was born."

  He winked at her.

  Oh, dear. Jane should have warned him. A wink might give Miss Quinton heart pains. But Jane was certain she would not swoon. She was not the type, really.

  And then Miss Quinton smiled, and the duchess herself felt chest pains. Given her delicate age of eight and fifty, she did begin to worry a bit. But they soon passed when a screeching voice- well, screeching really did not do it justice. She thought of the sound that comes from running one's knife in the wrong direction against one's plate. Yes, that was exactly the sound that was produced when this creature opened her mouth.

  "Stryden! You silly, silly man. I have been looking every where for you," Lady Dendrigeshire squawked, jostling her enormous girth through the crowd to the poor Earl of Stryden.

  Stryden turned his shoulder so only Miss Quinton could see his face. And what he did then the duchess did not know, but it made Miss Quinton blush. The damn chit blushed! Jane snapped open her fan and started swinging it violently through the air. It was not cooling her any, but she suddenly felt the need to release some recent onslaught of energy.

  "May I have this dance, your grace?"

  The sound of his voice sent a familiar shiver down her spine, and the duchess turned toward her husband.

  Richard had not always been her husband, and seeing his smiling face in front of hers always brought a sharp pain of reality to her, a pain that made her infinitely happy that she could now be his wife.

  "Well, I supposed it is a part of my lot for being wed to you, is it not?" she replied, and Richard smiled even more.

  She moved her eyes in Miss Quinton's direction, indicating that she still had a part to play, but Lofton was already putting his arms about her and leading her toward the other dancing couples. When they were safely out of ear shot, he spoke.

  "Well done, your grace. He's in."

  His voice was low and brushed across her ear like velvet. She shivered again.

  "That quickly?"

  "Of course, the War Office did not choose just anyone for this job."

  "No, I suppose they did not," she said and allowed him to twirl her across the floor.

  ~

  Eleanora stood for a moment by the refreshment table as she gathered her thoughts about her once more. It was not everyday that she inadvertently mingled with duchesses and earls in quite such proximity in the middle of a ball. And thank goodness it was not for she would never be able to keep such a close eye on the happenings about her if her attention were always so judiciously averted. Especially by the Earl of Stryden. She knew he was married even though she had never seen his wife, but she also knew that did not matter when it came to his seductive powers. And for the first time that she could remember, Eleanora suddenly wondered what it would be like to be seduced by a man. A real man. A gentleman.

  She physically shook her head in the middle of the crowded ballroom as if to shake the thought from her head. The heat was clearly getting to her, and she would have to seek fresher air or risk collapsing on the spot. She moved quickly then, sliding around the refreshment table and escaping through a door at the back of the ballroom. Her sturdy shoes made no sound as she quickly moved below stairs, expertly dodging the footmen as they carried the trays of champagne above stairs.

  It was a maze of hallways and staircases on this level of the house, and Eleanora moved quickly through them. She knew Hawkins was likely to be in the kitchen if he were not above stairs where his energy could be put to good use. Eleanora would speak to him about that tomorrow, but tonight it would do her no good to argue with the man.

  She dodged a rather green footman who still carried his tray with two hands and rounded a corner to turn expertly out of the way of a rushing kitchen maid exclaiming something that sounded like the hen is on fire. Eleanora did not spend a moment's worry on whether or not that was exactly what the maid had said for she trusted Cook to have everything under control. Finally, Eleanora spun into the kitchen and stopped.

  Hawkins hovered in the doorway on the other side of the room where another staircase lead up directly into the dining room where an elegant banquet table had been laid with the night's supper assortments. There were to be plates of cold roast beef and ham, a radiant display of cheeses and rolls, and decadent savory pastries and sweetmeats for the guests to enjoy. And Hawkins should have taken his place amongst the footmen in the room to ensure that the meal neatly progressed. He should not have been below stairs worrying a hole in the floor with his concerned pacing.

  Eleanora approached him carefully.

  "Mr. Hawkins, I do believe you have expressed concern over the number of footmen with us this evening."

  She kept her hands behind her back, tucked under the bow of her apron. She felt the scratch of starch even through the fabric of her gloves. She wondered for a moment what it would feel like to wear clothing of a more luxurious fabric like the gowns she had seen on the dancing women upstairs. The thought was preposterous, and she quickly banished it to take care of the matter at hand.

  Mr. Hawkins paused in his pacing, turning his sagging face toward her. Every time he cast her a look of dismay, she thought of the long face of a Basset hound and felt the corners of her mouth pull upward, which never helped the situation involving Hawkins.

  "There are only eleven footmen, Miss Quinton. Surely, we need an even dozen."

  Eleanora nodded in sympathy.

  "Yes, Mr. Hawkins, I can see where an even number would feel more solid and provide a sense of security, but Gregenden House is fortunate enough to say the best footmen that can be found in all of London are here tonight, and they are serving the guests above stairs now even as we speak. But do you know what would make it a solid dozen servants above stairs ensuring the meal is as much of a success as the ball itself?"

  She watched Hawkins peel himself out of his misery as if it were a physical thing that clung to him like a wet cloak on a dreary day. It gave her such a start to watch it unfold, and she knew that she had him.

  "You, Mr. Hawkins," she continued, "You would make a solid dozen servants and a perfect completion to the evening's meal."

  Hawkins straightened, a noticeable change coming across his features.

  "That would be a dozen, indeed, Miss," he said, scanning the room above her head. What he was looking for, she had not a single idea, but it did not matter as long as he moved his body upstairs.

  She turned quickly, snatching a tray from a footman's outstretched arms. She shooed the young man away, pushing the tray into the Hawkins' ready arms. He looked down at the tray as if it had magically appeared.

  "You are our twelfth and most gifted footman, Mr. Hawkins. Now, go up those stairs and make this a memorable occasion."

  Her talks with Hawkins were starting to sound like the drivel found in ladies' novels, and she worried her mind would turn to philosophical mush. But Hawkins only stared at her in no apparent sense of recognition before turning and moving up the stairs before her. She waited until he had reached the top and disappeared through the door leading into the dining room before she turned round.

  Cook watched her from the other side of the large table that took up much of the center of the kitchen. The table was strewn with bits of mauled vegetables and scattered pieces of dough. The older woman's red cheeks rounded on a smile.

  "You get better at that every day, love," she said and moved away to retrieve bread from the ovens.

  Eleanora relished the moment of resolving another issue but put aside her feelings to return to the matter at hand. Guests who required attention and a lord and lady to serve. But what would it feel like to have no one to please? No one to serve? Would it be as r
efreshing and exhilarating as Eleanora imagined?

  She quickly looked over her shoulder, down the hall that led off the kitchens to a door at the very end of the corridor, hidden in the dark recess and just as quickly pushed the ridiculous thought away.

  Returning to the ballroom, she found it just as she had left it. Not that she had any doubt that anything would be amiss. Hawkins was in his place, and supper could be served.

  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed midnight. One, two, three strokes of the bell so far. The guests should start milling into the other room where the banquet table was set up. A few had straggled in, but most were still here in the ballroom wanting to gossip a little more while their mouths were free of the ridiculously expensive food set out for them in the opposite room.

  Eleanora looked to the footman across the floor guarding the doors to the buffet. He shook his head once to the left. Less than ten people had moved then. Well. She would have to make an announcement to get the rest moving, or they would never get them out of the house by dawn.

  She stepped away from the pillar she had been pushed against as she had come back into the crowd and began to make her way to the orchestra in the far corner. It was a crush as always, and various bodies stuffed into outrageously huge garments impeded her way. She had said Pardon me more times now than she cared to count and suddenly did not feel like saying it any more. She just started pushing as the rest were pushing back against her. It really was the only way to move some people.

  The grandfather clock had struck four more times now. Seven down, five to go. She had almost reached the orchestra. The crowd was starting to lessen over here. It being so close to the orchestra was probably the reason. One cannot gossip with loud music pounding in one's ears. She passed the Earl of Stryden, and he winked at her again. Blasted man. Why did he keep doing that? She nodded politely back at him and thought once again of his reputation of seductive powers.

  Seduced by a man as wickedly handsome as the earl?

  She wondered again ever so briefly before her mind snapped away from the thought.

  She reached the platform where the orchestra had been set up and turned to face the noisy crowd of the ton's most important peers. She cleared her throat as the clock in the hall tolled its twelfth stroke. She opened her mouth to get the crowd's attention.

  Then a gunshot cracked through the air, and a body fell from the balcony above to the ballroom floor.

  Eleanora closed her mouth, realizing she really should give Hawkins more credit for all his worrying.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Pandemonium.

  This was what pandemonium must look like.

  Ladies started dropping faster than rain, swooning into the nearest gentleman's arms, only said gentleman was not prepared for a lady to suddenly appear in his arms and was subsequently knocked into a potted fern, sending the lady, the fern and himself tumbling to the ground in the most undignified and colorful heap Eleanora had ever seen.

  The ladies that did not instantly collapse at the sight of the very dead body in the middle of the dance floor felt the immediate need to scream with all the air they could push from their lungs. Upon finishing their screeching, they ran for the nearest exit, which was usually on the other side of one of those humps of fabric, dirt, arms, legs, and potted fern. The ladies never made it over the heaps and simply added themselves to it. Some of the more stout gentlemen who had managed to catch the ladies that collapsed on them were standing in a state of complete stupidity having not a single, bloody clue what to do with an unconscious woman in their arms. And in most cases, the gentleman did not even know the lady, and her being unconscious did not help matters at all.

  Eleanora stood on the orchestra platform with her hands neatly tucked under the bow of her apron and watched everyone resort to sheer panic. The members of the orchestra behind her had already escaped out the terrace doors, leaving them open to the cold, night wind that amazingly refreshed Eleanora as she waited for everyone to calm down enough for something useful to be done.

  Ladies were coming to now, staring around with wide eyes, not remembering exactly how they had managed to get into such an awkward position. And then, of course, they saw the body again and either swooned...again...or ran. And until Eleanora saw it, she did not believe a woman could run that fast in a ball gown. But Lady Dendrigeshire proved her not only wrong in the fact that a woman is very capable of running in a ball gown, but also that Lady Dendrigeshire could move all of her girth in such a timely fashion. It really was quite astonishing. Other ladies began following her and soon the doors to the outside hall were clogged with women, scrambling to get through the opening. The men hung back, gesturing with their arms and opening and closing their mouths but really doing nothing at all.

  And then a single lady turned around to see who was standing on the back of her gown when she noticed the open terrace doors. The woman stopped and stared for a full minute before the significance of the open doors hit her. And then she moved. Her skirt ripped under whatever foot was holding it down as she threw herself at the open doors.

  And thus into Eleanora.

  The woman had moved too fast for Eleanora to have a chance. But suddenly someone was grabbing her out of the way as the entire herd of hysterical women stampeded the terrace doors. Whoever had grabbed her pulled her off the platform and over his shoulder, carrying her to the side of the melee to set her down by an overturned fern. She watched as the entire ballroom emptied in less than a breath. The entire room, moments before filled with so much noise she had not been able to hear her own heartbeat, was perfectly quiet and deadly still.

  "Well, it was a good party, up until about the point where that poor bloke got shot."

  Eleanora turned around to stare at the Earl of Stryden. His cravat was crooked and his jacket wrinkled, his dark hair falling over his forehead. Seductive powers, indeed.

  "Thank you," Eleanora said. "I might have been killed by the stampede."

  "You are welcome, Miss Quinton." He ran his fingers through his hair as if to push back the lock across his forehead. It immediately returned, but he did not seem to notice.

  Eleanora turned back to the wreckage in the ballroom. Footmen and maids were starting to come out of their places of hiding, popping out from behind pillars and refreshment tables. And there was Hawkins, emerging from the dining room, a tray of champagne in his hands, his face drawn, eyes wide. And Eleanora knew that no amount of talking would get him to see the good side of the events of the evening.

  She heard Lord Gregenden before she saw him. He was at the far end of the room, being sick into someone's hat. Lady Gregenden was lying on the floor at his feet, completely still and staring at the ceiling as if it were the most fascinating thing in the room. Eleanora had been in the Gregenden's employ for nearly twelve years, and something this catastrophic had never occurred under her watch. Would they sack her for this? Surely, they would not. It was not as if she had orchestrated this chaos nor could she be held responsible for it happening. She thought of the small room below stairs, and a hand went unconsciously to her stomach. She could not lose her post. People depended on her, and she must make this right. However one made a murder right.

  She let out a sigh and jumped when the earl put his hand on her shoulder. She turned slowly to look at him.

  "I'll go get the authorities."

  Eleanora nodded once before stopping herself.

  "I am sure that is not necessary, my lord. Hawkins will be pleased to handle that matter."

  Stryden looked over his shoulder, and Eleanora followed his gaze to the distraught butler who still stood with the tray of champagne Eleanora had thrust in his arms only moments before. He stood unmoving in the doorway as footmen gathered about him. The footmen not moving because their leader was not moving.

  And Eleanora acquiesced.

  "Perhaps, it would be good of you to see to the matter, my lord."

  The earl turned around and left before she said anything else, whi
ch left her with one ballroom and one dead body to clean up. Looking back at Hawkins, she amended her thoughts with the unfortunate characteristic of having to do all of that on her own.

  "Was this part of your plans for the evening, Miss Quinton?"

  Eleanora turned to her side to see the Duchess of Lofton standing amidst fronds, champagne glasses and the remains of a lady's broken fan and another's glove. A rather pretty lilac glove, Eleanora thought.

  "No, your grace, it was not." Eleanora bent down and picked up the lilac glove, running it over the palm of her hand. The silky fabric moved sleekly over the coarse fabric of her practical service gloves. Eleanora had never owned something made of silk.

  "I had thought not. But it would have been rather adventurous of you had you indeed planned the whole thing." The duchess surveyed the mess.

  Eleanora pulled her gaze away from the glove. "Adventurous? I would think the whole thing appalling."

  Jane looked back at her. "Oh no, my dear. I've been to too many of these things now, and this is the most exciting thing that's ever happened at one of them. Truly adventurous really."

  Eleanora stared at her. But really, she would expect that of the Duchess of Lofton. It had only been a few weeks since Eleanora had had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the Duchess of Lofton at a tea held at Gregenden House, but the older woman had taken a kind of liking to Eleanora for which she could not find a reason. It was odd the relationship that had grown up between them, but Eleanora thought that this must have been what it would have been like to have a mother. The thought was as ridiculous as Eleanora imagined but imagine it she did.

  "Do you not have somewhere else to be, your grace?" Eleanora smiled slightly at the older woman as she looked about for the Duke of Lofton who was mysteriously absent.

  Eleanora had heard that theirs was a different kind of relationship, but having no experience with relationships at all, she had to take the word of the gossips for it, which she could admit was not that reliable.