Page 13 of Tamed By a Duke
"You may keep your hat on, brother dearest," Violet grumbled, as he squashed in beside her on the settee, "You've just interrupted our plotting to find Charlotte a husband."
"A husband?" Sebastian raised a dark eyebrow in Charlotte's direction, his violet eyes—so like his sister's—sparkling with interest.
"Well, not quite," Charlotte clarified and she hastily explained her plight again.
"If it's afaux-beau you need, I would be happy to lend my services."
Charlotte smiled at this gallant declaration; she had been right in thinking that Sebastian would be game for a lark like this. Except, now it wasn't a lark, but rather a painful pursuit of an elusive duke.
"I'm afraid that only a duke will do, in my father's eyes," Charlotte said, apologetically, not wishing to insult her friend.
"Ah, as the heir to an old but impoverished baronetcy, I probably do not fit the bill," Sebastian did not seem in the least bit insulted, "Tell me, which duke have you set your sights upon?
"Penrith," Violet supplied, through a mouthful of cake, "Though he never sets foot in Almack's, so Julia has suggested that Cat throw herself in front of his horse one morning."
"That would definitely grab his attention," there was a flash of white teeth, as Sebastian smiled. "Though, perhaps, you might leave off taking such drastic action, until I have made enquiries into where else you might meet him."
"Oh, Sebastian, thank you!" Charlotte cried, grateful for both his help and the fact that she might leave off beginning her plan for another day or two. Though she had feigned bravado for her friends' sake, Charlotte was really quite nervous about pursuing this Penrith. She was not naturally flirtatious, nor did she possess a come hither gaze, and she feared that any efforts on her part to entice Penrith would be met with very public humiliation.
"That's that sorted," Sebastian clapped his hands together and smiled, "Now, tell me. What do you three lovely ladies have planned for this evening?"
"It's Wednesday," Julia replied with a sigh, "There is only one place to go on a Wednesday."
"And where's that?" Sebastian asked curiously, for he did not follow the tide of theton.
"Almack's," Charlotte replied, in unison with her two friends. The trio all felt the same apathy toward the grand club, where marriage minded men came to peruse the ladies present like livestock at Tattersalls. They had been forced, every Wednesday, for the past three years to suffer the indignity of the dull assembly rooms, and all were quite tired of the charade.
Still, Charlotte thought happily, as she reached for a French fancy, at least she could look forward to tonight, knowing that there was no way she would bump into the Duke of Penrith.
Thank heavens that the Upstarts would never deign to step foot in Almack's.
Chapter Four
"I cannot believe I am being forced to go to ruddy Almack's," Hugh grumbled, peering out of the carriage window at the building which housed the assembly rooms.
"Take a sip of this," Montague replied, leaning across to offer him a sip from his hip-flask, "I must say, it has eased my irritation at the prospect of spending an evening under the watchful gaze of the Grand Dragons."
"I think you mean Grand Dames," Hugh replied, taking the proffered flask and nipping a sip from it.
"I think you'll find I didn't."
Montague's smile was infectious and despite his disquiet at his current predicament, Hugh found himself grinning in return. Thinking that, perhaps, it was the brandy which had his friend in such jovial spirits, Hugh took another sip from the silver flask, before handing it back.
"I embrace my accursed fate," Hugh quipped darkly, as the footman opened the carriage door.
"It's a ball, not a trip to the gallows," came Montague's droll reply.
His friend's assertion that their trip to Almack's was not so doomed a venture was quickly quashed as the two men entered the crowded ballroom. There were white dresses as far as the eye could see, worn by young, giggling chits who regarded the two dukes with nefarious, plotting eyes.
Debutantes.
Hugh was by no means a coward, having faced danger on multiple occasions during the course of his work for Whitehall, but he felt a shiver of apprehension run through him, as he realised he was surrounded.
"I fear we might not make it out alive," he said, under his breath to Montague, who had lost some of his earlier buoyancy, as the white dresses began to circle them.
"It was a pleasure serving with you, my liege," Montague whispered in return, before his face broke into a grin as he spotted something, "Hark, the herald angels sing. Is that Orsino I spy?"
Montague pointed across the room to where Orsino stood, towering head and shoulders above the crowd, with his customary dark scowl in place. His fearsome disposition seemed to have created an invisible barrier around him, one which no white-dressed daisy dared to pass.
