The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) Devlin, Barbara (that summer book .TXT) 📖

“Indeed, it does.” Anthony patted Beaulieu on the back. “And we have seen each other through some difficulties, yet we persist. Given my father’s hired men guard me, even now, despite the fact that my mother discharged them, I find sport in the irony. I am resolved to marry Lady Arabella in light of our talk. Thus he worries for naught.”

“Sorry I am late, but I had a devil of a time negotiating the stairs.” Hobbling on crutches, because he had yet to master a wooden limb, Lord Michael drew near and smiled. “You are singing a new tune, and I am glad to hear it, because your fiancée approaches, and you don’t want to insult her.”

Gowned in emerald green, with her long brown locks arranged in a cascade of curls, she glided like an angel, and familiar warmth sashayed over his flesh, soothing charged nerves and quieting his unrest. She did that for him, when he could not help himself, and he desperately needed her.

“Good evening, Lord Rockingham.” Given the announcement of their engagement, the crowd gawked when Arabella greeted him. “It is a lovely night, it is not?”

“A scarce minute ago, I would have disagreed, but it is much improved, now, Lady Arabella.” To his delight, she blushed at his compliment, and he vowed to offer praise more often. He wanted to make her happy, given she settled for less than a man. “May I have—”

“Lady Arabella, I wonder if I might beg the honor of the contratems and rigadon?” Beaulieu extended an arm, which Lady Arabella clutched at the elbow, and Anthony wanted to scream. “And, perhaps, Rockingham might indulge Miss Wallace?”

“Oh—that would be such fun.” Miss Wallace charged the fore, and it was then he noted her presence. “Shall we, Lord Rockingham?”

“Of course.” To refuse would have been rude, but Anthony had no interest in Miss Wallace.

Cursing in silence, he did what any gentleman would do and led her to the dance floor. As they stepped in time with the music, he mulled Beaulieu’s confusing behavior, which made no sense. Was Anthony not supposed to court his future wife? Was that not the scheme?

Yet, as the evening progressed, every time he tried to speak with Arabella, one of his fellow soldiers intruded. Just when he feared he could tolerate no more interference, Lord Greyson signaled Anthony.

“Care for a brandy?” Greyson glanced over his shoulder. “I have it on good authority that the study is vacant.”

“I suppose.” A quick check of the vicinity revealed Arabella in the company of Miss Wallace and Beaulieu, and Anthony shook his head. Were his friends not supposed to help him court his lady? “Because Beaulieu seems intent on keeping me from my fiancée.”

“Then let us enjoy a quiet repast.” Greyson rubbed the back of his neck. “Because I am not quite accustomed to the crowds.”

“Why did you come here, tonight?” Weaving through the crush, they exited the ballroom and turned to the right. Anthony knew the location of the study, by heart, because he had seduced more than one lady in its dark, quiet confines. “You have not attended a single social event, save Vauxhall, since our return to London.”

“I am here for you.” Greyson navigated the small passage, until they came to a door on the left. Slowly, he twisted the knob and pushed open the oak panel. “I gave my word I would help you win Lady Arabella, in truth, and I will do so. Is there a more noble enterprise?”

As Anthony pondered his miserable start, he filled two glasses with brandy. “Only if we succeed.”

*

“Are you sure this is the right course of action?” Arabella strolled the outer circle of the ballroom, with Patience and Lord Beaulieu, when she spotted Anthony with Lord Greyson, departing for the study, as prearranged. “What if Lord Rockingham changes his mind? What if he resists the marriage? What if—”

“What if you stop worrying and have faith in our fighting men, because they will not disappoint you?” Patience grabbed Arabella’s hand and squeezed her fingers. “Besides, you want this. Don’t try to deny it.”

“I’m not denying it.” Arabella bit her lip. “But I cannot pretend the situation is ideal.”

“Don’t fret, because our plan will work, Lady Arabella. Believe me, we need only put you in a room, alone, with Rockingham, and nature will take the reins. I gather he is raring to go after our shenanigans to keep you apart.” Lord Beaulieu scanned the immediate vicinity. “That was my intent, but now we require a diversion if you are to escape without notice, because your presence attracts unwanted attention.”

“What can we do about it?” Patience shifted close. “Even His Grace watches us.”

“Relax, ladies.” Lord Beaulieu nodded once. “I anticipated difficulties and planned, accordingly. My men will do their duty.”

Tracking his gaze, Arabella discovered Lord Michael, lingering near the entrance to the dining room. Just as a manservant strolled past, carrying a tray overloaded with dishes, Lord Michael stuck out one of his crutches and tripped the unfortunate domestic, and a mighty crash echoed through the ballroom. While less than graceful, the scheme worked, and the disturbance garnered a collective of intrusive gazes.

“Go—now.” Lord Beaulieu shoved Arabella into the hall. Then he drew Patience to his side, effectively shielding Arabella from sight.

Glancing left and then right, she clutched her throat and ran down the passage, until she arrived in the foyer. Recalling Lord Beaulieu’s instructions, she followed a narrow corridor, until she stood before the requisite door.

So much weighed on her shoulders, and she shivered as her palm met the metal knob. Everything rested on her ability to convince Lord Rockingham that they had no other option than to obey his father. But there was more to her design, because she wanted a match based on friendship and respect, which she considered necessary for success, and she had to know that he believed it possible. That he was capable of such dedication.

Otherwise,